#as i cowered against a wall lmao lmao lmao

[lovebugism]

hi bug!! for blurbcember, how about ❝ don’t tell anyone, but, i spiked the eggnog. ❞ where shy!reader is by herself at a work holiday party, maybe she’s new or just really shy and doesn’t talk to many people, and steve/eddie goes up to her and jokes about spiking the eggnog to break the ice and flirt with her bc he has a crush on her and wants to make her laugh 🥹 totally not based on what i wish would happen to me at my work’s holiday party lmao

ah this is so cute! :D i decided to do this one for steve so i hope you like it!! — steve harrington spends the company holiday party flirting with shy!you (friends to lovers, shy!reader, fluff, 1.9k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The quiet mouse and the personality hire walk into an office holiday party.

It’s like the start of a really bad joke.

You try to be as enthusiastic as you can about the whole thing, but spending the last half of your day socializing with coworkers who've never looked your way before now isn’t exactly thrill-inducing. Neither is having to hear “Oh, I didn’t know you actually spoke” a thousand times over.

You just don’t want the lecture about being a team player just because you have a harder time talking than most people do. Everyone knows you’d rather be at your desk, anyway. That’s what you do best — keep your head down and get your work done.

But Steve Harrington? He’s totally in his element.

He flits around the common area with a drink and a smile, making people laugh without even trying. It’s hardly fair.

You don’t know how he does it — or why he chooses to waste his charm on you. You’re hardly deserving of his dumb jokes or his pretty smile, but he’s stuck to you like glue, anyway.

He leaves your side only once. To get you another cup of eggnog because you were too scared to cut through the crowd for seconds. “Here you go,” the pretty boy croons as he hands you the plastic cup with a strong, golden hand.

You mutter a small “thanks” under your breath when you take it from him. At least, Steve thinks you do. You’re so quiet it’s hard to make the words out sometimes.

He pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows — a deep evergreen with a cream stripe around the chest, lined with several little Christmas trees — and leans against the wall beside you.

He towers over you in every way imaginable. It makes it hurt not to cower when he looks your way. Most of all, when he beams at you.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks suddenly, nose scrunched and honey eyes sparkling.

Your brows pinch momentarily in confusion before going lax again. “Sure?”

He leans closer to you, his warm scent engulfing you instantly — like morning coffee and woodsy cologne. It’s suffocating, in the nicest of ways, to be this close to him. 

“Don’t tell anyone, but I did actually spike the eggnog,” Steve whispers beneath the cheesy holiday music and distant chatter, quiet enough for only you to hear. 

You laugh before you mean to. 

He laughs because you are.

“I actually wouldn’t mind that,” you joke with a shy shrug.

“It’d make this whole thing a lot more tolerable, right?” he scoffs and brings his cup to his mouth. The heavy cream of the eggnog clings to his cupid’s bow before he licks it clean again.

You get quiet for a second, momentarily lost in how pretty he is. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“I think you’re the only person I know that’d rather be working than be here.”

“Well, I’m not really a—” Your mouth opens and closes like a fish until you find the words to say. That happens a lot. It’s why you find it easier not to speak sometimes. “—A social butterfly or whatever, you know?”

“I thought you were gonna say people-person.”

“That, too.”

Steve thinks for a moment, flits his eyes to the ceiling, and juts out his pretty pink lips. He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “Well, I don’t think that’s totally true.”

Your brows furrow. Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as you thought. “No?”

“No,” he says confidently and with a shake of his neatly styled hair. He swipes his fingers through the intentionally messy strands. Then he shrugs. “Well, I mean, maybe. But I would say you are a Steve-person, you know?”

Your face screws up. His attempts to flirt with you don’t land.

He quickly tries to explain himself. “I just mean that— you know— that you don’t let everyone know you the way you let me know you.”

He gets all shy about it, but you think he might be right. 

Steve Harrington is more than just magnetic. He’s the kind of person that draws you in and opens you like a flower. An ounce of his attention feels like being basked in sunlight. He’s as handsome as life, too. Something holy, maybe. 

It’s his divinity that draws something out of you, you think.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re different from everyone else,” you shrug instead of elaborating on the dramatic religious metaphor in your head. Your gaze falls to the untouched cup between your palms. It’s easier to look at but much less interesting than the melting honey in Steve’s eyes.

He grins all sweet even though you’re not looking at him to see it.

“You mean prettier?” he jokes.

“Yeah,” you scoff and smile before you realize it. “No one’s competing with those dimples, Harrington.”

He beams. It basks you in golden sunlight. 

Something about the way he looks at you is comforting. Nostalgic. It makes you feel safe. Makes you feel brave enough to raise a trembling hand to his scruffy jaw and poke gently at the dimple in his left cheek.

“You just make it easier to talk. I guess.”

“Well, that’s good. ‘Cause I love hearing you talk.”

You squint playfully up at him. “Is that because you’re usually the one talking all the time?”

He nods. “That’s exactly why.”

You laugh, and it sounds like stars falling over his skin. 

“It just feels easy to me, you know? Being around you and everything,” Steve shrugs to pretend like you don’t stir something sort of poetry in his chest. “I just think you’re cool. Exactly the way you are. And, you know, when you apologize for being too quiet or too complicated or whatever— it makes me wanna kick the world’s ass for making you feel that way. ‘Cause you’re, like, one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

For a second or more, you’re not totally sure what to say. And not in the way you usually are. This is different. This feels like there’s sunshine in your throat, and you can’t speak a word through it. This feels like being so choked up you could cry.

No one’s ever been this nice to you, you think. No one’s ever been so kind to you about the thing you hate most about yourself.

You swallow through the sun rays and muster a wavering smile.

“See what I mean?” You try to laugh, but the words get caught in your throat. You cough once to clear it. “I have to talk to you because no one else will say such nice things to me.”

“And that’s just a shame. ‘Cause saying nice things to you is basically my favorite hobby.”

You laugh again, even though he’s not really joking.

“Like, if I could get paid to do it, I’d be out of this shithole in a second.”

You smile up at him, so wide it makes your eyes squint and your nose scrunch. No one else could stir such a loud emotion from the quiet you are. No one else but Steve.

[sgojoenthusiast]

needy.

✧.* miguel o’hara x reader

summary:

miguel is suffering with the side effects of his vampirism: the insatiable hunger. you, a doctor, will stop at nothing to help him, no matter what. it’s your job, afterall.

cw: smut, biting, lowkey vampire sex, rough, i didnt do amazing in my gcse spanish course so i’m sorry for the rough attempt at miguel speaking spanish LMAO, hardly proof read mb, bit of oral (f receiving), mentions of blood, pain and injury. fem reader.

word count: 2.1k

likes, comments and reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

-`♡´-

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t resist. His brain felt like it was begging to break out of his skull. Everything hurt, but it wasn’t the kind of pain he could turn to you for help with.

It was the kind of pain that stemmed from the unfortunate bite all those years ago. A pain that derived from a never-ending hunger within him, resulting in constant hunger and sharpened fangs.

“Miguel, how many times do I have to say it? It’s my job. It’s what I'm paid to do! Just let me help you and we can-”

“No.” he cut you off sharply. When he had hired you after a particularly nasty fight that ended in a lot of spidermen injured but there was a lack of medics to help, he didn’t realise everything you did or said would have so much of an affect on him. If he had known, he would’ve never even looked in your direction because, god, you were intoxicating. “No puedo más, mierda. [i can’t anymore, fuck]. You can’t help me, okay? Just go home.” He seethed.

He wasn’t angry with you, never you. He was angry at how he had to turn your sweet words and caring touch away just because he couldn’t risk hurting you.

“You’re so frustrating, Miguel. you never let me help you.” He stood with his back to you, because he knew that if he looked behind him and saw you standing with your arms folded, a cute pout on your lips and the smooth skin of your neck on display, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back anymore.

If he ever came close to hurting you, even if somehow the domino effect of something he did led to you getting injured, he would never forgive himself for as long as he lived. You were only human, you weren’t a spider like the rest of them. You were fragile, and couldn’t protect yourself as well as you could save others. 

“You should know by now I won't stop until I get what I want.” you began walking up behind him. “You’re clearly struggling with something. your breathing is heavy, you haven’t been walking or talking properly since you came back from your mission.” a sudden realisation popped into your brain. “You didn’t hit your head on your mission today, did you? Miguel- you told me there wasn’t a scratch on you, I can’t help you if you’re lying to me.”

Finally, he turned around to face you, his head hung low but he could see every inch of your perfect body. No longer could he restrain himself from the all-consuming thirst he felt as he flashed his fangs and suddenly appeared in front of you, pinning you against the wall.  “No quiero ayuda. [I don't want your help]. I just want it to stop.”

You tilted your head up at him. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in your eyes despite your position and he felt his heart stop. “You aren’t scared?” He breathed out. His eyes were wide and red. His heart was beating increasingly fast and his throat was getting dry.

He was so used to being the one people would cower around. Yet with you, you always seemed to defy his expectations. He stood in front of you, restraining himself from killing you, and yet you had barely even blinked.

You moved your hair out of the way of your neck, causing him to try and push himself away from you but you grabbed his wrist before he could. “It’s my job to help you. That’s why I'm here. So let me help you.”

He found it so hard to disobey you when you looked up at him so gently. Yet it was that look that reminded him of his affection towards you and made him shake his head profusely in denial. He refused to hurt you, even when you asked him to.

You pulled him by his wrist, closer to you, tempting him in as he complied thoughtlessly. His mind was reeling with the thought that it was your hand touching his wrist. It was your hand that slowly traced up his back and it was your fingers that threaded through his hair at that moment. Slowly, you guided his head down towards your open neck as every doubt inside his mind froze against his will. All of his morals disappeared. Everything he stood by, his dedication to protecting you, gone within a minute of you delicately caressing him.

“Please, Miguel, let me help you.”

When you pleaded with him so innocently, when your words slipped so tenderly from your pretty lips, he could no longer hold himself back. The shackles he’d chained himself to for so long, the restraints he’d built with his bare hands, crumbled like castles.

His sharp fangs sunk themselves into the crook of your neck and you whimpered slightly in pain, biting your lip.

Miguel lost himself in the taste of you as he forced you up harder against the wall. Still, it wasn’t enough. He needed his entire body against yours. He grabbed your leg, wrapping it around his waist as he continued to slowly suck the blood from your neck.

His hands pawed against you and massaged your hips. You felt yourself growing increasingly more wet at the feeling of him pressed up so close against you with his lips against your neck.

Somehow, the pain faded as you got used to it and all you could feel was the sensation you got as he ground himself against you, overpowered with need and moaning into your neck.

His head was spinning as his blood pumped vigorously. He’d never experienced such a high, such an addictive drug that devoured him whole and swallowed him completely.

You could feel how much he needed this. The feeling of peace and pleasure overshadowed the one of pain, yet, as you felt yourself go faint, you began to shake yourself out of the trance his lips against your neck put you in. In an odd way, you’d let him drink from you forever if it meant the feeling of his skin against yours.

You tapped his waist, urging him off you as he withdrew.

You placed your hand against your neck as a sudden pang of soreness washed over you. However, the sight before you was one you’d never forget as you looked up to meet his eyes. His lips stained with your blood before he wiped it away sent a strange sensation down your back as you closed your legs.

“Thank you, mi dulce niña. [my sweet girl].” he took your face between his thumb and index finger. Your faces were unbearably close. The desire to taste your own blood on his lips consumed you as your eyes flickered between his and his lips.

You stood against the wall of the empty hallway to his room in silence, your bodies begging for each other yet your mouths too shy to make it known.

Instead, he opted for silently taking you down the dimly lit corridor to his room, his fingers intertwined with yours.

The second his door closed, your back was against it. His lips finally pressed against yours as you sighed in contentment. Once again, your leg was hiked up as he caressed the supple skin of your thigh.

A rough yet gentle hand made its way up to your face as he ran his thumb up and down against your cheek. “I need you so bad. You don’t know what you’ve done to me. Everyday, I think about you. Your lips, your voice, your smile, your hips. I can’t fucking get enough of you and it kills me that I cant physically be as close to you as I want to be.” he murmured against your lips whilst you breathed shaky breaths against his.

You didn’t know what to say, or how to put your feelings into words because he had already summed it up so perfectly for you. “I can’t get enough of you either.”

He carried you to the bed and placed you down, his touch never once leaving your skin except to take his suit off.

Your hand ran across the scars of his chest, some you had fixed up yourself, up to his neck where you pulled him against you once more. He struggled to get your uniform off quickly with the continuous kiss and lack of sense as the thought of you naked beneath him fogged up his mind.

Miguel broke the kiss, and the sight of you with your hair splayed out across the mattress, skin glistening and your eyes half-lidded with lust had him weak in the knees as his dick grew harder against your thigh.

The moonlight peaked out past the gaps of his curtains, highlighting your frame and making him desperate.

He began to kiss down your body, leaving marks across your collarbone where he would occasionally bite.

He sucked and licked your nipples gently as you writhed beneath his touch, desperately yearning for more of his rough touch.

“I need you, miguel.”

“Patient now, mi dulce niña. [my sweet girl]” he replied, looking up at you from between your legs as he slowly began kissing down towards where you needed him so badly. He stroked your thighs and nipped at them harshly, yet the pain merged so beautifully with the pleasure that it all became one big blur.

He asked you to be patient, but after so long of longing stares and discreet touches, being patient was the last thing on your mind as you bucked your hips up, itching for his touch.

“Niña mala [bad girl]. What did I just tell you?” he snarled.

“Please, Miguel, I'm begging you. I’ve waited so long- I can’t be patient anymore.” you pleaded with him. It seemed to be enough to convince him as he brought your hips up to his face and flicked his tongue skillfully against your pussy as you gasped surprisingly.

He moved his tongue rhythmically, snatching pleas and moans from your lips. It wasn’t too long before he slid in one of his fingers... then another. He thrusted them inside you relentlessly, praising you for taking what he was giving you without another complaint.

His tongue and his fingers combined clouded your senses and made you feel as though nothing - no one - would ever come close to satisfying you so well. However, just as you clenched around him, he pulled out. You whined and cried for him to stop playing around, but he simply ignored you.

Miguel needed to feel you come around his dick if you were going to come anywhere. He needed you both to finish together. He craved the feeling of your bodies merging together in that haze of relief and exhaustion before he pulled out.

He moved back up to your face and your eyes locked; a feeling rushed over you that made your heart swell. You don’t think you could ever get enough of him.

He grabbed his painfully hard dick, stroking it against your folds. You bucked against him hopelessly. Luckily, he took the hint and slid himself somewhat smoothly inside of you, though the pain of the stretch was inevitable.

Your hands immediately went to his back, gripping on as if it would save you. Miguel groaned at the pain as he pulled back slightly and thrusted harshly back in.

He noticed the bite marks on your neck, and the blood that still gradually fell from it due to the lack of treatment. He leaned down, licking the blood up and moaning as he pounded himself into you savagely.

Everything was overwhelming. The feeling of him licking and sucking the blood from your neck, the pain of your hands clawing down his back, the unrelenting pummelling inside of you and the sounds of skin against skin and voices intertwining in the air.

It sent you both spiralling.

“ ‘m g’nna- come, Miguel.” you heaved out.

His hand trailed down to your aching pussy as he slid a finger against your clit and began rubbing viciously. Your moans dominated the room at the extra pleasure as you began to slip from your control.

“Come with me.” he demanded as he hammered inside of you without any remorse.

It was everything you had both dreamed it would be and more. The feeling of letting go together shook you both as you clenched around him, sucking him in, and as he shot his load inside of you.

You both lay there for what felt like an eternity of comfort and serenity. Your bodies pressed up against each other with your eyes closed, just soaking up the moment without any anxieties or thoughts.

However, to your dismay, Miguel pulled back. He took your face in his palm again, marvelling at your vulnerable state. He would be the only one to see you like this.

He placed his forehead against yours as your breaths became synchronised along with your heartbeats, creating the sound of peace and belonging.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: read the extra here.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟsgojoenthusiast

[frozenlight-gvf]

It’s a Scream, Baby: Part Two

pairing: jake x fem!reader x danny

summary: it’s been exactly a year since the first time jake donned that mask for you the night before Halloween, but this time, being true to your favorite horror movie, he’s not alone…

warnings: (18+ MDNI) fear, brief cnc, knives, masks, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, knives, threesome, dirty talk, language, oui oui paris, threats, knives, unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), thigh riding, restraining, did i mention knives? doesn’t even start with fluff but there is aftercare!

word count: 3.5k

a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! it’s finally here!!! i’m honestly baffled by how much love the first part got, and it makes me so so so happy to see people talking about my silly little fic lmao anyway i hope you guys enjoy the long-awaited sequel!

***

You sat in the bottom of your closet, keeping your breath as quiet as you could. With the clothes draped around your face, the air was hot and thick and churning with energy. You could feel the blood thrumming through your veins, and the throbbing of your heart made your head spin.

Quiet, calculated footsteps padded up the stairs. You could almost feel the heaviness of them through the floor under you. You hugged your knees closer to your chest and tried to silence the breathless rattling of your lungs.

Earlier that night, you had gotten home to a dark, cold apartment— the opposite of what you’d expected for the night before Halloween, but fitting nonetheless. All the string lights had been unplugged; even the diffuser had choked back its usual steady stream of cinnamony spice. A note on the hardwood floor simply read “Hide.”

A thud from the guest bedroom had sent you fleeing up the stairs, ducking into your closet.

The footsteps grew closer. Your hands went numb as your mind flooded with images of what was about to be done to you.

The closet door was thrown open, sending a wave of cold air through the hanging clothes that shrouded you.

Before you loomed a tall, dark figure cloaked in black. A grotesque white face stared down at your cowering shape.

You slowly stood on shaking legs, not breaking eye contact with those familiar dark voids.

“Found you,” the voice rasped, muffled by fabric and rubber.

A gloved hand wrapped itself around your throat, the rough cotton feeling invigorating against your sensitive skin.

“Found me,” you echoed, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

Your breath caught in your chest; you could hardly contain your excitement.

Your boyfriend, Jake, had indulged you like this a year ago to the day, but this time, he had gone all in— donning the black robes in addition to that iconic mask, instructing you to hide somewhere in the house as he stalked around to find you, knife presumably in hand.

Maybe it was the adrenaline in your blood, or the pitch darkness of the bedroom, or the hand around your neck, or the arousal clouding your head, but you felt more vulnerable than you ever had before in front of this towering figure— and you hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet.

A second gloved hand began trailing deliberately up your side, catching on your clothes as it went, exposing your bare skin inch by inch. His touch was so confident and sure; it’s as if he was claiming you with nothing but his fingers.

Your lips parted in eager anticipation as the hand made its way firmly over your breast, making you shiver. When you breathed his name, the hand around your neck tightened, making you choke on the word.

“Shut up,” the voice hissed, sending a wave of pleasure straight to your core.

With his hand still firm around your throat, he pushed you backwards into the wall, leaning in close. You could hear heavy breathing from beneath the mask. He pressed his body into yours, keeping your back flush against the wall.

“Hands,” he prompted. You obediently held out your hands in front of you, and the man took your wrists and pinned them above your head with his free hand.

You sighed as his knee was shoved between your legs, giving you the relief you hadn’t even been actively seeking. The pleasure was being freely handed to you as you moved your hips, grinding up and down his thigh.

He chuckled sinisterly, the breath escaping him in deriding bursts as he watched you take what you wanted without apology.

“Keep going, slut.”

The word made a soft moan fly from your lips; Jake wasn’t usually one to use ‘slut,’ but it sent a welcome shiver down your spine. You were a slut— grinding on a hooded figure’s thigh as he held you by your throat against a wall.

You moaned Jake’s name again, and the hand tightened.

“He’s not here.”

A grin tugged at your lips once more as your head grew deliciously dizzy. The bloodflow to your brain was now slightly restricted, but you loved that your life was being held in the hands of a man you couldn’t even see. You delighted in Jake diving so deep into this fantasy for you.

The friction against your clit was sending constant shocks of pleasure through you, and it was about to spark into something more. Your mind was clouded in a red-tinged haze as all kinds of chemicals flooded through you. But just before the feeling could overflow, he pulled his leg from out from under you, eliciting a whine from your throat.

“Pitiful,” he spat.

You stared at the white face— practically the only thing visible in the room. You could hardly even see the outline of his shoulders, and there was something in your head that prevented you from reaching out and touching him. Some sort of residual fear that slithered in the crevices of your brain, some hesitation about the fact that Jake had yet to reveal his face to you.

Out of the corner of your eye, something approached.

Your head whipped towards the movement, all thoughts silenced.

The only thing you could see was yet another white face stalking towards you.

Your heart seized. Your breath ceased. The heat of your blood froze to ice.

It hadn’t even crossed your mind— the height difference. It should have been so obvious. This man was so much taller than Jake. But your perception had been completely fogged over in the darkness. The realization shook down your spine like a chill.

The man in front of you, the man with his hands all over you, was not your boyfriend.

The figure to your left removed his mask, and you could barely make out the oh-so-familiar deepness of his eyes and his shaggy brown hair, but recognition swelled within you, crashing down as you whimpered in fear.

You tried to wriggle out of the stranger’s grip, but his body was solidly against yours, and he was gripping your wrists tight.

“Let her go,” Jake said coolly.

The man in front of you didn’t hesitate; he dropped your wrists and backed away, but not before giving you a final shove against the wall. The white face of the mask turned towards Jake. You were left trembling and numb with your hands tucked up against your chest.

Just then, the stranger pulled off his mask, and your jaw dropped. There wasn’t much to see in the darkness, but the outline of his curly hair and the apologetic smile on his face was a dead giveaway.

“Danny?”

Your voice was weak and soft, and your cheeks burned red with embarrassment for having been so scared. Your eyes were wide with confusion as your brain haltingly tried to process what just happened, eliciting a quiet chuckle from both men.

“Listen to her,” Jake said with a grin. “She sounds terrified. Her little brain must be going a million miles a minute.”

Danny stepped closer to try and comfort you, but Jake stretched out an arm to hold him back.

“She’s a big girl, Danny. She doesn’t need to be coddled. Besides, she asked for this,” Jake said, turning to you. “Didn’t you, baby?”

The fear in your blood had started to heat up into excitement. Ever since last Halloween, you had been dropping hints at maybe adding another Ghostface to the mix. You never thought Jake would actually take you up on it.

“Are you happy that Danny’s here, pretty girl?” Jake said with a smirk as his gloved hand raised to cup the side of your face. You could feel his warm breath across your cheek as he leaned in to speak softly in your ear. You nodded, your face still frozen.

The way he was handling you now made you tremble with anticipation for what’s to come. The softness of it all, the tender touches with a demeaning undertone— it all gave way to a night of being held down and marked up.

“Are you gonna be a good little whore and show Danny your pretty body?”

Before your hands could reach the hem of your shirt, you felt a prick of cold steel against your abdomen, making your muscles tense up. You looked down to see a knife glinting in Jake’s hand. Jake smirked as he watched you stutter for something to say. He cocked his head, staring into your eyes.

“I hope you know that you don’t have a choice here, darling.”

With that, after replacing his mask and making sure Danny did the same, he flicked the knife upwards, slicing up the front of your shirt.

Your breasts now exposed in the cold air, Jake took the opportunity to back away, leaving you pitifully exposed and looking desperately back and forth between the two men. Part of you wished you could make eye contact, but gazing into nothing but those unchanging, emotionless faces had you clenching your thighs together. There’s no going back now.

They looked on as you stood there, just taking their lustful stares like a good girl should. You couldn’t do anything but lean back against that wall; you weren’t going to do anything without direct instruction or force. You were entirely ready and eager to comply with whatever they wished.

Jake then lunged, moving like a shadow and attacking the rest of your clothes with his knife. There was no tenderness now; this was depraved. He dug his knife into the waistband of your jeans, pulling and tugging the blade towards him as he worked against the denim. He sawed through the tough fabric, the dull side of the knife scraping against your skin. The only sounds in the room was the tearing of clothes and Danny’s occasional chuckle as he watched on.

He left you in your panties, a cruel tease to leave you needing more. You were soaked, and you were sure that Jake and Danny could see it. Jake then pointed at the bed, the black sleeves of his robe billowing.

“Get on the bed. On your knees.”

You rushed to obey, crawling over the sheets and sitting on your knees in the center of the bed, hands between your thighs. You watched with wide eyes as both boys stripped themselves of their robes, leaving them in their boxers, black gloves, and masks. Jake sauntered over to the window, grasping the rod and twisting so that the blinds slotted open, simultaneously allowing anyone outside to see you in that state and letting in the faint moonlight and the orange glow of a nearby street lamp.

Your eyes adjusted momentarily, but the sight you were greeted with in the dim light made you even wetter. You shifted on your knees as you stared at Jake’s chest, Danny’s arms and his tattoo, and the noticeable bulge in both of their pants. Both you and your cunt were desperate.

“Is she always this obedient?” Danny asked, laughter in his voice, his head turning towards Jake as he tore his eyes from you.

“No. But I think she knows what the both of us are capable of. That it won’t end well if she tries anything.”

The two men then stalked towards the bed, and you were already squirming. Jake took his usual place behind you, and Danny kneeled a foot or two in front of you. You were aching to reach out and run your hands over his arms and chest, but you remained dreadfully still.

“Ok, pretty girl,” Jake said, slowly slithering his fingers into your hair from behind. You melted into his touch, your eyes closing as he massaged your scalp.

A sudden tug yanked you out of your bliss. Your head shot backwards, making your jaw fly open and a pitiful whimper escape you.

“You know we’re not playing nice tonight, right?”

You tried to nod, but his grip on you was too tight. With your hair firmly in his fist, he moved your head up and down. He let out a derisive chuckle as he watched your head shake “yes” by his will.

He then pushed you forward, and you caught yourself on your hands, your face right at Danny’s crotch. You could almost feel him throbbing through his boxers as he watched you look up at him with wide eyes. Jake grabbed your hips with both hands and set you up to be at just the right height for him to grind his bulge into your dripping heat.

You let out a moan as you stared up at Danny’s mask, feeling Jake rubbing into you from behind. You started to push your hips back into him.

When Danny’s fingers closed around your jaw, you sighed, never wanting him to let you go.

”Mmm,” he moaned softly, aroused from just the sight of you looking up at him. “Does that feel nice, sweetheart? He’s hardly even touching you. You want that cock?”

You whimpered a response, letting your chin rest heavy in Danny’s gloved hand.

“Or do you want this cock?”

Danny reached into his boxers with his free hand and pulled himself out. Your eyes crossed as you looked at his cock, long and thick and achingly hard.

You heard him rasp out a laugh under his mask. He clearly enjoyed your bewilderment at the sight.

“Come on… Don’t be scared of it. You want it in your mouth, right? Yeah?”

Before you could even realize what you were doing, your lips were wrapped around his tip, licking mindlessly. The endless voids of Danny’s masked eyes never left you, and a deep moan rumbled from his chest as you nudged him deeper into your mouth, into your throat.

“Fuck— god, her mouth is incredible, Jake.”

“Yeah, isn’t she pretty with a cock in her mouth?”

A sharp thrust from Jake’s hips sent you forward, gagging on Danny to the chuckles of the two men. Your panties were completely soaked through, almost transparent. Jake was showing inhuman patience, and it scared you more than the tip of the knife you now felt dragging down your spine, bobbing imperceptibly up and down with each vertebrae it passed over.

You gasped around Danny’s cock as you felt the pinpoint tip of the knife trail over your panties, teasing right down the middle of your cunt. It landed right at your clit, the slight pressure making you lose your breath. Your body flinched forward slightly, but you were already as far down on Danny as your little mouth could go— any more movement or attempts to escape the knife, and you’d suffocate.

“That’s it, honey, just let me play for a bit,” Jake taunted, gently tapping the flat of the blade against your cunt, relishing in the wet slapping sound. You could hardly breathe, but you weren’t sure if it was the fear, the adrenaline, or Danny’s cock shoved down your throat, unmoving.

You squeaked as the knife dug slightly deeper, and he flicked it so it caught the delicate fabric, decisively tearing it. Jake chuckled derisively, overjoyed at the sight of your bare pussy, dripping wet.

Your eyes shot open wide as the cold metal met your cunt, the tip of knife just barely teasing along your folds, even dipping into your entrance. Every muscle in your body tensed up, including your neck, causing your throat to tighten around Danny. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Jesus, Jake— whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. She just got so tight.”

Ignoring Danny, Jake pulled away the knife, placing it beside him on the bed, to both your and the cock in your mouth’s chagrin. His hand was shaking, as if it pained him to put the knife down. You couldn’t help but want to be impaled by that knife, not caring about any cuts you would get from having it shoved up your cunt.

“Mm-mm. Don’t wanna slice up this pretty pussy before I get to use it. As perfect as she’d look with blood dripping down those thighs, she’d be too loose if we slit her there.”

His words hadn’t even gotten the chance to spill out of your other ear before his cock had sunken deep into you, your pussy pulling him in ravenously.

Danny had begun to move his hips, giving your lungs some much-needed reprieve, as you could now gasp for air whenever he pulled out slightly, but only momentarily as he thrust back in, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat over and over.

Drool leaked from the corners of your lips as you sucked and licked on him eagerly. Your mouth being filled so thoroughly took the spot of any rational thought in your fuzzy brain.

A sharp thrust from Jake brought your wandering mind right back to him, where it belongs. He prodded at your g-spot, making your thighs quiver.

“Oh, you can’t cum yet, little whore. Don’t even think about it.”

You shook your head, trying to focus on pleasing the two men. Danny groaned above you.

“That’s right, princess. Shake that pesky thought out of that head of yours. Is there anything in that little girl brain of yours now? Hmm? Nothing?”

Your mind was completely blank as Jake and Danny ravaged you from both ends, picking up in intensity as their excitement grew.

“Taking me so good, slut. Fuck… good girl. Choke on it, yeah, baby…”

“That’s it, whore… yes, yes… oh, fuck, yes…”

Their gasped and moaned words overlapped and melted together, creating a perfect breeding ground for your pleasure. You sank into their words and their thrusts and their hands gripping and grabbing at you, letting them take you in every sense of the word.

“Jake, fuck, I need her pussy—“

“Shut up. Cum down her throat, she loves it.”

Danny’s head rolled back, a few inches of his throat now visible under his mask. He let out a guttural groan as his hips stuttered and he painted the back of your reddened throat.

He soon pulled out, making you choke on air as you slumped forward, your back arched and your face against the mattress as Jake was still fucking into you from behind, sending you into a realm apart from this one.

“Aw, is the whore tired? Is she all tuckered out from cock? Was it too much for her to take?” Jake said, his voice breathless and sharp with urgency.

You whimpered into the mattress. Danny stood at the front of the bed, panting as he watched your body rock back and forth with Jake’s tireless thrusts.

“Danny, lift her up— you need to see her face when she cums.”

Danny’s gloved hand sunk into the hair at the crown of your head, and he pulled your face up so he could look right into your fucked-out, thoughtless eyes, but you couldn’t see his.

“Gonna cum all over Jake’s cock, huh? Do you wish you were cumming on mine?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You could hear a blaze of jealousy in Jake’s voice. He was the one buried deep inside you, but Danny was spurring you on.

“Mmm, my cock would look so good covered in you, don’t you think?”

“Danny, I’m warning you—“

“Your pretty cum dripping down my thighs… why didn’t Jake share you earlier?”

What you didn’t see when Danny dropped your head was Jake brandishing the discarded knife, pointing it at Danny.

“Back up.”

Jake’s hips were still slapping against yours even with the knife in his hand. The tension in the air was drenching you with a sheen of sweat.

“This pussy is mine. Understand?”

Danny nodded, his hands up in surrender and a smirk spreading under his mask. Jake then gestured the knife towards your head.

“Face. Up. You should be grateful I’m not making you leave the fucking room.”

Danny once again lifted your head, making you face his mask once more. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, your lips were swollen and glistening, and your face was blood red. The band inside you wasn’t just about to snap; it was about to rip you apart from cunt to crown.

Jake was relentless. His pace was unforgiving, the fingers digging into your hips merciless. Danny’s hands pulling your hair made your eyes roll back in your head. You were nothing but a doll.

“Cum for me, baby. Show Danny whose pussy this is.”

There was nothing you could do to resist; every ounce of fight or resistance had left you the second the closet door swung open. A throaty howl tore from your chest as you imploded, screaming Jake’s name in Danny’s face as your entire body went white-hot numb; the only thing keeping you up were the hands seizing you and squeezing you. Jake kept snapping into you, sending you deeper and deeper and deeper into unbearable euphoria.

“Keep cumming, that’s it… oh, my pretty little whore, yes…”

You didn’t even feel Jake pull out. You couldn’t feel the hands grabbing your arms and flipping you onto your back. But you could see the two distorted white faces with their taunting eyes staring down at you as you faded in and out of consciousness.

Moments, seconds, minutes, or hours later— you couldn’t tell— you found yourself between two warm, sweaty bodies as they stroked and kissed you, masks long discarded on the floor of the bedroom. Hands were in your hair, on your face, your chest, your hips, your thighs; everywhere they could reach. You were being worshiped on all fronts, and it felt divine.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart. Are you alright?” Jake rasped softly in your ear, his breath sweet and soft. You nodded, lounging into their caresses.

Danny kissed your temple and spoke gently. “You sure you’re ok? Does your throat hurt at all?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Of fucking course your throat hurt. Every fiber of every muscle, every ounce of marrow in every bone in your body hurt. But you loved it.

***

TAGLIST:

@spark-my-nature @sunandthemoontwinflames @gvf23 @for-ur-love @hellowgoodbye @starcatcherchords @gretasfallingsky @jakesguitarsolo @ohgodthefeeling-gvf

[hirkyy]

hi!! so I saw your post, but I promise I'm not here to be a dick. while I get where you're coming from and I 100% agree women should be allowed to complain and speak out against their oppressors, most of the discussions (at leas the ones I've seen and engaged with) regarding the "hatred of men" and some of its roots in terf garbage aren't talking about that kind of stuff! they're specifically referring to actual discrimination and abuse that happens towards men specifically because they're men- how they're "naturally aggressive/abusive" and how its in their nature to want to rape and violate women.

where the TERF stuff comes in involves how these ppl don't see trans women as women, and only think they're out to prey on them by easily gaining access to their spaces- rarely are trans men painted so passionately as predators in the same way trans women are. butch lesbians (such as myself) at times are also attacked because we're also seen as predators and creeps for being more masculine.

now is the unkindness and discrimination towards men on the same par of what women have faced? absolutely not, but it's also not about that. it's never been about how men have it worse than women and that women shouldn't be allowed to speak up. that's not to say there's never some moronic fuckbag out there that says otherwise, but i promise they're not relevant to our viewpoints and ragging on them is 100% justified lmao.

but!! i apologize if i misread what your post was about, i just. wasn't completely sure bc of how some things were worded. sorry also for the massive text wall and if i sounded rude at any point aaa. i hope what i've said's been helpful if need be!!

anon, with respect to your commitment towards being courteous and civil, i stopped reading after "actual discrimination and abuse that happens towards men because they're men", which is not a real thing.

i made a post talking about how infuriating it is that women are expected to cower and grovel to their oppressors because any expression of anger is immediately punished and twisted to make You the evil one and then the conversation is immediately hijacked to be about "misandry akshually" and you're all doing the same thing right under it, honestly the commitment is impressive.

being a misandry truther won't loop right back around to supporting trans women, you know

[asmodeus-682]

Loser, Buddy (a Loser, Baby rewrite for a friend of mine)

Based off an offshoot of Trapped Forever AU by @madcatdaderpydrawer-blog ((this is also for Madcat because they're Trapped Forever AU is awesome and gives me many fun ideas to work with for concept like this.))

Characters used Taurus and Tf Lunar/Traveller

Taurus:

So things are bad, and you're pressed against a wall

Your whole life is pretty hopeless

You're rather filthy, like a divebar bathroom stall

Can't face the world supported or adored

You lost your way, you know your life is shit

Well I'm here to say you're..Correct!

Traveller:

Wait- what?

Taurus:

You're a loser buddy, a loser you fucking baby

You're a messed up little crybaby bitch

Traveller:

Hey-!!

Taurus:

You're a loser, much like me

Traveller:

Thanks asshat

Taurus:

You're a screws-loose loser

An only one star reviews-er

You're a pillow princess in a pit

But you have company

Traveller:

Are you- trying to comfort me??

Taurus:

There was a time, I wouldn't think anyone could relate

To the gruesome ways in why I'm damaged

But knocking walls down will surely set us straight!

We're all stuck in the same shit-sandwitch

Traveller:

I was remade, by a psychopathic freak!

Taurus:

And you see thst as unique? Get outta here kid!

We're both losers, buddy

We're losers, it's okay to be a-

Traveller:

Emotionally unstable bitch?

Taurus:

Buddy that's fine with me

Traveller:

I'm a loser, honey!

A crybaby and a dummy

But now I know, I'm not alone

Taurus:

You're a loser

Both:

Much like me!

Taurus:

I got an appetite for killing

Traveller:

I got an appetite for trying, every escape that I can find!

Taurus:

Go ahead buddy, sing along now. Come on!

Traveller:

No reasons left for me to cower

Taurus:

I risk my life to show off my power!

Both:

Now I'm under that bastard's watch and it gets worse each passing hour

Traveller:

You're a loser, buddy

Taurus:

A loser, but maybe if we just-

Both:

Eat shit together, it'll work out eventually

Taurus:

Now's the time to lose that self-loathin'

Be yourself, let hope in buddy

Play your cards, be who you are

Both:

A loser, much like..

Tf Monty, barging in:

THERE IT IS!!

Tf Moon, behind Monty:

THEY'RE FUCKING SINGING!!?

((Small note: this was my first time doing a song rewrite so if it's messy that's why lmao))

[lexi-the-demon-69]

https://www.tumblr.com/lexi-the-demon-69/755903674133446656/i-made-a-character-ai-bot-for-projection-dark?source=share

Ngl I tried this bot and it turned into a version of y/n x projection dark choco so fast and now it got me wondering...idk if you do hca or not but just something to do a funny brainstorm of since I daydreamed about it...what would a y/n x this dark choco be like? Like if dark choco and/or (preferably and) the projection fell for y/n? Sorry for thought out of nowhere but wanted to ask incase the creator of this amazing character and this amazing bot themselves had any ideas...unfiltered ideas that aren't controlled by an ai lmao! If ya don't do hcs, that's OK! I just wanted to spark up a fun thought lmao!

That is a great question in all honesty. To be frank, I honestly never thought of Projection Dark Choco x Y/N headcanons before, since I mainly focus on his character and lore. I've always considered Projection Choco Aroace or at least on the Ace spectrum like Dark Choco (Dark Choco is canonically ace in this AU), but this looks like a fun challenge!

Here are some that I could come up with:

-Projection Choco never really cared much about romance since his existence is nothing but spreading pain and misery to others (*cough cough* Dark Choco-) and always saw it as just a form of weakness and "disgusting" in his own words... but that all changed when he met y/n.

-A MAJOR flirt. Projection always sees flirting as a game of establishing dominance over another, like threatening someone but socially acceptable. He loves seeing others cower before him in fear, but seeing y/n redder than his cuffed wrists just makes his heart sing.

-Even though he is a major flirt... that doesn't mean he can handle what he dished out. Pin this spirit to a wall and that will be MORE than enough to rile him up!

-A big tease! He loves teasing y/n whenever he's bored or when Dark Choco refuses to acknowledge his existence.

-This spirit is 100% touch-starved and does not know how to handle physical affection. So, whenever he gets a hug or a smooch on the cheek, that'll make his face go red and he'll be left absolutely dumbfounded that someone dared to show him affection.... he does like it tho.

-Poor guy has a shit ton of problems since, well, y'know: a literal incarnation/reflection of Dark Choco's trauma and stuff? Not to mention that he's been left alone for YEARS until Dark Choco picked up the sword, so my guy needs some love. That doesn't mean he'll stop bullying Dark Choco tho...

-Call him an it and he will get very offended and will get grumpy until y/n apologizes. He thinks people calling him an "it" is EXTREMELY offensive and rude. So what if he's a spirit who psychologically torments his other half because he wants to get revenge against Dark Cacao? That doesn't mean you get to call him an "it"! You big meanie!-

-----

And there you go! This was pretty fun to do! If you guys want me to make more of these headcanons then let me know! (Helps keep you guys occupied while I work on the next comic page lol)

[yourbustedkneecaps]

here’s another piece of shit for your entertainment (ft: my favorite dickwad) and no i don’t go through these for formatting, that’s ao3 exclusive lmao

*do not repost*

fuck, i’m lonely

After being thrown through the portal with the kids, Philip (now a partial amnesiac) has to navigate his new life in the Human Realm. With his arm severely hurt and his memories a mess, he tries his best.

In return for not causing trouble upon coming back, God gives him a gift.

Thick red coiled around his arm as it bubbled from the fresh wound, tracing tears down to his elbow. His hand was caught on something above him, and if it weren’t for the fact his head was rolling and mind drowning, he would’ve looked up to fix the problem. Instead, he slumped, twitching so often as his nerves insisted he was still very much alive.

He gasped hotly, breath fogging in front of him. That… probably wasn’t natural, given the current warm season. His chest shuddered with every unmeasured intake and expel of air. He wondered why his brain was telling him he was dying when this was mediocre compared to everything else his 400 years of life had offered.

Someone threw themselves at him, knees crashing next to his own as they grabbed his face and patted his cheek, trying to wake him up. He grunted, failing to brace his head against the wall and hear their words.

Another pair of hands and another body and another— People who wouldn’t leave him alone no matter what noise he tried to make to get them to stop crowding him. He couldn’t tell if it was spittle or blood making it’s way down his chin, but part of him couldn’t really care.

He fell forward, into their arms, and listed to the side. He thought he heard a scream.

———

The children didn’t look so good. After being thrown through the portal door and a few nights of rest, they were finally beginning to fall into a routine of sorts when someone decided to show their face.

Philip was slammed roughly through a quickly collapsing portal of his own, going backwards into the house instead of out the door. The children rushed to see what was happening at the forests edge, stupefied at the flash of a a gone portal and the strangled cry from inside the house. They almost didn’t help him.

That said, Mrs Noceda was called and pulled out of work immediately, and the man’s wounds were cared for.

Watching him wake up was almost comical.

He was out for over a day, comatose on the couch until further notice and guarded by——at the very least——one child and two palismen at a time. Accessories and layers thrown aside, and his boots at the door, he was thoroughly patched up and set aside. So, head pinned to his pillow with nails, limbs to the couch, and right arm sling across his stomach in nothing but ointment swaddled in bandages, Philip woke up feeling like God himself sentenced him to death.

A cat, a bee the size of a tiny dog, and a very angry looking teen girl stared him down as he blinked crust from his eyes and turned his head from looking at the ceiling. His neck felt like a bucket of partially dried paint, still sticky on the wall it was put on. The girl——purple hair, fair skin, and a glare that would cower most others her age——raised an eyebrow, arms tightening in their folded state.

Philip blinked once, scrunched his face in throbbing pain, and tried to say something. The initial “Hello?” drowned in his chalky, closed throat, and died on his tongue as a garbled choke.

She didn’t look pleased.

“Keep an eye on him while I em get the others,” she murmured to the animals, turning on her heel and stalking out of his sight.

Others? Where on God’s green earth was he?

She came back quite quickly with two others, a reptile, and a bird. They, too, stood tall and intimidating over him.

“We don’t want any funny business from you, Belos,” the bespectacled girl spoke first. “You’re lucky we were willing to patch you up, but don’t expect anything more hospitable than that.”

His face betrayed his beating heart, stopping and squeezing at the name. He opened his mouth, coughed and cleared his throat, then spoke. “Who the hell…?” He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut with a sharp breath. “Who are you children?”

They shifted, the shortest of them locking eyes with the purple haired girl.

“No games, Belos!” Spectacles snapped. “Stay down, and stay away from Hunter and Vee, or else. Don’t move from the couch until Mrs Noceda gets back. We’ll be watching you.” She glanced at her companions and nodded.

Purple Hair nodded back. “I’ll take first watch until Luz gets back.”

The short one held up a dark hand. “I’ll call Mrs Noceda!” He ran off.

With that settled (whatever it was) they split alongside their animals to do whatever it was they offered to. Purple Hair and her cat stayed, alongside the bee. The cardinal, and reptile left with the other two.

Philip clenched his left hand, breathing steady and gazing back up at the ceiling. Whatever was going on, he was in no way able to deal with it yet. Not until he could think straight and sit up to speak. For now, his best course of action, apart from keeping himself from breaking down into an anxious episode, was to rest and listen for anything valuable. Anything that could help him understand the situation better.

For now, he relaxed into the cushions, counting his inhales and exhales, falling asleep. He didn’t catch the lights flicking off or the curious expression on the girl’s face as she watched him struggle to calm, but that wasn’t pertinent…

———

He coughed himself awake, choking through a gasp as he jolted forward and collapsed back.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would wake up!”

He winced, finding a woman kneeling next to him, cleaning his cut arm. Round stature with an intense stare, she smiled, softening her eyes, and Philip shuddered back into the cushions.

“I’m just re-bandaging your arm so it doesn’t get infected,” she explained. She set aside the papery washcloth for a roll of fresh bandages and began to wrap his wound.

It… It wasn’t good.

From wrist to mid-forearm there was pink, torn flesh stitched up with clear, red crusted string. Dark blue and green bruises trailed from palm to elbow, like clotting sludge. His fingers shook and for but a second he couldn’t breathe.

A hand touched his elbow.

He looked up.

The woman——Mrs Noceda, he remembered——searched his face, waiting before taking the back of his hand. She lead his arm back to her, bandage left on the floor. “It will be okay, Belos. You will heal.”

He was sure he heard her, but after that he couldn’t quite focus. He stared listlessly as she wrapped his arm, tucking in the cloth her and there, and cleaned up quietly.

“I’ll be right back with some pain medication, alright?” She said over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back…”

What was he doing? What was happening? The last thing he really remembered— The most recent thing he remembered outside of his stay in this house was being thrown aside and… getting a concussion, probably. He pushed himself up from his half-laying position across the entire couch into something more presentable.

As promised, Mrs Noceda entered with a cup and a handful of pills. “You’ve been out for a while, so I’m sure you’re hungry,” she said, handing over the drink——a cup of milk——and the pills. “Drink this and swallow these. It’s for the pain. Would you… Can I get you anything to eat?”

He stared at the pills, then slowly came back to and looked at her. “I… No, thank you. Perhaps later when I am…”

“More awake?” She supplied.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Eventually the throbbing, piercing of his arm died down, and he fell back asleep without knowing. The sun had long since set when he was roused to lay down for the remainder of the evening, and he couldn’t help but think he’d possibly, maybe, be okay.

———

They settled into an awkward, strained routine. Philip would wake up, clean his bedding from the couch, and take a moment in the bathroom before most others awoke themselves. While he made himself food (often leftovers from nights prior) the other residents would be roused and go from bathroom to bedroom to kitchen, giving him time to finish eating alone and find something to do.

Perhaps read a book, or experiment with the new technology around this almost futuristic house, or maybe even do some daily chores. Whatever it was he did, he made sure to keep away from the children as they wandered the house or left and returned to the property.

Lunch was often the same way, where he’d either eat before or after them, waiting for their group to disperse before he made himself a small something to ingest alone. It was only dinners that were different. Mrs Noceda always had something homemade when she could (though with extra people in the house she had to take some extra working hours to provide) and made sure everyone got a seat at the table. The first time this had happened, it was at the request of Hunter and Vee.

Philip——after a few weeks of regaining some personal memories back——was in no mood to strain the already tense relationships around the house with his presence. Especially not over what should be the most relaxing times a family should have together. He was already struggling by himself, stressed out of his mind trying to figure out who he was prior to his fuzzy amnesia and constantly stepping on eggshells around the children who obviously didn’t like him, so why would he consent to sitting at the same table with the kids who wanted him killed? Not to mention his lack of self defense and the roiling, angry spirits beneath his skin. He’d rather eat his fill outside and sleep in the mud, thank you.

Mrs Noceda was having none of that, though.

It had been decided he was much more harmless than before, and it could be a good way to grill him for villainous intentions or nefarious plans. An easy way to keep tabs on him and remind him of who was in charge in the house.

Definitely not him, by any margin.

He soon relented, assisting Mrs Noceda and her charges in setting the table or preparing the food, keeping out of the way of those cooking. He wasn’t allowed to make meals for anyone but himself, though he could clean dishes or hand out tools, he found.

“You need to eat more,” Mrs Noceda told him one evening, filling his plate. His right arm was still out of commission, though beginning to heal. “You look like you could fall over at any moment!”

“Mama!” Luz, the strange, excitable young human of the group, complained. She was vehemently against Philip regaining any strength beyond what he needed to heal his wounds.

Mrs Noceda ignored her.

“I assure you I’m fine, ma’am,” Philip tried, holding up a placating hand. “It’s enough you’ve let me stay in your home, you needn’t—“

“I am aware of what I am doing for you,” she said, putting down the serving bowl. “You eat what you can and we will put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow. Do you need a drink?” She was up grabbing his cup in an instant.

“I’m— Thank you…” He gave up, accepting her help and dropping the matter. She wasn’t going to stop, it seemed, and he was too tired to argue. He’d eat, clean up, and leave for bed. He just had to show a little face first.

———

Mrs Noceda have him money to buy clothes and necessities. He was… not particularly looking forward to leaving the house. The children offered to take him on a weekend, during which she would be working a little overtime to get some extra cash to cushion their new needs in a very full house.

As of recent, Philip had been given a small box of clothes from who knows where to use until he could get some of his own. They were on the older side and smelt a little musty, like they hadn’t been worn in a few years, let alone washed, but he didn’t mind. He had been living off the land most of his life, anyway. What was a little discomfort now compared to the blurry, painful past he could only recall in his deepest dreams?

The day out was far from exhilarating, but the kids made sure to keep everything interesting. They dragged him to a department store or two, looking for base clothes, toiletries, and small accessories. Philip changed into something more modern looking and much easier to move in, before they left the department store. After that they stopped by a shop for a quick early lunch before heading to a place called “The Mall”. It was a very large place compared to the neighborhood where the Noceda house was, and much more active as well. It was reminiscent of… a workplace he used to frequent. Before he came home from the place. The realm under this one, whatever it was called.

He didn’t dislike it. Instead it was strangely nice to blend in with the crowd, milling from place to place as nothing but another person— Another stranger none needed to care for.

Willow, the ridiculously strong girl with glasses, offered to cut his hair back at the house——“Just a trim! Y’know, since the ends have grown out a bit.”——but he refused. They group shoved him into a salon, taking his bags away and speaking with one of the hairdressers without him able to intervene. Payback, he supposed.

The feminine hairdresser was very cheerful and over-talkative, prattling on about their social life and family and their newest romance and a one night stand they wished would come back (he didn’t ask about that last one) as they prepared his hair. Brushed, washed, and brushed again, they moved him from stool to sink and brought out their tools.

“Just a trim, right? Unless—! I’ve been wanting to try this new haircut and I think it would look great on you! Like, your face shape—” They moved his hair this way and that, scrunching and pulling and parting here and there to show him the new look without actually doing anything. It was apparently a trend with the younger generation and those very interested in cosmetics to get one’s hair styled that way.

“Just a trim, please,” Philip said as cordially as possible. He was trying to keep himself from falling into rude behaviors, but they were pretty persistent.

“Are you sure? I mean, your hair has very split ends and it’s cut unevenly…” They said, lifting and gesturing to locks of his hair. “I’m sure I could try and blend it, but I’m going to have to take off a couple inches to get rid of the yucky ends, y’know?”

He did not, in fact, know.

His eyebrow twitched dangerously. “Just cut it, please! Do whatever it is you have to go make it look…” He waved his hand. “Better!”

They stiffened, then relaxed, snatching up a comb and some scissors. “If you say so,” they shrugged.

They put up his hair in clips and some hair, the pulled some down and put the rest up and did it again and again, until they were framing his face and tilting his head to get the best look they could. As soon as they were done he thanked them and left to join the kids, Luz at the front and already paying.

Hunter moved up beside him, chatting with the dark skinned, small one. Gus, was it? His hair was trimmed as well, though much shorter than it was when Philip first saw him in the household. He bumped his shoulder, startled, and shrank away. “S—sorry…”

Philip rolled his shoulders, watching him out through his peripheral. “It’s fine. Your hair… it looks good.”

The child’s face scrunched, confused.

Philip walked out of the store, trailing Luz and Amity as they held hands, talking softly.

———

By the time they started to head home, Philip was done. The kids dragged him around the mall, curiously causing havoc wherever they went as they explored the building together, each a handful in their own right. He had to admit, he shared some of the same wondrous sentiment they did in this new, strange realm, but he was also an adult. And, unfortunately, that meant acting like one.

He wrangled them like a shepherd with cats, keeping them in eyesight and earshot as they wandered here and there, pulling each other around. He called them back to the food court for snacks when a duo wouldn’t stop walking, and kept his bags in check as he did so. Nothing was stolen, no one was hurt, and everyone was soon ready to leave.

Luz took them to a cafe in the town square before they went home, introducing them all to the wonders of hot and cold caffeinated drinks, pastries both sweet and savory, and the magic of people watching while they ate outside. It was very… domestic. Quite nice, even, if he disregarded the awkward situation that was ordering at the desk.

Who he could only assume was a waiter (though Luz explained they don’t have any here) came over with two cardboard drink holders with everyone’s beverages. They all already had their pastries, and were currently sitting at two tables, chatting up a storm. Philip helped the worker set down and hand out the drinks.

“We don’t normally have staff waiting customers,” they explained, passing Gus his drink. “But it’s almost closing time and you looked like you needed a little help.” They smiled and winked at Philip, setting his cup in front of him.

“Oh. Thank you,” he said. A bit taken aback at the obvious calm kindness they gave, he gently took his beverage, unsure of what else to do. It warmed his hand quickly, and he wondered why they made the drinks so hot in the first place.

They grinned, ready to step away. “If it’s alright, may I have your number?”

“My what…?” Philip asked. “My—my address?”

They blinked stupidly. “Oh, yeah sure.” Their facade melted into something joking but sweet. “Do you not have a phone?”

“Uhm… no. I’m afraid I don’t.” Oh, by the Holy Spirit, what was he doing? Why weren’t they going back inside?

They hummed, taking out a napkin and pen from their apron. “I’ve never had a pen pal before…!”

The glee in which they managed to put into that single sentence had him forgetting all past thoughts, grabbing the pen and napkin, trying desperately to remember the address of Luz’s home. It was Gus who saved him from looking like a fool.

“I remember our address! Here, let me help you write it!” He jumped up, holding on hand on the napkin to keep it from moving and began to recite it. Part way through, however, Willow hopped in to correct a mistake.

“Perfect,” the worker smiled as the two beamed back, proud. They took the proffered tools back with a look of curious pride at Philip. “Looks like you have some keepers here, hm?” They joked.

Philip, stupid with the feeling of speaking to another adult human, and such a kind one at that, barely registered their words. “Yes, they are…”

They smirked and walked backward, waving. “I’ll write you!”

Philip waved back. One glance up, and he raised an eyebrow at the sniggering children. “What?”

“Nothing,” they harmonized.

[kritischetheologie]

director’s commentary of any part you’d like of sing myself a lullaby, please!! and enjoy your holidays!

I let this linger in my askbox waiting for the muse and the muse put this gifset on my dash.

March 2016, Australia

There’s never been a better way to start a season than a win in Australia [A callback to the 2014 season opener, which was a good race for Nico and a terrible night for brocedes. The longer the Silver War goes on, the more Nico's focus ends up entirely on racing.]. Nico doesn’t let it get to him [a statement that is always false by nature of having been said, up there with "doesn't let himself think about" on the top Lies To Tell Yourself of all time.] that when Lewis and Sebastian mock him before the podium ceremony, Sebastian miming throwing his Pirelli cap at Lewis and Lewis cowering in simulated fear [I could never get this sentence right and apparently edited it so many damn times it ended up un-grammatical. fuck, lmao. anyway I think the problem here was that I was trying to do justice to one of the sewis moments of all time from Nico's pov which was just HARD. one of the weaknesses of this story overall, I think, is the frequency with which things happen Because They Really Happened And Are Iconic rather than Because It Makes Sense in Plot and Character in This Moment. If I ever do a serious re-write of the fic, those fandom darlings are the first against the wall.] Let them play their stupid alpha games. He’s the one on the top step today, and as they play the German national hymn [usually I don't fuck around much with language in people's interior monologue-- they're thinking in a language they're fluent in, you know?-- but I consistently used the false cognate "national hymn" instead of "national anthem" in nico's interior narration as a way of gesturing towards the fact that he's thinking in German that won't be particularly alienating to english-language readers.] in his honor, he vows that this time, he won’t let the season slip away from him.

Sky Sports has Mark Webber doing the podium interviews, and half of Sebastian’s champagne bottle ends up getting dumped over his head, the older alpha throwing back his head like a happy dog [:pleading_face:] and soaking it in as he lets Seb ruin a perfectly nice suit. [Nico is such a little bitch, but there's also a whole thing here of resenting people who are happier than you, etc.]

It’s the type of shit Sebastian would never be able to get away with if he weren’t an alpha [this is one of those moments where Nico's bitterness about sexism blinds him to the difficulties of homophobia, basically. he's frustrated about the way he can't avoid being seen as a sex object--by jenson, by michael, maybe even by lewis, he worries-- but the reason seb is able to flirt without getting caught is because of how stigmatized an alpha4alpha relationship is, especially in the motorsport. nico learning that seb doesn't have it easier, just differently hard, is one of his most important growth arcs in this fic.], but he is, so Nico is sure the captions on the photos will talk about former teammates reunited and fences mended instead of third place finisher desperate to get railed tonight. [nico's own internalized omegaphobia looping back around to manifest as shaming seb for wanting to get fucked, etc. anyway don't quote me on this but i'm pretty sure I... never actually answered the question of "who tops in the martian relationship"... ANYWAY]

(Then again, if Mark’s sheepish smile is anything to go by, desperate to get can be bumped up to definitely getting.) [I didn't flesh out too much of the specific timeline of the Martian relationship, which is literally why I am writing this director's commentary. the last we heard from martian, in this timeline, Hanna was pregnant again and Mark wasn't speaking to Seb. This is a silly, cheery podium, but also an extremely pivotal moment in their relationship. it's not smooth sailing from here-- seb is still going to get married in 2019-- but it's a rekindling that marks the end of mark trying to put space between himself and seb. not to put on my Analyzing Body Language hat here but since I literally wrote and described the body language I get to do it... mark's entire body language here is one giant submission gesture. he's giving up fighting against his connection to seb, even if it hurts (seb is seriously partnered! seb has children! etc). from now on, mark is all-in, in whatever way seb will have him, which we see in the last chapter when he even goes to seb and hanna's wedding. and that utterly devoted self-sacrifice, that willingness to be anything and everything that seb will let him be, no matter how much it hurts, is the biggest difference between mark and hanna, who we meet secondhand in the moment she has finally made the great ultimatum and forced seb to choose.]

But Nico won today, so he answers Mark’s questions cheerfully, and Lewis answers them dourly, before it’s Sebastian’s turn with the microphone.

Nico tries to recall the last time he saw them interact. He knows that Seb’s wife had another kid a few months back—Jenson had been right about that, like he always is about paddock gossip [Jenson literally just exists to deliver exposition in the sleaziest way possible]—but that doesn’t seem to have put a damper on Seb’s feelings for Mark. His face is lit up with the widest smile Nico has ever seen, cow-eyed like an omega in heat as he flirts, [again, the Who Tops question is way over Nico's head. see what I said above about Mark's body language. anyway the language used here is very nico's internalized-omegaphobia-to-homophobia pipeline strikes again etc.] inviting Mark to drink more of his champagne and bringing up some stupid inside joke that’s only barely not an innuendo. [sebastian vettel voice: when YOU get drunk you start singing summer of SIXty-NINE]

Nico just smiles. Sebastian can have his fun. Nico has the rest of the season ahead of him, has carried over his winning streak from the end of last season [extremely ham-fisted exposition but let's just all take a moment to appreciate the seven-race win streak Nico Rosberg went on between the end of 2015 and the beginning of 2016], and doesn’t need to get knotted to feel like he’s celebrating. [again: not to keep beating this drum, but Nico is so drenched in self-loathing, has convinced himself that his being an omega is the problem, is abusing his heat suppressants... he's doing everything he can to neutralize that side of himself.] There’s no one’s shoes he’d rather be in than his own. [he said, lying to himself like a lying liar who lies.]

[prismatic-cannon]

wrt the p5 vball au (!!!!!) i'm pretty sure yusuke is canonically Very Bad at the sports (see beach episode, his absolute terrible performance in beach vball) but he is so tall and lanky... so stronk... but i cannot see him being particularly "athletic" and coordinated in that way (part of that is just me projecting my lack of coordination on him lmao.) granted he does have high agility plus the "scoundrel eyes," in royal, but i just don't see him actually... having that sort of hand-eye to hit ball and not whiff. of the kosei boys though... knowing its artsy reputation, i don't know if anyone has that lmao... though also with him being that tall, maybe he gets saddled with middle? but also. 180cm is still, like, libero height for a lot of teams lol

they do make the joke that mako too stronk for the boys a lot (again, see beach episode) but i think she'd probably follow her combat abilities and be really well rounded in both offence and defence. haru is really nimble and bendy, and probably has a great swing (axe) but idk if she has the height/hops for the net. akechi and joker being the setters... makes so much sense oh dear it's almost upsetting. though imagine them on the same team.... akechi would probably also make a great opposite (lefty, good power) as would joker (literally perfect) and we know they're both fairly athletic, which makes me think... 6-2? maybe they hit... and set....? i think you made mishmash a libero which makes a lot of sense?. i hc him as being faster and better than ppl give him credit for, despite him being the lamest canonically. (ilu mishima) and ryuji thinks this vball bullshit is lame af dude

this is a wall and tl;dr i think vb au is so good !!! i want to chew on it thank you sorry for too many words ;-;

damn anon you had some thoughts 😂 (gonna put this under a cut so i don't flood anyone's dash)

Tbh I totally forgot that there was a beach volleyball scene in Hawaii until you reminded me omg. The way Makoto spikes it hard into the sand ... a murderer 😂 But yes she's easily captain-material for sure, especially since she's already student council president and everything

I think people would underestimate Haru at first, but you could definitely give her an edge up on something e.g. one of those scary killer serves. Bottom line is that Haru should have her sweet murderous moment where she's bouncing delicately on her heels all \o/ \o/ \o/ oh my I hope you're ready — because I won't hold back!! 💕 while the opposing team cowers in fear or something lol. I love my wife can you tell

Middle blocker is totally viable for Yusuke too I think!! He's a tall guy, so he could definitely do stuff if he puts the work in. If this was based on canonverse then yeah I could see him whiffing the ball from time to time. I’m sure the hand/body coordination for handling a sword vs doing da sports ball is different lol. My reason for making him ace was so that he could be a temperamental but formidable ace, and place him as one of the key players for Kosei so that the Shujin team could have rivals to go up against ya know? I just think the idea of seeing Yusuke's murder eyes as he blasts a spike through a block is just. (chef's kiss) sublime shit. It would be an honour to die by his hand (also is 180cm really normal libero height?? All my volleyball knowledge is gleaned from HQ so I’m probably missing something lmao)

Also I see your point about making Akechi and Joker on the same team, but considering that it’s these two dudes we’re talking about I feel like we have to double down on their whole rival dynamic, it would be a crime not to imo (and this is coming from someone who hates shu/ake and Akechi lol). The setter mind games they could have with each other is too good — like if you have Akechi be his superficially genial and amiable self while Joker actively goes out of his way to antagonise him just to peel back that fake veneer of charm and throw him off his game??? Delish

😭 Mishima my beloved ... I think I mentioned this already but I really like the idea of him being a libero since it's a near 1:1 parallel to his role in canon (no spike, only support!!!!) I HC that his low-to-zero presence lowkey serves him well on court, in the sense that he's a solid defense player that quietly keeps chugging along and making sure the ball stays up while everyone else focuses on offense. He's a silly little NPC that keeps his head down and stays in his lane ... 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 Ofc sometimes the opposing team is going to target him to try and break through their defense, but once he gets into his zone it's hard to shake him off his groove imo. If you're telling me Mishima can hyperfixate this hard on his dumb little website then at least some of that focus is going to bleed into his vball game headspace (wow I didn’t go off on a shu/yuu tangent. it’s a miracle, let’s keep it that way)

Anyway thank you for your volleyball thoughts!! It’s always fun to think about it even though it’s too much effort to actualise it lmao

[brick-a-doodle-do]

FOR THE FAKE FIC TITLES GAME!!!!!!

(Been dying to do one of these :3)

Together Alone, yet it’s you and I

Hold me close, but not too tight

In the deepest dark, you found me there

The monster within

Draining on my soul

Forever to not be alone

The whispers in your mind

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO DO THEM ALL BRICK KIST BRAIN GO BRRRRRRRR

Thanksssss have a lollipop 🍭

THANK YOU FOR THESE !!! MUCH APPRECIATED <''3

together alone, yet it's you and i

(g!wilbur and t!tommy being cold to each other >>) wilbur and tommy never got along. never. they hate each other. so, when techno and phil go off for some fucking bonding trip, they have nothing to do with each other. tommy sticks to his room most of the time, and wilbur basically claimed every single room other than his. so tommy is fucking starving, bored, and terribly irritated. so, to solve problem number one, he resorts to some good-old-fashioned borrowing. he thought it'd be easy, because, c'mon, how hard can it be? but he struggles. he lacks the strength and finds himself falling quite a bit. wilbur walks in on him attempting to open the cabinet, but watching him try over and over again is more satisfying than giving his brother food. but soon, wilbur realizes that without a shorter person--like phil and sometimes techno--he can't reach things. maybe he's too tall to shuffle into a comfortable position to retrieve things up against the wall, or too weak and clumsy to move the furniture out of the way. he can't reach in the couch to get things (that's just in general lmao). and he hates to admit it, but wilbur needs tommy's help. tommy also hates to admit that he needs wilbur's help.

hold me close, but not too tight

(gonna use this for my foster!wilbur au >:D) wilbur had been staying outside of phil’s house for quite some time now, and has become used to him. but tommy and techno he hasn’t connected with quite yet. techno doesn’t reach out to him and tommy seems to be constantly pissed at him. so he keeps to himself and tries to ignore the burning feeling of guilt. until one day, one night rather, he catches onto the gasp of tommy and can’t help but subtly watch the boy cower in his bed like there’s something out to get him. and he tries not to, he really does, but he ends up gently knocking on tommy’s bedroom window, just to see if he’s able to help in any way. tommy at first tells him to fuck off and tries to make it look like he wasn’t actively crying and clearly frightened. but when wilbur asks again, tommy caves. they end the night with tommy curled up reluctantly in wilbur’s hands, where wilbur is holding tommy close to his chest---close enough to provide physical comfort to tommy and far enough to provide mental comfort to both of them.

in the deepest dark, you found me here

(twinsduotwinsduotwinsduotwin-) wilbur was an idiot to think he could actually survive this far down in the ocean. he wasn't really planning on sinking and getting tangled in a rope on his ship, but when it did happen, he also got tangled in the false hope that he could find his way out of the material and make it to the surface before he passed out. it, honestly, has not been that long. five, maybe ten minutes. he's losing his breath, and his ship is caught right on the edge of an underwater cliff. he's painfully aware of this, but tries not to think about it and makes sure to focus on holding his breath. but there's a certain pressure in his lungs and all around his body that makes it incredibly difficult to stay conscious. and of course, right as he passes out, a mer just has to discover him. techno's initial thought is to leave him there--who knows how long he's been down there, he could very much be dead. but something tells him to help. so, fumbling with the net the human is caught on, he finally gets him out. and brings him back up to the surface. a terrible place for him but the only place for a human. after a small search he finds a rock peaking out and sets the human down.

the monster within

(beeduo? hah more like deadduo /hj) tubbo’s known ranboo for quite some time, and while he can say that his rather frightening appearance had first made him cower, he’s never really got why ranboo occasionally apologizes for being a “monster” whenever he does the slightest thing “wrong”. and a part of him wants to investigate, but then again, maybe it’d be best to simply let it go. and he does, but when he comes to their usual spot (a long ravine that they’d built to be somewhat of a base, just outside of tubbo’s village), and sees ranboo with glowing purple eyes and significantly (seriously, he’s now a good fifteen, twenty feet at this point...) taller, he has to try and battle his fear so he can reassure ranboo and try to get him out of...whatever this was

draining my soul

wilbur works at a facility where they test on differently sized beings, including but not limited to tinies, giants, mini-giants, even sizeshifters. they study and test them all. one day, wilbur is asked to observe a series of tests that they’re conducting on a sizeshifter--tommy. usually he tries to stay away from the testing rooms because mentally, sometimes he can’t handle it. and he was right. watching with wide eyes as they test on the blond continuously without room to breath, wilbur realizes that this is not normal and he needs to help this boy. he watches until the end of “day one”, and by the time they’re done, tommy had shrunk to the size of a hand purely from the torture these people put him through. every day, wilbur is asked to supervise and watch over tommy. and every time he ends on a different size. sometimes he’s very small, almost unseeable, and other days he’s uncomfortably large. and over time, wilbur finds himself more and more guilty over the fact that he’s letting this happen, until he finally breaks and makes sure that he keeps tommy from any more danger.

forever to not be alone

(emerald duo, i don’t write them often but this just fits) techno has become recently aware of the fact that he’s immortal after a close brush with death that involved him falling from a branch and he landed almost perfectly in-tact despite a possibly broken leg. phil has known for quite some time that he’s immortal, and has lived through countless timelines. so when he finds a tiny pink-haired man limping around the forest without feeling an ounce of pain, phil gets suspicious and helps him just to get closer. long story short, phil and techno are immortal buddies and phil is teaching tech all he needs to know about immortality :)

the whispers in your mind

(hidden borrowers>>) techno’s used to voices in his mind---not necessarily his own voice but rather a mix of various random voices he’s probably heard in his life. a new voice appears, and techno unintentionally somehow befriends said “voice”, only to discover a while later that this was in fact not in his head and the voice belonged to a borrower (insert dsmp character im too lazy to think of. wilbur prob,,) who thought they’d been making friends with the human and had just now summoned enough courage to reveal themself. 

[tugoslovenka]

Warding Bond - Chapter 6

Agony

A/N:

I did have a lot of fun writing this one purely because my own headcanon of Mephistopheles is Kratos with magical powers lmao. Yes, I got the hots for my own headcanon. Good stuff.

Also posting on AO3!

Althea’s hand fell to her side and she bent over slightly, cautious not to disturb the altar of Cazador as she moved past. Astarion’s stare followed, though it was no longer that of a hunter. Puzzled, she kept a safe distance, though the vampire made no attempt to attack her. He appeared defeated. Exhausted, even.

“Are you really going to drag this out?” he asked, and in spite of his apprehension, the gruff in his voice made obvious its attempt to assert some form of control, however minor.

“What?”

Brow furrowing, she reached through the laces of her belt, grabbing hold of the dagger that lay in wait. Scraping against the metal embroideries prompted Astarion’s ears to perk up. The silver tip, dipped in the rivers of the Hells and enchanted by Mephistopheles himself, found its balance underneath the vampire’s chin.

Once again, he did not move.

This was a moment she had fantasized about for years. The same elf who wrought upon her suffering unfit for the greatest evils in any of the Realms, now knelt at her feet, cowering in failure.

“Why do you not fight?”

“Because I choose to no longer.”

“Why?”

“Are you daft and proud?” he scoffed, slightly rearing his head and hissing when the point of magical silver sliced at the delicate skin of his throat.

Althea took a step to the side, allowing the vampire view of his former, rotting master.

“The ritual should have destroyed him.” She twisted the dagger, its edge now pressed against his chin. “Yet his body is wilting.”

“How observant. Next you’re going to tell me I fucked it up.”

It was true, then. The Rite of Profane Ascension was not completed, not in full. Subtle creasing on her forehead showed her confusion turning into realization, something he immediately caught wind of.

“You can’t be serious.” He burst out in laughter. A maniacal laughter, comically loud, and long. Her attention was drawn to a drop of blood that slowly leaked from the tiny puncture in his throat, disappearing in the collar of his shirt. Althea licked her lips at the sight. Her stomach growled again, though this time it was the vampire who heard it—and stopped his howling.

Sensing the opportunity to do before he mocked, she kneeled, pushing him into the wall with the blade still at his neck.

“Speak,” she ordered, clenching her teeth in her best attempt to mimic intimidation.

To this, Astarion only tittered.

“I don’t fancy jests any more than you do. Speak!” she repeated.

“What kind of assassin doesn’t know the details of the job they’ve agreed to?” he sneered, relaxing his body in a display of defeat. His hands slid down onto his thighs, palms up. The creases around his mouth were more pronounced from this distance, as was the smell of blood that lodged itself in her nostrils.

The control she had was lessening—starting with her grip. Signs of bloodlust typically progressed from shaking limbs, the inability to clearly think, followed by a complete and utter loss of control unless the hunger was satiated. She quietly cursed her weak-willed nature, something she could never outgrow. It would have been a splendid affair, gutting the lordling in front of his lord.

“This theater performance is as bad as it is irritating,” he exhaled. “Your employer should know that—would have known it.”

Althea would have had time to think, were it not for the itch in her teeth, which threatened her concentration on the cantrip that kept up the ruse. She smacked her lips again, struggling to tear her eyes from the continual dripping of the vigor that called to her—demanded her—to drink. Drink. Feed. Sustain.

“I work alone,” she snarled, willing every muscle in her body to yield. Never did it occur to her to test her spellcasting on her own mind, yet she was now debating whether to Command herself into obedience.

The answer seemed to surprise him. He cocked an eyebrow, scanning her face for deceit.

“Then why is it you are so fascinated in my affairs? Surely a capable woman like yourself has better things to do than deal with an old vampire whose power has been waning for decades,” he mused. “If you’re not interested in gaining any authority in the Council, why are you risking life and limb?”

“Because you—” A sharp burst of pain interrupted her. A throbbing had begun in the fangs she illuded into human canines. “—Because you have fucked me beyond repair, Astarion.”

“Oh?” he grinned. “I’m not surprised. Tales of my lovemaking are far reaching. Although, I would remember a pretty thing like you. You don’t look ancient, unless you’re one of those wretched hags in disguise, in which case I protest this in thorough fashion and—”

“—I am the missing soul.”

Cania was not what Vara envisioned. Raphael told her about his father’s frozen empire, mostly through disappointed grunts. And though she was never allowed to see it for herself, the mirrors inside the devil’s teleportation chamber offered a glimpse into whatever Plane they led to. Sometimes, and only if she had been very good, she was allowed to push her hand through and sense worlds that mystified her, albeit only for a moment.

Raphael would not allow her to think for too long, after all.

He had told her it was a dump, a barren land filled with his father’s intimidating stare, anthropomorphizing the very land. Most of the creatures were therefore cruel, unwilling to enjoy life’s pleasures and—most importantly—were utterly dull.

Varra didn’t have expectations, she couldn’t have any, really. Yet even so, she was astonished at the icicle-like candles bathed in a blue light that hung from chandeliers in a palace carved from glaciers. Strangely enough, she didn’t slip on the smooth mass beneath her feet. Mephistopheles levitated through the halls , not once bothering to turn around, trusting his son’s little lamb would follow.

She did, loyally so.

There were no decorations where they walked. No furniture to match the color palette of the home like Raphael told her was proper, no servants to mindlessly trail behind. Two horned creatures, tall, with craggy, ice-like spikes adorning their backs, stood at attention. Had it not been for their blinking, she would have mistaken them for parts of the wall. They exchanged a few words in Infernal, before the Lord of the Eighth conjured a portal out of thin air. He ushered Varra inside before gliding through himself.

The immediate difference in temperature was striking, though she noted the chilly air indicated autumn. Somehow she knew this meant winter would come, which also meant hunting season was already underway. She stood in the center of an open patch of land, surrounded by woods with little to no light, save for a crackling closeby—a rabbit roasting over a campfire.

“Varra!” 

A hoarse, masculine voice called to her. She turned to see a man, a darker skin tone than hers, with jade green eyes, happily hastening his way to her. Only, he didn’t halt when he reached her. He stopped once he reached the campfire, where she spotted a woman appear from the shadows like a ghost, returning his smile.

Varra studied this woman with great attention and curiosity. The distance was too far for her to be certain, but she did appear her height, though with more muscle than she recognized. Her hair was shorter, shaved down on one side to reveal a tattoo—a tree branch, beginning at the nape of her neck and continuing up her temple. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Madevik.” She met him with a friendly hug. “Any luck?”

“Yes! A herd of migrating elk, with at least a hundred in numbers. The others are waiting, we have to catch them before the direwolves do.”

The woman—‘Varra’—nodded, spitting on her fingers and making a fist before flicking her fingers three times at the flames. “May Bhalla bless us, then.”

A flash of color. A woman, the Earthmother. She remembered. Shiny white hair that gathered neatly in a braid, wrapped around her head like escargot pastries in the Lower City. A deity. Her deity. Someone she used to pray to—for successful hunts, for rich bounties, for happiness.

A sudden chill brought her back to the forest she was standing in, though Varra and Madevik were long gone, and the fire was extinguished. Mephistopheles’ grunt caught her attention.

“I can help you remember, child of Gur.”

“Gur?” she wondered out loud, mostly to herself.

“A people in Faerûn. Children of Selûne. Not well liked, I might add.”

“I am… a Gur?”

“Much more than that. You are the leader of a small group, making things terribly annoying for the Flaming Fists that just can’t seem to catch you,” he chuckled, apparently impressed.

“A thief?” She finally looked up at the archdevil that was curiously eyeing her.

“A robber. Bandit. Cut-throat. You didn’t stray too far from the stereotypes. Although, considering how much this world likes assigning morality to bad deeds, I suppose you’re doing it for the “right reasons”. You are trying—were trying, to be a vigilante. Unfortunately, it will never come to be.”

“Astarion...” she answered her own question, nodding absentmindedly.

“Correct,” he approved. “You are a curious thing, girl. Over 200 years and that name still seems to elicit rage from you.”

“He… took… them from me.” She blinked, a surge of memories rushing through her head. The ball. His hand. The screams of her people when the Flaming Fists attacked their camp. Being held close to the chest of a woman with dusky skin similar to hers, as she soothed her crying. The smell of mead and the playing of instruments while a creature made of flames danced around a group of women.

“You are capable of remembering. Good.” 

Mephistopheles’ fingers swirled a pattern into the air, and in an instant they were transported back to the freezing landscape of Cania. Wobbling over a cliff, Varra gasped, overlooking the expansive, desolate wasteland engulfed by a roaring storm in the distance. The fall would have undeniably killed her.

“Varra D’allrnir of Cloakwood. I, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Eighth, Archduke of Cania, Baron of Hellfire, known to those who see me in true as Thra'axfyl the Ambitious, offer to reveal the past you so desperately wish to unravel. Not only shall I grant you full access to every lost memory up until your untimely death—undeath—but I will arm you with the necessary tools to rid yourself of the very elf who caused it in the first place.” 

“Astarion…” she repeated.

“Correct. Should you consider this proposal, expect to find me in Mephistar at the end of this trek.” He gestured towards the distant, beckoning darkness, just as a bolt of lightning illuminated the vast nothingness of Cania. “An experienced adventurer with a fool’s head and a bear’s bravery needs ten winters to find it. I will grant you five. If you survive, introduce yourself as Althea of Cania to my servants.”

The fine lines had smoothed when Astarion stopped his blabbering at her revelation. The red rubies in his skull lost their color, blackening by the second. No more could she hear ragged breathing, as if he had stilled completely. She could feel tension in the air, cut it like a knife through butter.

“You...” he growled. “You utter—How? How is this possible? You should be burning to cinders in his—in my presence!”

“As should you, spawn, yet here you are!” She readied her free hand in case he felt brave enough to attempt something foolish again. The contract only gave her limited access to a set number of spells per day, so she had to be cautious. Quickly rummaging through her mind, she searched for the enchanting ones, had he felt particularly confident.

Astarion did not take kindly to that title. 

“I am not his spawn!” he screamed, hands glowing a familiar red color, reaching for her neck. At that precise moment, Althea called on the weave, quickly stopping the vampire—spawn—from clawing her face. He was weak, much weaker than she had anticipated. While outwardly, he might have looked impressive, he was either out of practice, or utterly incapable of stopping spells from affecting him.

“You are not his master either.”

The veins on his neck were bulging from fury. Not even excruciating pain did seem to enrage him as much as this confrontation. His breathing had quickened to the point that had he still owned a beating heart, it would have burst out of his chest. His stare was one of hatred, as though cursing her very soul—and it might have worked, were it not for the thousands of fragments it had been broken into over the years.

“Cazador no longer controls me. Never again. I am his superior—I control his pathetic existence!” 

A spiral into madness. The last bastion of sanity before pure instincts kicked in. She had seen it in others, self-proclaimed rulers and warriors who had too much belief in themselves before the stroke of death. It was a wonder he wasn’t foaming at the mouth with how wrathfully he spat at her.

“He’s not even dead, not like he should be—”

“—I ended him! A thousand cuts. To his eyes, to his neck, to his chest, to his—to his—to his—” He swallowed a sob, momentarily crunching his face in aching remembrance. “—I witnessed the last, pitiful breath leave his body and drop at my feet. It was me who did it. By myself!”

If it weren't for the magic holding the vampire, she would have been shredded into pieces by now; seeing him growl at her like a dying animal, attempting to free himself from the constraints through force of will alone. Frozen, she remained kneeling, looking at the pale elf who should have been dead by now. By her hand.

No.

This was not madness.

This was… pain. The kind of pain that only came with an unfinished story. She had spent years trying to unravel her own, repeating mistakes she could never forgive—from others, from herself. Numbing the pain, she had learned, only made it hurt that much more when it finally resurfaced. The years had been kind to Astarion’s story, though they seemed to slowly eat away at the only semblance of hope he had—to be freed.

“Agony is exquisite...” Raphael would say. “You wish it killed you. But it won’t. You’ll just keep living with it, as it drowns the hopes you carry, over and over again.”

His little lamb. Forever trapped between the walls of the House of Hope.

For, if she had no destination, she could never make her way there—anywhere.

The madness surely clouding Astarion’s mind could not materialize, thanks to the spell that kept his body in stasis. Within the bared fangs and crazed eyes, she recognized a familiar intention staring back at her—imagining her body snapped in two, drinking the blood out of her, right before tossing her into the pile of sacrificed souls. The rite that would make him what he imagined himself to be.

Astarion, hero of Baldur’s Gate, owner of the Ancunín Estate.

Cazador Szarr’s spawn, still.

[manygreetingsfriend]

i don’t think there’s anything that makes me feel like a shit stain on my parents’ doormat than the way my father just. couldn’t give less of a shit about my lifelong, intensely phobic fear of spiders. there’s no one i hate asking for help from more. i will be nearly catatonic in fear trying to communicate where it is and he will just. lackadaisically make his way over when convenient and just. stare at me. and just ask over and over again where is it. where is it. and then say he can’t help me if i won’t show him. and leave lmfao

[jackrrabbit]

Canine /// Sesshomaru x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: Upon learning of his father’s affair, Sesshomaru lays waste to a human bordello as revenge…that is, until he discovers a better outlet for his frustrations.

Request: hi!!!!! i just finished your koga fic and i adored it omfggg 🤤🤤🤤 i was just wondering if i could request any 18+ content for sesshomaru with a fem!human reader? if not though no worries at all 💕💕

A/N: This request is almost 2 years old but I hope you’re still around <3 Takes place right after Sesshomaru finds out that the Inu no Taisho left his mother for a human woman, which Sesshomaru is not happy about lmao

imo this is the only good filth I’ve written in a while, hope you guys like it!! If you don’t I will cry lol

Tags/Warnings: dubcon/noncon, predator/prey dynamic, borderline yandere, geisha (sex worker) reader, degradation (anti-human), threats!!, fearplay!!, marking (bites, scratches, bruises) ft. a little bit of blood, dog demon/animalistic/feral stuff, possessiveness, breeding kink (mentioned but no follow-through), implied violence (not toward reader), historical inaccuracies, “girl”, in my brain all of the demons are at least 6’3 so jot that down

Quiet.

There’s a smell like burning, but only half of it is smoke. You can imagine it when you close your eyes. Candles, incense, hearth fire consuming everything it touches. But the other half—the other half is sharp and bitter and acidic. It stings down your throat when you inhale.

Quiet.

You can’t move. The dressing assistant added pins to your complex updo: long golden ornaments hung with strings of shining bells. It was beautiful. You’ve always admired the older girls who wear these, the way the angelic ringing announces their footsteps when they walk. It’s an honor to be wearing the same bells. But now you can’t move.

Quiet.

You hold your breath until you can’t anymore, and then let it out slowly. Shallowly. So carefully that it barely stirs the air. You can’t even hear yourself breathing, but maybe…maybe he can hear it anyway.

Or maybe it doesn’t matter.

Maybe he can smell you.

There are footsteps outside the thin paper wall that separates the room you’re hiding in from the hallway. They’re slow, light, measured. He’s not running—it’s the rest of you who are desperate, scattering like roaches in daylight to avoid him. And you’re the same, cowering in the corner of this empty room, drowning in the heavy silk of your kimono. Trying to convince yourself that the sour acid smell is so strong that you can’t make out the blood.

The footsteps halt just a few feet from where you’re hiding and your heart seizes when you hear them stop, wait. Listening. Listening for you. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating as loud as you can. Why did he stop?

He can hear you, you know he can hear you.

It’s too late. Your hands are shaking as you do it but you force yourself to sink into a bow, kneeling, facing the floor, even as you hear the scrape of wood sliding against wood. The door of the room opening. You’re not really sure why bowing feels right, but it does—half because some animal sense is telling you that this is no ordinary demon, and half because you’re too afraid to face your death directly, if that’s what he is. Your forehead almost meets the tatami mats and the bells in your hair chime lightly and his footsteps pad across the floor to stop in front of you. The burning smell thickens.

“Look at me, human.”

You don’t want to—you don’t want to look, but his voice is a command and there is no will in your body strong enough to deny it. You lift your head from the floor, still kneeling, and force yourself to meet his eyes.

A demon…?

You’re not sure. In the stories, demons are ugly. You’ve only ever seen them in scroll paintings: horrible slavering monsters, grotesque distortions of mundane beasts. Repulsive things. Less than human. But the demon in front of you (if he is a demon) is something else. He’s not human—you’d know that by the color of his eyes, if nothing else—but he’s beautiful. Colder and more beautiful than pure winter snow. As soon as your eyes meet his, you’re held captive; you couldn’t look away if you tried…

But that doesn’t mean you can’t smell the dark splatters of blood slashed in arcs over his clothing. Or the hissing miasma of poison issuing off his clawed nails.

“Girl…will you not attempt to run? Or do you believe I will grant you mercy if you beg for it?” His inhuman gaze travels down your body and you press your palms into the floor to make your shaking less obvious. “Are you not afraid? Answer me.”

“Yes,” you whisper. You’re terrified, paralyzed by fear and the overwhelming knowledge that you have never in your short life been closer to death than you are now. Even if you thought you could escape by running, you don’t think you could compel your muscles to move.

His eyes narrow. “You knelt before I entered the room.”

“I…yes…it was…” Your breath is coming quickly now, as if your lungs can’t get enough oxygen. Why is he talking to you? Isn’t he going to kill you? Will he tear you apart with his claws, or will he simply snap your neck?

“Speak clearly.”

You try, but your throat is seizing up with terror and your mind is going blank. The poison will probably hurt more…you picture him reaching toward you and digging the claws into your skin, letting the acid eat through your flesh… “I knelt…out of—out of respect…”

“Hm?” A flicker of an expression passes his face, but you can’t name it. “So here is a human who knows her place, at the feet of her superior. Your kind is usually so arrogant.”

If you were in your right mind you’d take offense at this demon having the nerve to call you arrogant, but you’re not foolish enough to anger a creature whose bare hands could tear you to pieces without a single thought. “Sir—sir, please—“

“Not ‘sir’. Lord. You speak to the inu daiyokai Sesshomaru, son of the Inu no Taisho, Lord of the Western Lands.”

Lord of the Western Lands? You’ve never heard of any such title, but you know not to question him. “My lord—” you gasp, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment because the heat behind your eyelids cannot be allowed to break. “My lord, please, is there anything I can do to serve you?”

“How could you serve me? What use could you possibly have?” Sesshomaru’s face remains impassive, but out of the corner of your eye you can tell that his hands are no longer glowing green with poison.

You don’t know what ridiculous idea you’ve latched onto in your desperation, but he doesn’t seem to be killing you yet, so you have no choice but to keep at it. “Th-this place is a teahouse! It would be an—an honor to entertain such an esteemed guest.”

“A teahouse,” he repeats.

You swallow and attempt to suppress the sense that you’re digging your own grave every time you speak. “Yes, my lord… I-I could perform a tea ceremony? Or if you would prefer to drink, I could pour for you. Or I could—I could play—“

You’re cut off by the sudden movement of Sesshomaru in front of you as he crouches to your level—you’d pull back, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind you feel his hand wrapping around your chin, tilting your face up. “The tea ceremony and shamisen…surely these are not your only talents, girl.”

Don’t move. Keep still. The sides of Sesshomaru’s long nails press lightly on the tender skin under your chin. You stare straight forward and don’t speak.

“I do not think I am mistaken.” His other hand comes up and you close your eyes, only to feel the pad pressing into your lower lip and then tracing the red makeup on your eyelids. “This is a whorehouse.” Sesshomaru’s voice is low, pensive, as if he’s talking to himself. His hand ghosts over your head and before you can register that he’s touched you, the pins and combs from your updo are ringing down against the floor and your hair is springing loose.

“…It is, my lord,” you answer after a beat, as it occurs to you for the first time that there may be something this demon is more interested in taking than your life.

“Stand,” Sesshomaru says, and when you’re too stunned to obey immediately, he grips you by the collar of your kimono and pulls you upright. Your knees almost buckle and he folds his arm behind your back, propping you up against him. “Calm yourself.”

The spikes on his breastplate push into your chest. You try to feel out for something reassuring—a crease in his brow, a flush in his cheeks, body heat, something human—but there is no trace of a flaw in his perfect composure. His hands are cool where they touch your skin. You have to…he wants…

But does he even want you? You tip your head up from his shoulder to face him and his lip curls like he’s about to snarl. There’s no heat in his gaze. His eyes are so cold that you feel gooseflesh stand up on your arms, as if a spirit is dragging its icy fingers down your spine. There’s no way he’s attracted to you—how could he be, when the expression on his face is nothing less than consummate disgust?

Sesshomaru does not want you. You’ve misinterpreted something. Because every sense in your body is telling you that when you look at him, you are looking into the face of someone who hates you. You are going to die, like the customers in the rooms next door, like the other girls who had the misfortune of coming across him before you did and trying to run. You are going to be killed.

You try to flinch back, put some space between the two of you, but his arm is rigid behind you and you aren’t given an inch. He eyes narrow a fraction and his grip tightens, thumb pressing into your spine through the many layers of your kimono. “Such a cowardly species. Even a geisha is so skittish.”

And then he grips your jaw and presses his mouth into yours.

Your pulse stutters and trips. The kiss is light, but Sesshomaru’s hold on your body isn’t. He pulls away and you suck in a dazed breath. “L-Lord Sesshomaru…”

“Undress me,” he orders.

///

Warm, Sesshomaru thinks. You’re warm.

Your heat pushes into him through your hands ghosting over his body as you fumble with the straps of his armor and then unfold the robe from your own narrow shoulders. When he had you pinned against his chest, he’d felt the warmth of your body even through every layer of fabric and metal that separated you from him. And when he kissed you, he’d felt that same sultry wet spread inside your mouth.

Perhaps this is why his father has come to prefer mortal women.

He stops you before you take off the last layer of his kimono. When you finally slip the last piece of clothing from your shoulders, Sesshomaru wastes no time in pulling your naked body into his, holding you by your shoulders when you try to stumble back from him. Your skin is fever-warm to his touch—you’re so pliant, so malleable—but you’re no less terrified than you were when he walked into this room and found you kneeling in front of the bedroll with your forehead pressed to the ground. You’ve been obedient, which is good. Your obedience is the only reason you’re alive. But your fear is wrapping around your body so thick he can smell it, and it’s making his blood rise.

His cock twitches where it’s pressed against your stomach through his clothing, and you suppress a gasp, but when he scratches the blunt edges of his fingernails over your skin you can’t hold back the squeak of surprise. Like a frightened rabbit, he thinks with—pleasure? Which is odd, and yet…

Seeing this human girl submitting, delicate and vulnerable and so obviously aware that she is beneath him, is a pleasure.

“Tell me, girl. Why do you fear me?”

You’re acutely aware of your own nakedness, not to mention his, especially when his cock is pressing insistently into your abdomen. Why is he asking you—? Of course you’re afraid. How many corpses did he leave on his path here? “You—you killed—“

“Not just that. You know to fear me. Your body knows. If I came upon you in the dark, if you were blind and deaf, you would still know to fear me.”

When he speaks, you can see flashes of his canines, sharper than any human’s. He’s right. You would know. “You’re a demon,” you murmur.

“And you are a human. A very weak one.” A claw traces your cheek and you shudder. “Your kind is prey to mine. Prey to be killed…and eaten.”

Are you going to be eaten?

“This is unnatural,” he muses under his breath, lowering his mouth to your throat. “Obscene.” You feel the brush of his lips on the artery in your neck and wonder if he can sense the pump of your blood, responding to his touch. “Sick.”

And then Sesshomaru—he nips that spot on your neck. The bite isn’t near hard enough to hurt, but it shocks you because you’ve never felt teeth so sharp against your skin. You whimper, and even to your own ears, it doesn’t sound like a whimper of pain.

“Despite every danger I pose to you, you seek pleasure. Humans are such base creatures.”

It’s not fair—it’s not even true, is it? You’re going along with this to appease him. You shake your head lightly, but you don’t resist when he pushes you down into the bedroll. Do you even want to resist?

Submit, your body is telling you. Submit. Submit.

You couldn’t resist. It would be impossible even if you tried. You barely have time to register him tipping his head to the side and and acknowledging your silence before the pressure on your arms increases and air whips through your hair and then the back of your head hits the mattress. Sesshomaru kneels on top of you, knees framing your hips, his loose kimono draping open to reveal a sliver of his pale chest.

“Do you mean to disagree with me?” The lack of inflection in his voice betrays nothing, but you scramble to deny it.

“No! No, my—my lord, please of course I—I’ll do whatever you want—ah!” You cut yourself off with a yelp as he reaches down and wraps his fingers around one of your thighs, unceremoniously dragging your leg up to wrap around his hip.

“But this is what you want.” Sesshomaru reaches down to your cunt and slides two fingers up against your slit, slow and careful so that his nails don’t touch you.

This part is warm too. Warm and wet and sticky, coating his fingers in clear liquid. You must be able to feel how wet you are—and you do, judging by the way your body is squirming and wriggling every time his touch passes over your clit.

Ah…you should stop squirming. For your own good. The feeble little movements of your body underneath his just make him want to pin you harder, force you to be still, force you to surrender.

You buck your hips up against the movement of his hand, wary of his nails but unable to keep yourself from pushing your clit against his fingers. It doesn’t make sense. You’re still scared of him—every time your gaze crosses his, you’re reminded that the man between your legs isn’t even really a man. He’s a demon.

A demon, a demon…

A demon’s fingers are caressing the length of your slit. A demon is crouching over you, covering your chest with his while you rock yourself into him. A demon is lowering his face into your shoulder, breathing in and lapping at your skin like he can smell you. Like he can taste you. Which, you think belatedly (because most of your attention is focused on the things Sesshomaru is doing between your legs), he probably can.

“What…what are you doing,” you gasp halfheartedly as he licks again at the side of your neck. Maybe you shouldn’t ask, but you still haven’t ruled out the possibility that he’s going to eat you, and you’d at least like to know if that’s what he’s preparing for.

To your surprise, he looks…taken aback? It’s hard to tell when his expression changes so little, but he pulls back from you and takes his hand away from your cunt, leaving you feeling needy and anxious. “Humans lack marking customs? How vulgar.”

“Marking…?” you ask. Sesshomaru sits up away from you and you quickly prop yourself up on your hands and draw your legs back toward yourself so you’re sitting in front of him. He sounded displeased. You can’t—you have to give him what he wants. “We do, my lord! Humans—we can leave marks, if, if you would like—“

“Show me.”

You wait a moment and he doesn’t move, so you hesitantly crawl toward him, dragging out each step and letting your knees sink into the cushions because you have no idea if you’re doing the right thing or signing your own death warrant. You reach out, but your hand stills before you can touch him. ‘Marking’ is juvenile, isn’t it? Kiss marks are usually forbidden for customers; they’re considered unprofessional in your line of work. But that’s human ettiquette. Perhaps for demons, it’s something entirely different. Sesshomaru did call himself inu daiyokai—a dog demon, then.

Gathering up the measly courage you still possess, you pick up the collar of Sesshomaru’s kimono and pull it to the side, exposing a patch of the pristine skin where his neck meets his shoulder. He doesn’t move to assist you, so you have to climb into his lap to get close enough. You brush away a few strands of his hair—so long!—and set your mouth against his skin.

How hard should you…? Well, he’s a demon lord, so you doubt you’re capable of harming him. Still, you bite and suck carefully, only increasing the pressure when you feel no sign of resistance from Sesshomaru. When you’re satisfied, you pull back and assess the small bloom of purple-red standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. Half bite mark, half bruise—you haven’t done this in years, but this is what he wanted, isn’t it?

“This is a human mark?” Sesshomaru’s face is inscrutable as he pets the place where you left the hickey.

You nod slowly. “Is it—is it not good enough?”

“It is faint. But I cannot expect more from a mortal.” His hand moves to your chin, forcing your jaw open so he can push a few clawed fingers between your lips and run them over your canines. “Your teeth are blunt. Useless.”

He pushes his fingers deeper over your teeth and you feel saliva gathering on your tongue, an involuntary response to your efforts to keep your mouth open and still. You can taste yourself…the juices from your cunt on his fingers. “L-Lord—Lord Sesshomaru,” you stutter when he finally pulls them out.

You’re so warm, so soft. Like sinking into bathwater. Sesshomaru wants to be inside you.

“Lie down,” he commands, and when you tentatively lower yourself onto your back he releases a barely-audible sigh of annoyance. “On your stomach, girl.”

You must take a second too long to comply with the command, because in the next moment you feel Sesshomaru above you, flipping you over as easily as if you were made out of paper. You squeak in surprise—the smooth cold of his touch, the edges of his inhumanly long nails grazing over your skin—but that doesn’t stop him from effortlessly pulling your body into alignment with his: him above you and you lying on your belly with your back arched so that your hips can meet his. You squirm your hands under your torso and try to lift yourself off the bedroll, but he pushes you back down without mercy. “Do not test me.”

“No—n-never, never, my lord,” you gasp out as his hand curls around your hip, just as you feel the hard length of him press against your backside and then—slowly, slowly, slide into your cunt. Fuck—this is happening, it’s really—happening, this demon is fucking you. You’re terrified, but you can also feel the slickness of your pussy stretching around him, your body subconsciously giving in to the unwavering dominance of the demon—the man—on top of you.

“Are you still frightened…? And yet you respond so easily,” he says, stroking up the length of your side again and feeling you shiver.

“Yes, I...yes?” You squeeze your eyes closed, focusing on the sensation and trying to drive out everything else. He’s big—pushing you to your limits trying to fit his cock inside and you don’t even sense his hips against you yet. And the feeling—cool, uncomfortably cool in a way that sets every nerve on edge, overly sensitive to every deep place where your body meets his.

It’s like—you can’t even describe it, you know you have to be quiet and obedient for him but your instincts are pulling you in every direction at once—you want to run you want to hide you want to rock your hips back and feel him bottom out, make him fuck you like an animal—and this thought combined with the friction of his cock over that patch inside your drooling walls forces a whine out of your mouth. Apparently he likes it—two fingers pet over your clit and the muscles of your cunt twitch desperately, begging to be filled.

With his body curled over yours like this, you must be able to feel the rumble of his breath as he growls in pleasure. You were—you are better than perfect, your kind, your race—or maybe it’s just you. Your body, the warm wet softness of it. Taking him in, dripping around him as he starts to pump in and out of you, pushing his cock a little deeper with each thrust. Your breath is laced with the high-pitched whimpers and moans you’re not able to suppress, and it’s strange—earlier the sound of your voice (so pathetic, so human) disgusted him, but now?

“Such a weak little thing,” Sesshomaru says, voice low and intoned with something like approval. “I know it hurts…”

You bite your lip roughly and shudder as the head of his thick cock kisses against your womb. It does hurt—you’re no innocent maiden, and it isn’t as if you’re not used to clients being much rougher with you than this, but you’ve never felt so helpless… You can’t even adjust to him, can’t even pull away from him on the plush bedroll because he’s holding you in place, positioning you as his tame little toy with his nails scraping threateningly against the top layer of your skin every time you try to move…

“…but you take me very well. Like your body was made for this—to be bred like this.”

The pace of his thrusts is picking up, knocking your breath into sync every time the weight of his body slaps against yours. His own breath is getting heavier too—you start at the feeling of him folding his torso lower against you, locks of hair spilling over your side in a silver curtain. Once again you want to pull yourself up off the futon, but he isn’t going to let you—a pale hand layers over yours, tendons flexing as he laces his fingers into the spaces between yours. And your nerves are wound so tight with what you’re feeling—the pleasure, the fear, all of it pulling you tight like a harp string—that you aren’t paying quite enough attention to what you’re hearing, until you realize—

Like your body was made to be bred like this.

If you had the strength to actually pull yourself away from the punishing force of him fucking you, you would now; as it stands, you’re too weak to do more than pull uselessly at his grip and shake your head. “No—m-my lord, please—I can’t, my lord, p-please don’t—“

A cold laugh, one that sounds like anger, and Sesshomaru presses the flat of his hand to your stomach, feeling out the path of his cock pushing into your tight, plush body. “Insolent girl. You demand me that I mate for pleasure alone, like—a human…? Your species…your arrogance knows no bounds…”

“Please,” you moan softly. The weight of him—on top of you, inside you, everywhere you can feel—is driving you out of your mind. He’s going to—mate, like he said, he’s going to spend himself deep in your cunt and breed you. “Please—please, I can’t, I can’t—“

The distress in your voice is almost unsettling to Sesshomaru, and this reaction catches him off guard—it’s the intimacy of this action, of fucking you like a legitimate mate (you! a girl, a human, so powerless that resisting him has barely occurred to you!) that’s forcing him to be aware of your fragile emotional state. But demons—dog demons especially—are more attuned to their instincts than humans, the physical responses of their bodies and their partners’, and everything in your body is screaming out acquiescence, submission, fertility.

“Liar…” Sesshomaru murmurs, petting again over your womb and rolling his hips into yours. You’re so wet that he can hear the sounds of your coupling echoing over the walls, the slap of flesh against flesh from where your cunt has dripped slick down your trembling thighs. The sweet, dizzying scent of your arousal (and his) is so thick in the air that he can barely smell the rancid smoke and blood outside—every time he inhales, he feels almost intoxicated by it. You’re not quite in your heat but there’s an edge of it in your natural scent, something rich and heavy underneath all the layers of perfume and oils decorating your skin.

He didn’t come here, to the mortal world, with the intent to mate with a human. Certainly not with the intent to breed her, but…

Sesshomaru takes a deep sigh again and swirls a fingertip over the little bud of nerves at the top of your slit and everything in you convulses, squeezing down on his cock so tight that for a second he can barely move. At this point, there isn’t much that could stop him from finishing inside you, even if he wanted to.

“—please, please—”

…Well, there isn’t much, but the incessant reminder of his instinct to treat the soft, vulnerable body underneath him as a proper mate doesn’t seem to be letting up. The obvious pleasure you’re feeling from having your cunt filled up like this hasn’t stopped you from continuing to whimper and shake your head in denial of what your body is telling you. Your distress seems to be bordering on helplessness now—he can smell it on you—a bitterness folded into that irresistible sweet, and even though he wants to ignore it…

For your part—it doesn’t feel right, none of this—it’s like what he was saying earlier, how this is obscene and you know deep in your core that he’s right. A demon, a dog demon, fucking you like he owns you, ruining your pussy and digging shallow scratches into you to hold you in place—breeding you—you should be afraid, and you are. You should want to cry, and you do. But you shouldn’t like it like this at the same time—you shouldn’t feel your cunt fluttering around him, shouldn’t feel your juices slipping over your body and his, you shouldn’t be wishing he would let you move just a little so you could move your hips back, fuck yourself on his cock like you’re supposed to—how can you want this, both of these things, stop and don’t stop, pull out and cum inside so deep you’re marked with it—

Your head is spinning. You’re too dizzy to think but you hold onto this knowledge, the only certainty you have left: it’s wrong. You can’t you can’t. There’s nothing you can do to stop him but you can’t keep yourself from pleading senselessly with what little breath you’re able to articulate— “please—please—my lord—Sesshomaru—please don’t…”

—and just when you don’t think you can take it any longer, it turns out that he’s at his limit too. The demon growls and brushes your hair away from the side of your neck so he can nuzzle into your pulse point, lap at the thin layer of sweat collecting there. “Quiet,” he hisses, voice labored. “I will not—I have no intention of…fathering…a bastard.”

“Oh—ohhh…” you whine, letting some of the panic drain out of you. You’re not—he won’t—thank god, thank god… The broad muscle of his tongue runs stripes across the side of your throat in a manner that you almost understand is supposed to be comforting, and he keeps rubbing at your clit, coaxing something out of you that you don’t think you should be allowed to give. You want to ask why—why is he stopping himself? why is he touching you? why does he care?—but you know better.

Sesshomaru’s teeth are too close to your neck like this. He should pull back, shouldn’t tempt himself…he knows this, and yet. The smell of you, your relief, your pleasure, the climax that he can feel creeping up on you through the tension in your muscles. It would be unnatural not to do it. The faint little bruise you left on him when he asked about human marking customs is probably already healed, but there’s a phantom ache on his throat reminding him of it—proof that you have no idea what a true mark is supposed to look like.

If he marked you, it would probably take weeks to heal…months. He knows humans are such fragile creatures—it would leave a permanent scar, wouldn’t it? A reminder etched into your skin with his teeth, his claim, his subjugation of you. A demon lord’s power over a human woman. As it should be…why would you be permitted to forget?

He drags the length of his cock out and pushes back in slowly, feeling your insides stretch around him and paying special attention to the way your legs quiver like a newborn foal’s when his cockhead presses against that gummy patch in your inner walls. You’re close to finishing—the fluttering of your cunt and the needy twitch of your hips is proof enough of that. The marking will hurt, but you’ll have to take it well enough when you’re creaming yourself around him.

The fingertips massaging your clit speed up, and you choke out a moan. “Oh—it feels—my lord, please, I—I’m going to—“

Without a hitch in his relentless pace, Sesshomaru pulls back from where he’s been laving over your neck so he can speak lowly into your ear. “This will be painful…”

…What? you think, too focused on the way he’s touching you, fucking you, building up your orgasm to really care what he’s saying. Just like that—just a second more and I’ll—

“Endure it,” Sesshomaru commands, and just as you feel yourself tip over the edge and lose yourself in pleasure, there’s a surge of something behind you, on top of you—some energy, something that makes every hair on your body stand on end because of how inhuman it is, and then—

—ah, it hurts, it hurts…

he’s biting you, teeth puncturing the skin of your shoulder and holding you down in this position of undeniable surrender. The pain is overwhelmed by your sopping cunt clenching around him, all of the sensation rolled together and crashing over you like a wave—and you feel it, feel yourself go under for a second—your vision winking to black as you open your mouth and wordlessly keen like an animal. Tears prick your eyes (from the pain in your shoulder or the force of your climax—you can’t even tell the difference at this point) and you try to pull back and wipe your face but you’re too weak for it. Sesshomaru’s arm is flexed, still holding your hand down and locking you in position. He pulls back from your neck and you can hear his own breath falling out of rhythm, the uncontrolled jerks of his hips into you as your pussy seizes up on his cock.

It takes a moment—a long moment, maybe even longer than that—before you’re able to muster up the strength to speak, but he’s lapping at the mark on your neck and every time his tongue passes over it, the sharp ache of the wound lessens by a fraction. “Did you—was that a demon mark? You marked me?”

Sesshomaru’s chest moves slowly as he pulls out of you and forces his breath to calm—he hasn’t done this in a long time, hasn’t had reason to—and the sight of the claiming mark is waking up something predatory in his blood. He feels—closer to his true form than he should in this appearance; the demon blood is racing through him, youki prickling over his skin and drawing him into you, into the place where his teeth were sunk in your neck—(he did try, he tried to hold back) but even so it’s more pronounced on you than it would be on a demon: a ring of shallow red welts punctuated with the harsher points where his canines drew blood, the flesh puffed and bruised darker than the surrounding skin. Such things are meant to be temporary and periodically renewed between mates, but yours will be permanent.

And still. Still. He wants to do it again. Leave proof of his ownership on every patch of untouched skin on you. Ruin you for anyone else who sees you like this—better, better yet, make sure he is the last, the only one who will ever see you like this, have you like this, ever again.

You asked something. She asked something. Your heart is beating like you’re afraid. You asked if he marked you. He can taste your blood in the air. Sesshomaru’s mouth moves and it wants to speak in the voice of an animal, of a demon, but you won’t understand. “…Yes.”

Oh…he wants to look at you, wants to see the evidence of what he’s done to you in your face. Humans have so little control over what they let themselves feel. “Look at me,” he says, and despite the tremors still passing over you, you tentatively raise yourself up on an arm and twist to look back at him.

The second you reluctantly meet his gaze, your meek expression shifts into horror. “L-Lord—Sesshomaru? Your eyes…”

And it’s then that Sesshomaru realizes what he’s done, what he’s doing. He’s sustained the partial transformation he took in order to mark you, and you’re seeing it now—the scarlet eyes, the exaggerated markings, the sharp canines, each feature a shade closer to his genuine youkai form. You flip onto your back and then edge back on the bedroll, but he feels you—trying to get away, she can’t—and pushes you back down to hover above. “Did you forget…what I am, girl?”

Human speech feels like a labor—his mouth should be touching you, tasting—marking you. Again. He should be inside you, feeling your soft, sticky cunt bathing him in warmth. Here, listen, you’re a human but it doesn’t matter now. You can take it because you will, you have to. You came so quickly—it must be easier, faster for humans than demons—and Sesshomaru wonders idly how many times you’ll cum before he does, whether you’ll be able to hold yourself together or—

No—no. A stubborn drop of blood wells up in one of the welts on your shoulder and then smears down, leaving a trail of rich red on your skin until Sesshomaru lowers himself down to lick it clean, letting the smell, the taste of you spread over his mouth. He won’t let you. He won’t let you fall apart. You don’t have a choice.

And—whether he realizes it or not—neither does he.

[rendevousz]

freak

avengers x teen!fem!reader

summary: you get captured during a mission and the team saves you.

warnings: language, violence, brief misogyny, torture, **NO sexual assault (because as i was proofreading, i only implied most of the torture scenes because i didn't want to write it in graphic detail and i realised the vague wordings might be misinterpreted as sexual assault which IT IS NOT, just clearing it up), and also again, my inability to write good endings

word count: 4589

notes: i just rewatched iron man 2 so that explains justin hammer LMAO also ooc justin hammer because even tho mans evil, he gets extremely um.. cruel here but anyways i hope you enjoy this!!

you were 13 when you first met the avengers and 16 when you officially joined. you grew up as one of HYDRA's experimented children and the team had found you when they raided the base that you were in.

a small, sickly-looking kid you were, sat against your cell wall, hugging your knees. 13 but you could probably pass off as a 10 year old due to how malnourished and miserable you were. burying your head in between your knees, you covered your ears as the loud gunshot noises filled the whole place. the metal door of your cell slamming open against the wall had you whimpering, hands above your head in fear.

every time the door slammed open, guards would come drag you out for more experiments so it was an instinct for you to cower in fear at the sound.

"last room in the west hall, i found a little girl."

you heard nothing because you were covering your ears, preparing yourself to be forcefully dragged by the guards to the experiment room. but it never came.

"hey," a soft voice called. you were violently shaking at this point, breathing heavily as you tried to calm down. "hey, it's okay." the voice called out again and you felt them touch your shoulders.

your head immediately jolted up, flinching away from the stranger's touch. your eyes met a blue pair as you backed away into the corner in fear. "i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i didn't mean to." the man apologised. you slowly looked up at him, observing him. he had on a full black outfit, a quiver of arrows slinging on his shoulder and he was holding onto a bow.

"don't be scared. i'm here to help," he states with his hands out, as if to calm you down. "that's what they all say." you hissed through gritted teeth and a tear-stained face, glaring at him even though that could've been a very wrong move had it been with an actual HYDRA guard.

despite the strange feeling of being safe around this man, you didn't let your guard down. that's exactly what those scientists said seven years ago. trusting kind-looking men got you into this hell you never thought you would ever escape from and you weren't going to make the same mistake again.

"clint," a red-headed female, also in all black, entered through the open door of your cell with her pistol up. at the sight of the weapon, you broke your glare towards the man. your breathing quickened and you went back to your original position before the archer came; body pressed up against your knees and covering your ears with your palms.

"i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i'll come! please don't use that on me again," you whimpered, voice muffled as your face was hidden against your knees. the woman freezes mid-walk, looking at her friend with a bewildered expression.

"nat! put that away!" clint whispered harshly, eyes glaring at the pistol in nat's hands. nat's jaw dropped in realisation, a small gasp leaving her lips as she immediately put away her weapon.

she slowly makes her way to you and clint puts his arm out before she could get closer. he looks at her with a worried expression as he shook his head, as if telling her that she can't get too close to you. nat nods understandingly, crouching down a distance from you.

"hey," she spoke softly. "i promise you that we're not here to hurt you." you kept your face hidden from her, still hugging your legs tightly. nat sighs before sitting down.

"here, let's introduce ourselves. i'm nat and this right here is clint." you hear her speak and when you slowly lifted up your head, you saw the both of them sitting down in front of you, seeming to have made themselves at home in your pathetic cell. "what's your name?"

name? you had never been able to use your name before. you always kept your own name deep in your heart despite no one ever using it, afraid you would forget it if you stopped thinking of it. the only name they ever called you here was 'number five'.

"y/n," you whispered, still doubtful about these people's intentions. you almost burst out crying when you said your name out loud. that was the first time you introduced yourself with your actual name and not the number you were given ever since you were captured.

nat must have noticed this because she immediately spoke up, trying to distract you from your consuming thoughts. "y/n...that's a pretty name for a pretty girl like you. how old are you, y/n?" she asks again.

you contemplated once more but decided it was fine. you knew you were probably going to regret trusting these two strangers but what could be worse than what HYDRA has been doing to you for years?

"13," you muttered, looking down at your lap. you were now timidly seated cross-legged, playing with the tattered hem of your shorts. you heard a small gasp from one of them and looked up to see clint with his jaw dropped.

the two adults were both thinking of the same thing. how could you be 13? you were so small and sickly-looking, they didn't even think you were older than ten, let alone an early teen.

"i know you're scared and you have all the reasons in the world to be, but i promise you, we're here to help. we'll get you out of here, only if you trust us. will you trust us?" nat says. your mind was conflicted. you were either going to finally get out of this hellhole or you were going to be taken somewhere even worse than here. but could anywhere really be worse than here?

you decided to take a leap of faith and trust these two strangers. that decision had to have been the best decision you've ever made in your life.

you were now 18, an official avenger and you had the most amazing family you could've ever asked for. they were a bit on the crazier side but could you really have a normal family when said family consisted of superheroes? but you weren't complaining. you loved these people.

they were the ones who took care of you when you thought you had no one. having been a HYDRA experiment, you had abilities the normal human didn't. said ability being shapeshifting and healing. that's why you became an avenger. your shapeshifting ability was essential during missions where you had to sneak in and you being able to heal others was crucial when medic wasn't able to be there on time.

you pretty much came along to every mission despite the adults saying you don't have to. you knew they were only doing that to protect you from dangers of all those missions but how could you not when you had such abilities? they'd be much better with you helping.

that was why you were here, in bulgaria, fighting alongside the team. well, just steve, nat, clint, bucky and tony.

justin hammer had managed to get his hands on a type of out-of-this-planet weapon that tony was also trying to retrieve, and he had big plans with it. hence why the avengers had to come where hammer had wrecked havoc in; sofia, bulgaria. he had upgraded his robots with the tech used for the stolen weapon.

with evil robots attacking the whole city, it felt like you were living the story that wanda told you of what happened in sokovia before you met the avengers.

an hour passed before all of the robots had finally been taken down and you all knew you had to get to hammer before he activates more robots to distract you guys and uses the weapon for bad things.

"tony, have you located hammer?" steve's voice sounded in your ear through the comms. you had just finished healing the nasty gash on clint's side, nat's cut on her forehead and the bruises all over bucky. you were feeling significantly weaker now, from the amount of healing you did. you stumbled slightly when you walked and bucky immediately held onto your arm. "doll, are you okay?"

"i'm fine, buck. nothing i haven't dealt with before," you told him, gently removing his grip on your arm, walking back to the quinjet.

-

"no, absolutely not. we are not sending y/n right into a death trap. she's not even strong enough right now, she just finished healing us."

you were all back at the compound now and planning a second attack on justin hammer.

"it's not a death trap, buck. and i know you're worried but she's the only choice we got. y/n, all you gotta do is sneak in as one of his henchmen and provide entrance for us. once we get in, we'll take all his guards down and get that weapon from hammer and we won't have to worry about his world domination plans anymore. it'll be over as soon as it starts and she'll be back safe with us. sound good, y/n/n?"

"yeah, sure." you agreed, already having a person in mind that you were going to change yourself to.

-

the plan had gone just as steve wanted and they managed to raid justin hammer's building, tony stealing the very item that could've aided in the massacre of millions. justin and his henchmen managed to escape the building before the avengers could catch them.

"well, that was anticlimactic," tony scoffs, already making his way to the quinjet. "but good job, y/n. you saved the day once again."

he expected to hear a laugh from you, like you usually did, being the only one who ever responds to him after missions. but instead he was met with silence. "kid?" still no answer.

"y/n, where are you?" steve panicked, finally realising that you were the only one who hasn't responded in a hot minute. "y/n/n, this isn't funny." he breathed out.

"she's...she's gone."

-

"well, well, well," a voice spoke right as you woke up from your slumber. you squinted, noticing that you were in some sort of dark room with only one light bulb right above you. "what do we have here?"

a figure walks right in the light and you could barely make out justin hammer's ugly face with how dizzy you felt. "if it isn't the little freak." he states condescendingly, smirking down at your helpless position, both wrists and ankles cuffed onto the metal chair you were sat on. you struggled against the restraints, trying to get free but to no avail.

your breathing quickened, your current vulnerable state reminding you of your later years in HYDRA. they had started off experimenting on you on a metal gurney but as you grew older, you realised that what they were doing to you was bad so you started fighting back. that ended you up on a metal restraint chair instead of the gurney, strapped to the chair with cuffs on your wrists and ankles.

this felt like deja vu. the same panic you felt, the same breathing difficulties, the same amount of effort put into trying to get out of the restraints. "you should know, princess, that that doesn't work." hammer chuckled, a fake pout on his lips as he crouched in front of you, a rough hand on your cheek. you instinctively jerked away from his touch, to which he paid no mind to because he had expected that. he then grabbed your chin harshly, turning your head up towards him. you glared at him.

"you think i didn't know what you did? snuck in as one of my men using your freaky powers? not to mention useless. imagine having powers but not being able to use them to even escape from mere humans," he laughs in your face, harshly letting go of your chin, throwing your head backwards. "you tell me where stark planned to bring the weapon and i'll let you pretty little thing go."

"no."

before you could even comprehend, his fist came flying at your face and your head dropped to the side at the impact. your left cheekbone was throbbing and you could already tell you were gonna have a black eye. despite the pain, it wasn't something you weren't used to. you were an avenger, after all. getting decked in the face was practically in the contract.

he grabbed your chin once again, pulling your head upwards to face him. "you're gonna tell me where it is or i'm gonna make you regret it."

you looked up at him with a bored look. he punched you again. and again. and again. until you could taste the blood on your tongue. "think you wanna tell me now, sweetheart?"

"never. not to someone like you."

the man seemed to get a kick out of beating you up because he punched you again in the face. your whole face was pretty much numb now and the metallic taste in your mouth intensified. you smirked at the man before you, chuckling darkly.

"sure, beat up the helpless girl. that's the only way you can beat me, right? when i'm all tied up? what a man,"

his hand was around your throat within a second and he forced you to look him in the eyes again. "sweetheart, you're a girl. tied or not, you're still weak. not even with that useless power of yours."

taking advantage of how close his face was to yours, you gathered as much bloody saliva in your mouth before spitting it in his face.

it was very much the wrong thing to do because after he wiped off his face, he left the room and two men came in, various tools in hand for their fun with you.

-

"stark! my buddy! how's it going?" justin hammer's face appeared on the screen in the conference room, where the avengers were having a meeting about your possible whereabouts.

"where is she?!" wanda growled, standing up abruptly.

"what ever do you mean?" hammer smirked, feigning innocence. "you know what we mean. where is she?" steve spoke authoritatively, trying to control his anger at the sight of the man's face.

"i'll tell you where your thing is if you tell me where my thing is." he smiled wickedly. this caused wanda to get angrier. "y/n is not a thing! and the weapon was never yours in the first place!" vision held onto her to calm her down and it worked because she sat back down, though still glaring at the screen.

"oh she's not a thing? seems like it to me, though." he smirked and the team frowned, not understanding what he meant until they heard screams and justin's smirk widening at the sound. what a sick bastard. "what are you doing to her?!" bucky screamed, knocking his chair back as he stood up.

"i don't know, you tell me." he chuckles, and the screen changes to the live footage of you in the restraint chair with the two men in the room.

you were no longer fighting back now, just sat limply with your head dropped to the side. the first hour with them, you had been fighting back like you did with justin, despite the restraints, but now entering the second hour, you were too exhausted for anything.

your left eye had been swollen shut, you could barely breathe through your nose, your cheeks were throbbing like hell and your bottom lip was busted. your head was the only thing that moved freely when hit so the men seemed to find satisfaction the most when they punched you in the face. though that didn't stop them from inflicting pain on other parts of you.

"let her go, she's just a kid!" sam exclaimed, his grip on the edge of the table tightening to control his anger. peter and wanda were crying looking at the awful state you were in, clint, tony and bruce were silent in shock, steve and bucky were getting increasingly angry as the abuse continued.

"are you going to tell us where stark is keeping the weapon or have you not gotten enough?" one of the two men was heard asking, pulling your hair back to make you look up at him. you look at with your half-opened right eye, breathing heavily. "my answer's never gonna change no matter how many times you ask."

he scoffs, stepping back before the other man swings a bat right at your stomach. the air was immediately knocked out of your lung. the men laughed as you coughed up blood profusely. this caused wanda to get more hysterical.

"well, looks like she wants more. i'll call back when she's had enough. toodles," he waves his fingers at the camera with a sinister smirk before abruptly ending the call.

the room went silent after the call, save for bucky and sam breathing heavily from the anger they felt. bucky then turned to steve, pain could be seen on his face. "you said she would be safe."

"i–i'm sorry, buck. i didn't know he was gonna take her with him." steve was still frozen in shock, the image of you on the chair now permanently ingrained in his brain. in everyone's brains actually.

"guys, gear up, he's in colorado."

all heads turned towards natasha and she looked back at them with a 'what?' expression. "you were tracking him down the whole time?"

"um, duh? now come on, gotta save our girl."

-

you awoke to a stinging sensation on your inner forearm. after your bloody coughing fit, they proceeded to beat you up again and you were knocked out then. now you were slowly regaining consciousness but you were starting to prefer being passed out. your whole body was in pain and the fact that you couldn't even move made it even worse.

"oh, lookie here. sleeping beauty is up." you were met once again with justin hammer's ugly face. he was sitting on a chair perpendicular to your left side. you couldn't wait to get out of here so you didn't have to keep seeing his face every time you woke up. your inner forearm was stinging even more now so you looked down at it. you gasped at the sight.

"how'd you like my artwork?" he chuckled at your reaction. there on your arm, obviously carved out with the bloody knife that the asshole was so proudly holding on to, was 'FREAK'. carved out big and bold. on your skin. "pretty fitting, eh? freak? because, you know, that's what you are."

the blood was seeping out through the cuts and it stung even more now that it had been exposed to the air. the asshole moved his chair to your other side. "what should i write on this arm?" he feigns a thinking expression, looking up thoughtfully with his thumb and pointer finger on his chin.

"please, i–i don't know where tony put it. i really don't." you cried, tears now flowing freely down your face without a shame.

he looks at you with amusement. "what is this? are you...are you giving up already? can't take anymore?" he smirks and you sigh, closing your eyes. you just awoke but you were exhausted. so, so exhausted.

he takes out his phone, the smirk now permanent on his ugly face. "stark! kid's finally had enough. wanna tell me where the weapon is now or do you want to find her body at the bottom of the ocean?"

you couldn't even be bothered to react to his statement. the pain all finally registered and you were tired. tired and in excruciating pain.

"kinda busy right now, can you call back later?" you could hear tony's voice sound from justin's phone and the man beside you laughed. "i see you don't care for the girl. what could possibly be more important than saving her?"

"i don't know, you tell me." a voice said from behind you two and before you knew it, hammer was knocked off the chair he was on. you weakly turned your head just in time to see a metal arm force hammer up onto his feet before wrapping around his neck. "don't you fucking touch her again."

"y/n!" you heard wanda's voice as she entered the room with peter. more tears flowed down your face at the sight of them, stinging when they rolled past the cuts on your face but that didn't matter. your family was finally here to save you.

you saw the red mist of wanda's powers surround your cuffs before they clicked open. "oh, bubs, i'm so sorry." she cried, both hands hovering around your face, hesitating to touch you in fear of hurting you. her eyes fell onto the words carved out onto your skin and her mouth fell open before covering it with her hand. "i'm so sorry we couldn't get to you sooner." peter's voice cracked and you could tell he was emotional.

"it's okay," you told them, giving them a small smile, the biggest one you could give in your current state.

tony, sam and steve entered the room to see bucky relentlessly beating up your captor and wanda and peter standing by you as you cried.

"cupcake, we're here now. don't cry, you're safe now." tony came closer and despite knowing that you were because your family was finally here, you couldn't help but let out all the pent up emotions you've kept throughout your time of captivity.

sam had a go at justin once bucky was done and steve had to physically pry them both off of the sick bastard so that nat could cuff him and bring him back to the jet.

"y/n/n, i'm so sorry. if i hadn't–"

"it's okay, stevie." you cut him off. truthfully, you only did so because you knew he was going to giving a long-winded explanation justifying his actions and your headache couldn't bear to hear lengthy sentences. but you also didn't think it was in any way his fault so he didn't deserve to be beating himself up for this. shit happens, anyway.

"let's get you out of here, doll." bucky says, cringing when he sees the blood on the floor of your chair, as well as on your clothes. he quickly reaches to lift you off the chair but stops when you let out an ear-piercing scream of pain. "doll, i'm so sorry! did i hurt you?!" bucky questions in panic.

"y–you didn't, they did. it...it hurts everywhere," you cried, feeling hopeless that you couldn't even bear being carried by someone, let alone get up by yourself. their hearts broke when you said that. you never really cried much in front of them and you were known to withstand pain well because of how much shit HYDRA put you in as well as your powers being healing, meaning you had a higher pain tolerance than most people.

"it's okay, bubs. i got you. let's get you home, alright?" wanda's calming voice broke you out of your breakdown and red mist surrounded your whole body, wanda moving you with her powers. you were thankful of that because it didn't cause any more pain to your body.

maybe hammer was right. maybe you are just a freak with useless powers. wanda floated you into the jet and she set you down on the bed. "y/n, oh my god!" clint cried out once he sees you. you looked much worse than you did on hammer's camera footage during the call an hour ago. "kid, i'm so sorry."

"clint, take the wheel. bruce doesn't have all the resources needed. she needs to be treated ASAP." nat tells her best friend and he nods, taking the wheel and immediately taking off once everyone had boarded.

you were laid on the bed, right eye slightly open as bruce examined you. exhaustion hit you like a truck and before you knew it, you blacked out.

-

"how is she, doc?"

"pretty banged up but y/n, as i already knew, is a strong girl. lots of internal bleeding, broken bones, bruises and scars but she'll be fine. you can check her file later if you want," doctor cho tells tony outside of your room. "it's fine, can we see her?" he asks on behalf of the whole team standing behind him.

"yeah, of course! she woke up five minutes ago. i'll be off now, call me or my team if you need anything." she bids goodbye and left the group of superheroes.

steve slowly opens the door and there you were in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "hey, y/n/n," he greets sheepishly, feeling as though he had interrupted your alone time of blankly staring at the ceiling. the team trailed in behind him and soon your bed was surrounded by the avengers.

"hi, cupcake."

you looked away from the ceiling and turned your head towards tony. "oh, hey tones." you smile as sam helps you sit up while the rest sat on chairs all around you. "how you feeling, bub?" nat asks, eyes flickering down to the bold scarring of letters on your forearm.

"as okay as i can be." you answered truthfully, pressing your inner forearm closer to your body so the team doesn't see the letters carved onto your skin. you already know what you are, you didn't need the rest thinking so too.

"you're not a freak, bubs."

you look up at wanda. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to read your mind. but they were awfully loud. you're not a freak, y/n. and you're not useless too. that bastard may have carved out that word onto your skin but the scar will fade. it's not permanent. you know why? because that's not what you are." she tells you, taking off her jacket to wrap it around you because you felt self conscious of the scars all over your arms where the team could see.

"yeah, doll. you're an amazing person and your powers help us so much. i mean, you saved millions just helping us get the weapon back from justin hammer. if you hadn't, well, who knows what could've been happening right now?" he places a gentle hand at the side of your head, stroking your hair.

"yeah and who heals us when we get really hurt during missions, huh? i mean, if you hadn't healed that stab wound i got during that mission in new mexico, i probably wouldn't even be here at this moment." clint tells you and you roll your eyes at him. "you're exaggerating."

"i am not!" he laughed and you playfully rolled your eyes once again.

"y/n/n, i'm really sorry for—"

"i don't wanna hear it, stevie."

"but–"

"no. it's not your fault. shit happens." you brush him off. "lang–"

"you say language to me, i'll blame this shit on you even when it's not your fault. try me, rogers." you glare at the blond super soldier. he raises his arms in surrender, leaning back on his chair as the team laughs.

the team continue to entertain you and you couldn't help but smile at the sight in front of you. these were the people who would drop anything for you and were willing to dropkick any asshole in the face for hurting you. justin hammer never had a chance against your family to begin with.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg

[honey-milk-depresso]

Make it less Bland (Jamil Viper x Reader)

Ever since I saw Najma my mind was MMMMM and also Najma sort of argues with Jamil by how bland his food looks like? I think it’ll be super funny if he went home with you on a date to meet his family- and his sister’s like “This looks like shit”- lmao-

=============================================================

“Um..”

You walked into the kitchen of the Viper’s household, eager to see what you’re boyfriend was cooking. It smelt really good from the living room.

But now, you see two Vipers fighting and bickering with each other.

“NAJMA- DON’T ADD IN SO MUCH TUMERIC ARE YOU TRYING TO MURDER MY-”

“IT LOOKS JUST AS GOOD AS WATER, YOUR STUPID CURRY- YOU’VE BEEN GONE FOR TWO YEARS AND THIS IS YOUR COOKING PROGRESS?? I’M DOING YOU A FAVOR-”

“NO YOU AREN’T-”

“Are you two.....okay..?”

The two siblings swerve their heads to meet an anxious you, cowering against the wall, a little concern of the commotion going on.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re truly a good person, sometimes I don’t know why you like Jamil to begin with,”

“HEY-”

“but he didn’t spice up his looks in the curry and I’m trying to help make this date more, you know, colorful!”

You sighed, but a smile was plastered on your face. Jamil’s younger sister was truly something.

“How about this,” you suggested, from a cabinet you pulled out a jar of herb garnishes; their mother gave you the grand tour of the house, especially the kitchen. You knew where everything was now.

Taking a handful of a pinch, you sprinkled it around the curry, and now adding two cinnamon stick spice at the side. It was just to add in a hint of flavor when you stir with it (I guess so???), but in any case, it was to make it more aesthetic. You continued adding artistic and simple touches as the two Vipers watched you intently, curious of what you were doing.

=============================================================

“Complete!”

The curry dish was much more brighter and lively than before. Najma eyes seem to sparkle.

“Woahhhh! So pretty! See Jamil, you had to have your own lover do this for you.”

Jamil’s eyes twitched. “Can you not...in front of them..?”

Najma just rolled her eyes and stook out her tongue at him. She quickly smiled brightly at you, taking both your hands in hers. 

“Y/n! You should totally come to our home next time! And during those times, I’ll show you round the market! Actually- no- TODAY! TODAY AFTER LUNCH, LET’S GO EAT NOW!” She hurriedly took the pot of curry as carefully as she could, rushing to the dining table excited as she can be.

Jamil’s eyes softened. He’s glad his sister enjoys being with you, and likes that you were with him, or at least, likes you.

He sighed. “Geez, that girl..”

You chuckled. “I don’t mind her. I think she’s such a cute little sister!”

Jamil smiled, going up to you to kiss your forehead.

You snorted and smiled.

He’ll be sure to bring you here next time.

[bffsoobin]

amortentia

↳year six potions class was never particularly exciting to you- as a Slytherin with much more interest in Transfiguration- but alas, it’s required to graduate. You thought the class couldn’t be any more of an inconvenience, but upon being paired with infamous Gryffindor Beomgyu, you find yourself proven wrong.

➤ gryffindor!beomgyu xslytherin!reader, harry potter!au, enemies to lovers, a little slow burn, fluff

Word Count: ~11k

Requested?: kinda? anon requested a Beomgyu oneshot with no specifics and I spit this out of some depraved, Harry Potter obsessed corner of my mind.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, usual e2l arguments, swearing, usual Gryffindor-Slytherin insults and tension 

A/N: I hope the anon who asked for a Beomgyu oneshot is happy with this!! I finally felt like I had enough time to write a proper hogwarts au so here it is! Also I purposely avoided using any professor names that are clearly linked with the actual Harry Potter series purely because of timeline continuity! Bonus points if you can guess who Georgiana is related to before I point it out :) ALSO this is so long and I feel so rusty so I hope it’s okay lmao

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

The sound of your quill scratching against parchment filled your quiet corner of the common room, allowing you a feeling of solidarity and peace you’d been craving since you arrived back to the castle a few days ago. Of course you’d been excited to be back, sharing the meal in the Great Hall with all of your friends happily as you watched the wide-eyed first years get sorted into their houses. It was hard to believe that 6 years ago that had been you waiting to find your place within the walls of Hogwarts. 

As always, the buzz of the beginning of a new year wore on your nerves. Despite your love for your friends, their energy was- in your opinion- completely draining. You much preferred the moments of quiet serenity that the stone laden dungeon common room afforded you. The last few embers of a fire lit hours before winked at you from across the room, tempting you to raise your wand and reignite them. After a moment you decided against the movement, as you were presumably the only one awake at this hour and the light of the cedar scented candle you’d brought down with you from your suitcase provided enough light for you anyway. 

The scratch of your quill stilled as you flipped to the next page, careful not to accidentally bend the corners of the book you’d just purchased. Several detailed diagrams detailed the process of transfiguring plants to inanimate objects to animals then back to plants and you felt your heart swell with excitement. Transfiguration was hands down your favorite subject, and you’d been craving to learn this process in particular since it had been mentioned offhandedly in class last year. You scrambled to pick up your quill, happy that you’d splurged for the instantly refilling model as ink flowed flawlessly against the parchment. 

A sudden crash from the entrance of the common room popped your comfortable bubble of silence harshly as you clambered for your wand. 

“Who’s there?” You yelled, annoyance and surprise mixing to raise your voice considerably. For a moment you heard nothing as you advanced closer to the door, keeping the three wide stone steps between you and who- or what- ever was behind the door. The door shook a few times before finally flying open, revealing three very normal looking boys stumbling through the threshold. They were all hanging on one another, stumbling over their feet as they pushed into the common room. You recognized the one in the middle instantly as Choi Yeonjun, fellow Slytherin and current Head Boy of the house. He was a year older than you but you knew him well for his infectious laughter and notoriously good grades despite never studying. His cheeks were flushed and his feet unsteady, but he held a charming grin through it all. The identity of whoever was supporting him on the left was a mystery to you, but the boy supporting him from the right sent alarm bells off in your head. 

“Beomgyu?” Your voice left you before you could rein yourself in, and you would have cringed had it not been for the hatred brewing under your skin. Here he was, the one person you tried to forget existed every single summer. And he had been part of the ruckus that pulled you from your reading. He didn’t say anything as the three boys stumbled past you, dumping Yeonjun onto one of the soft black leather sofas. 

“Hello?” You felt like you were in some kind of time warp, somehow totally invisible to the three of them as they sorted themselves out; Beomgyu and the other boy straightening out their clothing and Yeonjun lolling his head back on the cushions with a content sigh. 

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Beomgyu finally drawled, sticking his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. He was still wearing his robes, layered over a sensible gray wool sweater and black uniform slacks. His striped red and gold tie hung off of his neck slightly, obviously having been loosened at some point in the night. He donned the same Head Boy pin Yeonjun did, but in the same colorway as his robes and tie. Loud, obnoxious, attention seeking red and gold.

“Hey? How about instead of “hey” you tell me why the hell you’re barging into my common room at some ungodly hour of the night! Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Head Boy?” The unidentified boy behind him froze as his eyes widened, apparently feeling the sting of your icy words much more than Beomgyu. He just lifted a lazy eyebrow, guiding his annoyingly confident gaze over your body. Fucking Gryffindors and their confidence. It was suffocating. 

“Well you see, Y/N. Yeonjun here can’t handle his fire whiskey for shit, and we were all just having a little start of the year party in the Room of Requirement. So me and my friend here,” he motioned vaguely to the cowering boy behind him- who you now noticed looked like he had just entered his fourth year- “decided to be so kind as to bring him back.” 

You said nothing for a moment; simply simmering in your hatred for him until he spoke again. 

“By the way, what are you even doing up so late? You’re not a prefect...so shouldn’t you be up in bed like the rest of your little friends? What’s so secretive that you have to be up in the middle of the night for it? Are you doing something...evil?” He leaned forward, closing the gap between the two of you and bringing his mouth level with your ear. You cringed at the closeness, clenching your hands into fists until the crescents of your nails indented your skin. His voice had lowered like he was telling a secret, as if Gryffindors even had the capacity for maintaining privacy. “Are you being naughty?” 

You huffed indignantly, finally finding the strength to shove his shoulder away harshly. The skin of your cheeks was certainly flamed, but you hoped he would chalk it up to annoyance and not the intoxicating scent of his woody cologne.  

“If you must know, I was up studying Transfiguration. I was trying to enjoy some piece and quiet until you came busting in.”

Beomgyu stepped around you and made his way for the table you’d previously been sitting at. To your delight he refrained from touching anything, but he stared at the set up for so excruciatingly long that the mystery boy awkwardly slipped out of the dungeon without a word. 

“We start classes in about 5 hours,” he suddenly remarked. His voice made you jump a bit, since you’d become used to the regained quiet. “Why the hell are you already studying? And a subject we’ve all already taken? Any other Transfiguration courses would just be electives, and with how much you care for your class standing I would have assumed you’d be learning ahead on Potions.”

“Well first of all, I’m not exactly studying. I’m just reading. I bought the book myself because I-” you stopped and heaved a sigh at the scrunch of his eyebrows. He clearly wasn’t understanding the concept of reading just for the fun of it. “I’m not studying for Potions because I despite it. Plus, how much is there to study? The book literally spells out every ingredient and procedure. There’s no thinking to be done, and hardly any magic.” Beomgyu’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline comically. 

“Hardly any magic? My god, maybe I was right to peg you as the pessimistic type. Must be hard to feel anything akin to hope down here in your-” he glanced around your common room again, eyes catching on the darkened green and black decorations, the window offering a view of the sparkling Black Lake shrouded with pine trees. “In your dungeon.” 

His use of the word bothered you greatly. Even though you knew it was geographically true and had even used it yourself; something about him coming in unannounced and uninvited to insult your home inspired fresh anger in your stomach. 

“Get out,” you spat, ignoring the way a half-dozed Yeonjun jumped at your voice. With all your might you pushed at Beomgyu’s broad shoulders, willing him out of your sight for at least a few more hours. 

“Oof, must have hit a nerve there, huh?” He continued to speak casually as you pushed him, walking backwards up the steps with an annoyingly perfect accuracy. Once he was finally stood in the threshold of the heavy door you heaved a sigh of relief as you swing it closed.

“Bye bye! Don’t ever fucking come back!”

——

You only managed about two hours of sleep after the Beomgyu drama, but luckily for you the three other sixth year girls you were rooming with had been smart enough to buy and stash away some caffeine potions. They had none of the enjoyable taste of coffee but three times the effect, and soon you felt back in top shape to head to class.

Pushing through the masses of clambering students with a practice eased, you caught up to the familiar frame of Georgiana, one of your oldest friends. She was a Ravenclaw, but you’d ridden together on your very first trip on the Hogwarts Express and stayed close friends since then. She greeted you easily, giving you an award winning smile as she pulled you by the arm of the robes to sit on one of the surprisingly empty stone benches lining the halls.

“Let me see your schedule!” She had to yell just to be heard over the mumbling of the crowd, but you heard her well enough to produce a folded piece of parchment that you carried despite having memorized it. Georgiana’s eyes flitted over it carefully, comparing it to her own schedule which laid open on her lap.

“We’ve got...Herbology 3,” she ran her finger down the parchments a few more inches, “Transfiguration of Aquatics...and NEWT prep together!” You groaned loudly, a feeling of anxiety weighing down your bones as you rubbed your fingertips into your temples.

“What’s up with you? Over me already?” She giggled, leaning back against the wall and handing you back your schedule.

“No, it’s just...if you’re the second class for Herb 3, Aquatics and NEWT prep, that means I have to pray that the second house in Potions isn’t Gryffindor.” You leaned back against the cool wall next to her, pouting in self pity until you saw the grim look on her face.

“What?” You sat up straight again as if a fire had been lit under your ass. Georgiana looked as if she was holding in a laugh and a grimace at the same time while you begged her to give up whatever information she was holding back from you. Her hand hovered over her mouth in an attempt to hide the wavering smirk running across her lips. 

“Okay, don’t freak out.” She began, placing a hand on your knee. 

“Well now I’m definitely going to since you lead with don’t freak out! Should I freak out? What about?”

“I already compared schedules with Soobin,” she said gently.

“Okay, and?” You knew of the sweet Hufflepuff, had sat next to him in a few classes and seen him hanging out with Yeonjun on occasion, but still had no idea why she was bringing him up now.

“And him and I have Potions together.” In the split second it took for the words to process you saw her flinch, clutching at the fabric of her robes over her chest in anticipation for your angry outburst.

“Of course! Of course I have to get stuck with them for Potions class, out of all the other houses. Merlin really has it out for lately you know, I didn’t sleep very much last night, had to pay Melinda 10 galleons for one of her caffeine potions-“

“I can tell,” Georgiana supplied. You grimaced at her and immediately shut your mouth, sensing your rapid talking was quickly becoming over the top.

“Georgie, if I have Potions with him-“ you didn’t even have to specify who you were speaking of before she was rolling her green eyes into her head.

“If you have Potions with Beomgyu, you just need to ignore him. He loves to push your buttons, Y/N. When will you realize that? And you push his back and you both get a good cat-and-mouse feeling that every teenager wants. Maybe if you stop entertaining it, he’ll take it easy on you. Need I remind you of the time you were actually friends with him? Didn’t swear he was the spawn of Satan after every conversation? I even remember in second year when you had a crush on him and made me-“

“Okay!” You replied curtly, gathering your books and parchment back into your arms. “I’m going now! Class starts in,” you pulled back your robe sleeve to look at a watch that clearly was not there, “10 minutes, and I like to be early!” Easily, you slipped into the throngs of students, leaving Georgiana behind with a sly grin on her face.

——

You arrived to the Potions room before any other student, forcing you to idle awkwardly in the small space between the door and the first brewing station. A few of the cauldrons bubbled idly, breaking up the silence of the room with the low hum of white noise. The arched ceilings only amplified the absence of noise- even the never ending buzz of students passing through the hallways was somehow muffled to silence inside the walls. 

“Ah!” The professor bellowed, waving at you from the opposite end of the room where he had been straightening out some piles of parchment that you could only assume were homework papers. “Hello there, you must be quite eager to start the day!” You could feel the skin of the back of your neck heating up as the rotund man approached you gleefully. 

“Oh, um, yes sir. You could say that...” you mumbled, clutching your stack of books to your chest protectively. The man smiled at you kindly but you could still feel the heavy weight of awkwardness seeping into your bones. He opened his mouth again- making another attempt at small talk to which you cringed. As much as you respected the professor on the basis of his knowledge, your ability for any small talk, especially Potions related, was extremely lacking. 

“You must’ve done quite well on your OWLS to be here, yes? Only those with the highest scores can be registered. The class can be quite challenging, but if you’ve got your affairs in order I reckon you’ll fine.” He paused, likely sensing the blankness behind your stare as you nodded politely. “Ah, all things you already know I’m sure. Are you excited to get started with the class?” 

You frowned, holding back your natural instinct for brutal honesty. How on earth could you let this gentle old man down gently? 

“Of course she’s excited! Aren’t we all?” Beomgyu was in the room now, apparently, approaching you from behind and slinging an arm around your shoulders. The loose fabric of his sleeve collided with the side of your face, blinding you for a second. You stumbled on your feet from the jostle, trying to shrug away from the warmth and overwhelming scent of his cologne. Beomgyu never was aware of his own strength as he held you steadily against his side as if he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

“Oh my! So nice to see such great friends between different houses! Back in my day, as I’m sure you know, there was so much hatred between Gryffindors and Slytherins...never would have seen a pair of friends like the two of you!” The professor seemed genuinely delighted, oblivious to the way you tried to wiggle out of Beomgyu’s hold. You offered the professor a plastic smile as more students filed in. As soon as the portly man was otherwise occupied, you stomped the heel of your sneaker into Beomgyu’s foot with all the might you could gather. 

“Merlin, ouch!” He recoiled immediately, withdrawing his arm from around your frame to clutch at the foot you’d hopefully bruised. “I’ve got Quidditch practice after lunch today! How dare you!” 

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t need your feet for Quidditch, Choi. Serves you right for violating my personal space. Next time it’ll be worse than your fucking toes.” You hissed the words lowly, just enough that he would be able to hear them but without alerting your nearby classmates. 

“You two, there!” The professor suddenly exclaimed, making you jump out of your stupor to see he was pointed an aged finger at you and Beomgyu. “Since you were first in and seem to get along, I’ll have you be partners on Station 1.” A few confused whispers passed through the classmates behind you and your face fell at the implication. Potions partners with Beomgyu? For the whole year?

He seemed similarly stalled, not moving a single inch away from the front of the room until the professor cleared his throat pointedly. 

“Right, sir, of course,” Beomgyu nodded, rushing over to the furthest of the high-top tables; unsuccessfully trying to hide the pain of his newfound limp. With a satisfied feeling in your chest you followed closely behind, finally unloading the weight of the books in your arms onto the table. 

——

“How much worse could it get?” You groaned, laying your head in your arms at the dining table. 

“Well, you could be sick, or failing a class, or not have any friends, or have lost your books. Hell, let’s not forget what it must have been like to go to school here at the same time as Harry Potter. I mean, no final exams for a few years, but at what cost? Grandpa Ron always tells me about-” 

“Oh, good Merlin, Georgie, that’s not what I meant.” You picked your head up from the table and scanned the bustling hall. A large plate of sandwiches laid in front of you but your appetite was diminished in the presence of your stress. “I mean, how fucked is it that I have to spend every first period for the rest of the year brewing Potions alongside Choi? It’s bad enough that I hate Potions already, and now I’ll have to deal with his stupid, righteous, Slytherin-slandering ass!” You slammed your hand into the wooden table, shaking the plates and glasses near you under the force. 

“Careful there,” Georgiana scolded around a mouthful of bread. “Just keep your head down, don’t react to him like you always do,” she paused to gulp down a sip of pumpkin juice, “he’ll give up eventually.” You heaved a heavy sigh, propping your chin onto the palm of your hand and scanning the Great Hall. Masses of students bustled around, sharing meals and laughing or gathering over homework problems. You weren’t quite sure who or what you were looking for, but all you found was a rowdy group of forth year boys sitting atop one of the tables, casting small hexes at one another and their lunches. You rolled your eyes at their antics before resigning to picking at the few fries on your plate. 

“And if he doesn’t?” You mumbled, casting a pointed glare at a seemingly distracted Georgiana. It took her a second to shift her gaze back to your face, clearing her throat as she narrowed her eyes towards you. 

“Sorry?” She asked, pulling a section of crust off of the third sandwich she’d picked up off of the platter. 

“If he doesn’t give up? What am I supposed to do then?” The thought of living out the next two school years with Choi Beomgyu as a constant annoyance settled a pit of rage in your stomach. Georgiana was quiet for a moment, flicking a few locks of curled, fiery hair over her shoulder. 

“Then you get back at him.” She shrugged. “You know you get a discount at the joke shop. Just go down there and pick up some puking pastilles or something.” She looked up again suddenly, eyes shimmering and focused intently on something behind you. Out of curiosity you turned on the spot, wondering if there was something of interest outside of the window, only to be met with the sight of Soobin standing mere feet away, hand stalled mid-wave. It didn’t take a genius to notice that the Hufflepuff was staring intently at your best friend, and she was happily returning the sentiment with a goofy grin on her face. You whipped back around to face her, leaning across the table as if the action would provide any secrecy with him so close. 

“Are you and Soobin...” you wiggled your eyebrows at her and she swatted at your shoulder. Her cheeks blushed rosy as she whispered back, “He asked me if I’d want to hang out when we go to Hogsmeade this weekend.” Her voice shook as she spoke but you frowned instantly. Of course you were happy that he had finally manned up and the two of them were on the way to something akin to a date, but...

“First weekend Hogsmeade is our tradition!” You shouted, abandoning any secrecy you might have thought you’d maintained from Soobin. 

“Y/N, please!” Georgiana hissed, glancing up at Soobin with an apologetic smile. “Just once. You can still come along, maybe you can bring someone too?” She offered, trying to placate your irritation. Her eyes continued sliding between you and Soobin as she waited for your response. You sank back onto the bench quietly, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Fine.” You sighed. “I guess I can try to think of someone.” Georgiana’s face lit up as she stood from her seat and gathered her books back under her arm. She rounded the end of the table quickly, meeting up with Soobin just behind you. “Don’t think I’m not still irritated, Weasley!” You yelled after her even though she had turned her back to you. She stalled in her lockstep next to Soobin just long enough to turn her head and throw you a middle finger. 

——

The day of your Hogsmeade visit came quicker than you anticipated, and of course you’d failed to find someone to fill the empty spot that would prevent you from third wheeling. Everyone you asked had either been otherwise busy, sick, or already going into Hogsmeade with other friends.

Georgiana, being the wonderful friend she was, made sure that you hadn’t felt left out on the walk into the village. Soobin was surprisingly good at keeping conversation despite his shy appearance, and the three of you had managed to share lunch and a few Butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks before Georgiana began giving you pointed glances. It took you an embarrassingly long time to recognize what her hand signals and mouthed words were conveying, but once you did you had excused yourself to wander the shops alone in a bid to give the lovebirds some privacy.

The weather was surprisingly pleasant, and as such the streets were lined with witches and wizards of all ages. Large throngs of students and families passed you by, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit like a fish swimming upstream as everyone pushed by. When you’d first stepped out you felt odd walking the cobbled street alone, considering you’d never made a solo trip to Hogsmeade for as long as you’d lived. Something about it was quite relaxing, though, as you realized you could enter any store and stay for any amount of time. 

Once you’d wrestled your way through another group of oncoming students, you spotted an endearing baby blue storefront with deserts on display in the window. Many of them appeared to be muggle creations, and your mouth watered as you caught sight of a tray of fudgy brownies with a thick layer of chocolate icing. Your eyes had always been bigger than your stomach; so despite the fact that you’d just had lunch you find yourself stepping into the sweet smelling shop. An expansion charm helped stretch the store far beyond its dainty storefront, and you were met with the sight of even more display cases and tiered plates full of sweets. 

A few other wizards mulled around the store, debating which treats to pick up and pack into the little green pastry boxes which were stacked at the entrance in a never ending supply. You balanced one of your own between your hands as you gathered up treats, sure to grab three of the very brownies that had brought you in to begin with. You packed in a few cookies that you found on a shelf near the back of the store and began to weigh your options between purchasing what appeared to be a type of muggle cake with specs of color floating about the white batter or a more familiar looking pumpkin pastry dusted with powdered sugar. You contemplated the two deserts for an amount of time that would have been embarrassing if you were in the presence of company.

“Wrackspurts on the brain?” A rush of hot breath inches away from the shell of your ear had you reeling, clutching your box of precious deserts to your chest. Of course you’d immediately identified the voice; you were just hoping that you were wrong as you shot daggers into the boy who’d spooked you. Beomgyu looked beyond pleased with himself: a hand cocked on his hip, fake glasses perched at the very end of his nose to perfectly top off the outfit he’d chosen. His robes hung open, one shoulder almost devoid of the fabric as it drooped onto his back. The maroon turtleneck he wore struck a perfect contrast with the golden undertones of his skin and matched impressively well to the emblem on his robes. He had tucked the turtleneck into the waistband of a pair of light wash jeans that made it hard not to marvel at the shape of his waist. The scent of his cologne was faint, overpowered by the sweetness of the shop, but you were picking up overwhelming scents of-

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” He scrunched his nose as he studied you, waving gingerly like you would have at a child.

“Oh! Uh, I’m here, I’m here. What the hell do you want anyway?” You turned your attention back to the two pastries you’d been considering before his sneak attack in an attempt to keep yourself from looking back at his form.

“What’re you doing here alone? Out of friends? Did ya bore them all to death?” He had rounded to the opposite side of the table, forcing you to look at him straight on.

“I walked into Hogsmeade with Georgiana and Soobin, if you must know. They wanted some time alone so here I am.” You glanced up again to see him leaning casually against the table with one arm bracing his weight.

“I just have to point out that you’re also alone, Beomgyu. So I’m not quite sure why so keen on bashing me.” Your eyes skate over the deserts one final time before you decisively package up a slice of the muggle cake. The urge to celebrate the small victory was squashed by Beomgyu’s scoff.

“I’m here alone because I chose to be, not because my best friend is on a date and didn’t want a chaperone. Don’t you find that a little embarrassing?”

To be honest, you hadn’t considered it that way. You knew that finding a person to keep you from third wheeling had been your responsibility. But maybe he had a point. Although he was a constant nagging force, Beomgyu was insightful and intelligent. He’d helped you in class many times back when you were friends. Nervously, you nibbled at your bottom lip and considered his words carefully. Did Georgiana find your presence today embarrassing? She was surely too nice to tell you so, and there was no denying the tension in her face while she waited for you to leave The Three Broomsticks earlier. Your normally stoic face must have betrayed you, conveying that you were starting to feel hurt at the words that suddenly seemed to make so much sense. 

“I was joking,” Beomgyu spoke up suddenly, rounding the table to once again be next to you. “Don’t take everything I say so seriously, Y/N. I’m beginning to worry for your sense of humor.” He picked up a couple of cookies with careful dexterity and settled them into the palm of his hand. 

“Of course,” you concluded bitterly, taking a step back in a bid to get to the counter and buy your treats. “Must be my broken sense of humor and not just the fact that you’re an ass.” His face twisted unpleasantly as you stepped further away. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but you were already pivoting on the balls of your feet to make your way toward the front of the shop. 

——

The evidence of the first frost of the season crunched underneath your feet as you hurried to class. As someone who prided themselves on showing up on time for classes every day, you were particularly embarrassed to have woken up with just twenty minutes to spare before the beginning of potions. There was no excuse, either. You had simply stayed up too late studying for the NEWT practice exam and forgot to set your alarm before lying down.

To make matters worse you’d greatly underdressed yourself, underestimating the absolute chill of the morning when you had peeled out from the window. Only now, as you found yourself feet away from the classroom did you feel the icy temperature begin to bite into your exposed skin. Your cheeks were numb with cold, and your hands shook as you pushed them under your arms for some amount of warmth. Luckily the classroom was warmer when you finally got to it. Guiltily, you grinned at your professor as he notably marked your attendance onto the scroll of parchment. 

“Rough night?” Beomgyu asked under his breath as the professor launched into the lesson for the day. You kept your back turned to the boy in favor of writing down the list of ingredients that was being provided to you. A firm poke in the middle of your back had you turning on your stool, already silently fuming as you came face to face with Beomgyu. 

“What?” You mouthed, trying your best not to alert your professor that neither of you were paying attention to him. 

“You look awful,” he mouthed back, pulling the most exaggerated gagging expression you’d ever seen in your life. Your fingers twitched, resisting the urge to grab him by his necktie and slap him across his annoyingly perfect face. Instead you threw up your middle finger boldly, practicing a muggle tradition that wizards had become quite fond of. Beomgyu feigned shock, laying a hand over his heart and pretending to faint right there at his stool. 

“-so you’ll be using this combination of potions for the group project, due in one weeks time.” Your professor concluded. Wide eyed, you spun back around on your stool only to see the words previously written on the board disappear with a flick of his wand. A group project? Potions, plural? You’d only taken notes on one mixture, and you were sure that Beomgyu hadn’t taken any notes at all. Although maybe the group project wasn’t among your table mate? Your heart fluttered as you prayed for that to be the reality, scanning your classmates to see if anyone got up to switch seats or combine tables. 

Not a single soul moved. 

“Guess it’s just us.” Beomgyu drawled from behind you. 

“Did you take any notes?” You asked, fear running through your veins. If both of you were clueless, you’d have to ask the professor to explain everything to you again, which would only implicate the two of you for not paying attention to begin with. 

Beomgyu shook his head and shrugged much too casually for a student who was in the dark about an entire project. 

“I’ll just ask someone. Hey, Art-” 

“No!” You scrambled for a rolled piece of parchment to hit him on the arm with before he could finish his shout across the classroom. “Please, do not scream across the room that we don’t know what we’re doing.” Your cheeks were flaming, anxiety and exhaustion building to a dangerous level in your bloodstream.

“Awe, are you ashamed to admit you were too busy talking to me to pay attention?” Beomgyu cooed, cradling his chin in his palms.

“No. I’m embarrassed that we’re the only ones not starting the work,” you glanced pointedly to all of the other tables where your classmates were hard at work on...something. Every table housed a slowly bubbling cauldron producing a steady stream of light grey smoke. The cauldron resting on the table between the two of you was alarmingly quiet, your stores of provided potion ingredients remaining untouched. 

“Alright, Y/N. How about right now we work on the one you wrote down,” he points a finger at the parchment containing the list of notes you managed to take, “and I’ll talk to someone about the rest. Since you’re too proud to ask for help.” Without waiting for you to process the words he gripped the parchment between his fingers and pulled it toward the middle of the table. He mumbled a simple aguamenti under his breath and the cauldron filled with the perfect level of water. He then scrutinized the words for just a moment before he began to collect ingredients with a practiced ease, barely even glancing at the labels of the hefty glass containers. You’d never seen him quite as focused in a class as he was at the moment, his nimble fingers uncapping lids and measuring precise amounts of lacewing flies with a delicacy you never would have expected to come from the hands of Gryffindor’s star Beater. 

One after the other, ingredients fell into the wrought iron cauldron, changing the color of the mixture from clear to an odd, murky green. You scrunched your nose in distaste but Beomgyu was nodding to himself in satisfaction, his fluffy hair bouncing back off of his forehead. 

“Stop staring and start taking notes, Y/N.” His voice was casual but his lips were twisted in a smirk as you scrambled for both an excuse and a fresh roll of parchment. 

“I wasn’t,” you defended as you begin to scribble out notes against the parchment, refusing to meet his eyes as the shame of being caught red-handed crawled up the back of your throat and stung behind your eyes. He simply hummed in acknowledgment and tossed in a few leaves of a plant you didn’t have time to identify into the bubbling mixture.

——

Impatiently, you tapped your foot against the stone floor. It echoed a sound that would have been satisfying in its consistency if it weren’t for the annoyance running through your veins. Beomgyu had promised to meet you in the west corner of the library today, at a prompt 7pm, in order to finish synthesizing your plan for the Potions project. You checked the clock on the wall again just in case you had somehow misread the hands only to find them confirming your suspicions. Beomgyu was blowing you off. He had suggested the time and place himself, and yet he couldn’t even have the decency to show up. 

Anger blossomed in your chest as you stood to gather the things you’d brought along. Your chair scraped on the floor and attracted the stares of a few other students put you paid them no mind as you swore under your breath. 

Of course Beomgyu had stood you up in the face of an important project. He was probably laughing away to his friends in the common room, boasting about how he’d left you sitting in the library like a fool. Once again he had proven himself to be an utterly useless and annoying human being that you wished you had never even met. Your teeth sunk into the supple flesh of your bottom lip so hard that blood pooled on your tongue, the bitter tang snapping you into action. The route to the Gryffindor common room was a familiar one, and the hatred brimming inside of you made your legs move even faster than usual, swearing under your breath as you finally came face to face with the portrait keeping you from entering the room. 

“I don’t have time for any password- please just let me in. I’m looking for someone.” Your words came rushed, obviously annoyed as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Now, you know that isn’t how this works, dear,” the painting asserted, crossing their arms to mimic your own stubborn pose. “I can’t let just anyone into the room. I’ve got,” the portraited stopped dead in its tracks and began counting on its fingers silently. “I’ve got 30 students inside right now, and it’s my job to protect them.” Your fists clenched at your sides over the stubborn portrait, fingers itching to grab your wand and level a badgering curse against the damned painting. It must have read the anger on your face as you fiddled with the fabric of your robes, as it’s booming voice came again; 

“Tell me who you’re seeking, and I can tell you if I’ve seen them!” With your fingers still curled around your wand, it took a fair deal of restraint to leave it in your robe pocket. After a deep, steadying breath, you looked back up at the portrait. A beat of silence passed before you slathered on a sweet smile, clearing your throat to quell any remnants of your frustrated growl. 

“I’m looking for Choi Beomgyu.” 

The portrait took a moment to contemplate your words, squeezing its eyes tightly and tapping its fingers as you assumed it searched the students inside the Gryffindor common room and dorms. 

“He’s not here.” It finally concluded, snapping its eyes back open to peer down at you again. Frustration flamed your skin red all the way to your hairline. Hogwarts and it’s grounds were extensive, and searching for him would surely take up your entire night. 

“I did happen to see out Quidditch players heading down to the pitch around 5 o’clock, though.” Not needing any further ceremony, you turned on your heels and made your way toward the exit of the castle. The corridors were fairly empty, and the few students still milling around were quick to step out of your way as you hurried through them, robes flowing out behind you. Silently you thanked your lucky stars that no professors had been around to inquire about why you were rushing out of the castle in such a haste. 

As soon as you set foot outside, you regretted not stopping by your dorm first to grab your coat and scarf. It had been three days since you woke up to the first frost, and the temperature had only continued to drop into frigid numbers. Even in the limited light provided by the setting sun you could see your breath fogging ahead of you. Cold air curled around your body, seeming to seep underneath your skin with a harsh ferocity. For now you simply tucked your hands deeper into the fabric of your robes, hoping that the heat of them in conjunction with your brisk pace would keep your body warm enough.

The walk to the Quidditch pitch was deceptively far when you traveled alone. Normally you were so distracted by conversation with your friends and the last minute bets between houses that you didn’t have time to mull over how many steps it took you to arrive at the stands; but today you were nothing short of pissed at how far away the compound had been built. Every step you took sent a shock of cold through your feet, your toes completely numb no matter how much you wiggled them inside your sneakers. The trees shuddered with you as you passed them, leaves spiraling to the ground as they finally give in to the pressure of the cold and resign themselves.

Finally you passed through the solid wood of the viewing stands, coming face to face with the expanse of the pitch in front of you. Totally empty. Not a single soul was to be found warming up on the grass or running practice games in the air. Upon listening, you couldn’t even hear any distant chatter that would indicate the team being huddled into the locker room.

“Shit!” A new wave of frustration crashed through your mind. Had you passed them on the way over? It was plausible that they had taken a different route back to the castle and your whole trip had been in vain. Exhausted, you leaned against the wall and listened to the whip of the banners against their metal poles, the clinking of their bindings matching with the steady, loud beat of your pulse. Just as you were about to turn and head back for the castle in your freezing shame, you heard another sound. This one was different, less uniform, almost like a grunt of exhaustion followed by a heavy thud. Your freezing feet moved almost without you to follow the noise. A vicious wind whipped your hair, mussing it up so badly that you had to stop in your tracks to gather it all back into place. You hazarded every step you took, unsure exactly where the source of the noise was coming from other than somewhere behind the stands. On your next step you heard the noise again, much closer this time, and the excitement of being close to solving this mystery had your footsteps speeding up.

Just as you rounded the curving stands, you spotted the culprit, still a little hard to make out due to the distance you had yet to cover, but the colors and shape of a Gryffindor Quidditch uniform were clear. Upon further inspection, it became obvious that the heavy thud you’d been hearing was a the heavy iron Bludger cracking against the magically reinforced bat. There were only two Beaters on the team, and one of them was the very man who’d forced you to walk into the frigid night. You continued your steady approach to the figure, morbidly curious over who it was that was out here pushing themselves to practice alone in the freezing cold. 

“Hey!” You yelled as you edged closer, hoping to give whoever it may be a fair warning that you were approaching. Within three feet of the body, there was no mistaking it to be Beomgyu. 

“Choi!” You raged, yelling much louder than required for him to hear you. The Bludger was sailing far away from the two of you with a strong hit as you closed the distance almost all the way. ��I know you can hear me, asshat.” Beomgyu kept his eyes on the iron ball, effectively ignoring your words. In disbelief you glanced back and forth between his face-seeing the way his eyes narrowed in concentration as the Bludger came closer by the second. 

“Is this where you’ve been all night? Playing Quidditch while you were supposed to meet me in the library?” A strong gust of wind knocked the air out of you, shivers running down your spine as you waited for any response from the boy. The Bludger came whistling back toward the two of you, and in the split second you had the foresight to step back he had tensed his shoulders, gripped the end of his bat and took another strong and precise hit against the Bludger, sending it even further away than the last one. 

“Lost track of time.” He supplied absentmindedly, turning his head to regard you with lazy eyes. 

“What?” You seethed, stepping forward again, placing yourself in front of his frame in hopes of appearing somewhat intimidating. “You lost track of time? Let’s talk about the fact that out project is due in four fucking days, and all we have to show is a single god damn Potion. This was your responsibility,” you pushed your pointed finger into the front of his uniform, the fabric giving way to allow you to feel the firmness of his chest underneath. “I trusted you with the single task of making sure that we could figure out the rest of this project, and you fucked up!” Tears of frustration rimmed your eyes as the worry of failure overwhelmed you. As much as you hated Potions, you’d be damned if Choi Beomgyu became the reason you do poorly. 

“Listen, I seriously did just forget,” he pushed at your shoulders forcefully, to which you planted your feet into the ground harder. “Seriously, Y/N, I forgot! Now move!” 

“No! You are not,” you grabbed at his forearm and pulled it off of your shoulder, “going to blow me off again! We are going to work on this project right now, even if its the last thing I do!” 

“It’s about to be if you don’t fucking move!” He yelled, finally managing to uproot your feet and push you off to the side with so much force that you landed flat on your ass, the cold hardness of the ground knocking the breath out of your lungs. From the ground, you watched helplessly while Beomgyu scrambled to grab his bat in time to hit the whirring Bludger. He was a quick enough thinker to see that there was no way he’d make the move in time, so he simply did the next best thing- turning his back to the ball and ducking his head into his chest, covering the back of his neck with his arms. 

With a sickening crack, the Bludger made foul contact with Beomgyu’s back, striking just below his left shoulder blade. The force knocked him forward, his hands barely catching himself as he met the ground harshly. He cried out in pain, the sound bouncing around the stands and piercing your veins. In a hurry, you crawled toward his heaving body and urged him to sit up with the guidance of your hands. 

“Are you okay?” The words rushed out of you in a hurry, panic crawling up the back of your throat at the shine of tears streaming down his reddened cheeks. 

“Wh-what the hell do you think?” He groaned, body shaking as he struggled to even take a breath. 

“Okay, right. Dumb question. Let’s get you to the infirmary, yeah?” His legs shook as he got them under him, something akin to a baby deer taking its first few steps. Instinctively you shot out an arm to steady him, looping your arm behind his back as effectively as you could given the height difference and placement of his injury. 

“Merlin, I think I broke my shoulder blade,” he groaned, stumbling across the uneven ground with trepidation. 

“You didn’t, I watched. It actually hit right below your shoulder blade, so if anything it’s just bruised, and you probably won’t even need a bone-healing spell, so recovery should be little more than some Devil’s Claw for the pain and-” 

“Did someone cast a babbling curse on you? Merlin’s beard. It’s bad enough that you got me hit to begin with, and now I have to listen to you run your mouth!’ His voice was still pinched with pain, an octave lower than normal as he gritted his teeth. The two of you finally reached the threshold of the castle, encapsulated by the warmth of the torches littered all inside. 

“I’m trying to help! Did you ever consider the fact that if you had showed up to our scheduled meeting time, you could have avoided being hit. I could have avoided freezing all of my extremities off, and I wouldn’t have to be helping your ass to the infirmary.” 

The noise of your bickering outside of the infirmary wing attracted the nurse to the hallway, who furrowed her eyebrow in silent question over the two of you. 

“He got hit by a Bludger, ma’am,” you supply as soon as you see her. Her eyes widen instantly as she rushed forward, helping you guide Beomgyu into an empty cot. She shooed you aside as she fretted over him, asking questions about the incident in a low, steady tone before nodding seriously. Without any kind of warning, Beomgyu was pulling the fabric of his uniform over his head, leaving his top half bared to you. Your cheeks burned, and you cleared your throat nervously. The nurse was too busy prodding at the blossoming bruise to have heard your stutter, but Beomgyu was nothing if not aware. 

His dark eyes found your form standing just a few paces away, staring unabashedly at the faint hint of his abs that had become visible. 

“Somethin’ you like?” He drawled playfully, snapping you out of your reverie. 

“Merlin, no.” You sneered, hoping to cover the thickness of your tone as you swallowed hard. “Just trying to decide if I should tell the Quidditch team to get their backup trained for the game tomorrow night.” Beomgyu’s face fell at the implication of your words and a sting of regret struck your heart. 

“There will be no need for a backup, dear,” the nurse cooed, shuffling her feet as she gathered up a few healing supplies. She offered a bottle of innocent looking clear liquid to Beomgyu and he drank it instantly, grimacing at what you assumed to be a foul taste. “Now, dear, if you don’t fancy seeing your boyfriend in more pain as I heal him-”

“Please. He is not my boyfriend. I just helped him get here. I’ll be going now, anyway. See you tomorrow?” You asked pointedly, hoping he would understand your incessant need to finish the Potions project. He nodded slightly, and you scanned Beomgyu’s form one more time before excusing yourself to the nurse and scurrying back to your dorm. 

——

“I better hear a thank you.” Beomgyu asserted as soon as he slumped in the seat across from you. He had been so quiet in his approach to the table that you hadn’t heard him until now, rocketing your gaze up towards him from the pages of your Transfiguration book. 

“Beomgyu,” you breathed, relieved to see that he had been healed and able to return to classes just the morning after the Bludger hit. You schooled your features into cool indifference as soon as you saw his mouth twitch up at the sound of his name. “For what am I thanking you? Withholding information about the project?” 

“No,” he shook his head, springing a few carefully parted hairs loose from their spot. “For- number one-” he paused dramatically, drumming his bony fingers against the edge of the high-topped table, “providing you all the information for finishing this project.” Out of seemingly nowhere he produced a thick roll of parchment that unrolled to reveal a step by step explanation. Pages of carefully written instructions went into great detail on every step of the potions that needed to be made. A sense of relief and happiness washed through you, enough to make your hands curl into excited fists as you beamed. 

“Turns out our Seeker is good at more than catching a Snitch. She got the highest marks in this class last year, and agreed to share the notes with me.” 

“Thank you, Beomgyu. Seriously. I was beginning to worry.” 

“I know, I know. It feels good to be your savior, Y/N. Oh, which reminds me of reason number two; the fact that I spared you a Bludger hit last night.” 

“I thought we’d already covered this. Most of that encounter was your fault. Plus, your little shove left me with a bruise of my own on my ass.” Pouting, you shifted your weight in an attempt to alleviate the pain against said bruise. 

“Just admit it, Y/N,” he leaned forward, his face mere inches from your own so as not to be heard by anyone around. “You’re indebted to me. Two times over.” He was cocky, but you had to admit he had a point. As much grief as he had caused you, he had saved you from both a failing grade and an injury in just under 24 hours. 

“You’ve got a point.” Beomgyu shrunk back into his seat, cocking his head to the side as if he hadn’t heard you correctly. It seemed like he was waiting for a witty remark or some kind of argument to his words, but you kept a sure, steady gaze on him instead. Either your eyes were playing tricks on you or there was a slowly building flush of red blooming from under the collar of his cable-knit sweater onto his cheeks. Against your will, your mind reproduced the image of his bared chest from last night. 

“What do I owe you?” The question rolled off of your tongue like butter as you took the chance to lean forward to him, balancing carefully on your stool with your elbows planted onto the table. 

“I-I just,” Beomgyu frowned at his stutter, apparently upset by his own lack of confidence. His mouth opened and closed again in quick succession and you grinned wider. Another teasing lilt was right at the tip of your tongue, but the booming voice of your professor cracked the tension wide open and had you sitting back on your stool. 

——

Two days later, you stand behind your stool in Potions class, wringing your hands together nervously. Your portly professor had spent all morning swirling around the class, leaning over the cauldrons and vials present at every table. He muttered a few things to every pair of students, nodding along as they explained their approach to him. It seemed as if he were grading on the spot, since you caught a glimpse of a quill gliding over a small strip of parchment. 

Finally the elder approached your table, bushy eyebrows pinched into one another as he had already begun to scrutinize the potions laid out for him. He said nothing as he approached, quietly appraising your work. One by one, he picked up the vials one by one, peering through the clear bottom and giving them an experimental swirl. He hummed happily to himself and your heart soared. Across the table you noticed Beomgyu looking equally pleased. The professor set down the vials one by one before leveling his gaze onto you. 

“How do you think you did?” He questioned, producing the same thin strip of parchment you’d seen him use at other tables. Palms sweating, you stole a glance at Beomgyu who gave you an encouraging wave of his hand. 

“I think we did quite well, professor. It took us a bit to get the whole project together, but I feel confident in our end results here.” Nervously, your eyes skated down to his quill, tapping against the parchment rhythmically. 

“Well, I think you did quite well, the two of you. These potions are near perfect. Couldn’t make them any better myself.” It felt as if the air had been sucked from your lungs, shocking you beyond belief. Never once in your life did you think you’d be receiving such high marks in Potions- especially with Beomgyu as your partner. Your professor marked a delicate “A+” on the small strip of parchment. 

Beomgyu threw a triumphant fist in the air, wiggling in his spot with pure excitement. Your professor let out a belly laugh, spinning around to address the entire class. 

“I didn’t want to advertise this since I wanted you all to put in your best, pure efforts to the project. But, now that I’ve reviewed everyone’s work and determined the best,” you swapped a look of confusion with Beomgyu, both assuming that he was referring to you. “I am offering an award to our friends at Station 1!” He motioned to the two of you wildly, robes flailing as you ushered to the front of the room. Your peers glared at the two of you, but you were too far onto cloud nine to care. 

“Good thing I got those notes, huh?” Beomgyu muttered to you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

“Good thing I spent all last night making sure we actually had the potions to present.” Keeping your voice low and level to keep him from sensing just how grateful you were for his efforts. The class murmured lowly, surely trading snide remarks about the two of you until the professor cleared his throat pointedly.

From the pocket of his robes, the professor pulled out two small, clear vials. One was pressed into each of your palms, and you stared up at him with confusion. Maybe this was a sign you should have paid more attention to the types of potions around you.

“Luck potions, please use them carefully” he supplied helpfully, swirling back around to face the entire class. “Now, who’s willing to take a photo of me and our winners?” The professor bellowed, producing an old film camera from somewhere and brandishing until someone shuffled off of their stool.

——

Fresh, fluffy snow floated down in gentle waves outside the window. It was the thick of winter now, and despite your best efforts to bundle up you were still huddling into yourself for warmth as students shuffled into Potions around you. Everyone seemed especially lethargic, yearning for the break from classes that Christmas promised. You laid your head onto your folded arms, feeling just as exhausted as the atmosphere suggested. 

Sleep had been evading you lately, annoyingly deceptive as you would lay down in bed tired only to be kept awake by your racing mind for several hours. Somehow settling into your arms in this classroom was the most content you’d felt in days. And then you felt a firm push at the back of your head. There was no mistaking who the perpetrator was, especially as you heard the scrape of a stool directly across from you. 

“Good morning to you too, Beomgyu.” He was perched perfectly on his stool, eyes wide and bright. For as long as you’d known him, he had thrived in the cold and the snow. “You are obnoxiously cheerful. God damn Gryffindors.” 

“Not my fault you’re such a grouch. But I guess it is true that snakes don’t like the cold.” 

“Do you ever let up? Or do you get pleasure out of ruining my mood every single morning?” 

A grin cracked his lips as a short laugh bubbled through. “Thinking about my pleasure, are you? Concerned I’m not getting enough? I can assure you that-”

“Okay, gross. Stop. Enough. You know that isn’t what I meant.” Quite honestly, you had no time to endure his usual teasing so you simply turned your body away from him, idly watching the professor gather his things at the desk. 

“Right, let’s get going! We need all the time we can manage today!” He seemed more jubilant than usual as he centered his own cauldron onto the middle of his desk. “Today we’ll be making love potions. Amortentia, you may know. If you’ll open to page 104, you can find the procedure. It is important to note that this potion cannot make anyone truly fall in love, but it does create a strong attraction to whomever you make with it in mind. Of course, the full effect doesn’t apply unless it is consumed. Today we will simply be brewing it for practice. If done correctly, the potion will emulate-” 

“The scent of what you find most attractive,” you muttered absent mindedly, reading directly off of the page you had open in your lap. 

“Exactly, miss Y/N. Your potion today will smell like what you find most appealing.” He nodded proudly. A feeling of anxiety rose in your chest as he rattled on. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t think of the type of scents that would come from the potion. You were quite fond of some scents in candle form, but you wouldn’t classify them as...attractive. Even more worrying was the idea that no matter how hard you tried, you would have to reveal this concoction in front of Beomgyu, who took every chance presented to torment you. Your professor clapped his hands together, marking the beginning of your working period. 

The instructions were simple enough, so you took extra care to be sure that the   measurements were as perfect as you could get them. The room was shrouded in a hushed silence that indicated everyone was working hard on this. After all, this was the most exciting potion that’d been offered to you all year. 

“Can’t wait to see which poor dude you have a crush on,” Beomgyu chuckled as he stirred his pot exactly three times counter-clockwise. 

“Could say the same for you! I seriously petty whichever girl you’ve been fancying. Imagine being at the receiving end of your...ick. You’d better tell me who it is so I can send them a warning.” You stirred your pot the same way he had, watching the mixture turn to a stereotypical bright pink. The instructions lead you to allow the mixture to culminate for exactly two minutes before any results could be sought. 

The students who happened to work faster than you were already taking a sniff at their potions and recording the scents on their parchment, some pairs gossiping amongst one another about what they smelled. A clank of metal had you whipping your head upwards, locking eyes with Beomgyu as adjusted his small cauldron to bend over his potion. Since it wasn’t your own, there was no scent for you to distinguish, but you watched the way his eyes widened in shock for a second. 

Unfortunately you had no time to process his expressions before you had to examine the contents of your own cauldron. Before you could even take a deliberate sniff, your senses were rushed with a mix of sweetened musk, a wood that seemed somewhere between cedar and mahogany, and an addicting citrusy undertone that you eventually recognized as bergamot. You placed it immediately.

“Merlin, Beomgyu. Could you refrain from spraying your cologne right now? Why are you even carrying it with you in the middle of-” The words died in your throat as you realized how incriminating your words had become, seeing as Beomgyu had nothing but his quill in his hands. A feeling of sickness rose in the back of your throat as he let out a hearty laugh. 

“My cologne, huh? I actually didn’t even have time to put any on today,” he peered over at your parchment, his height allowing him to easily read the fragrance notes you had scribbled before complaining. “But those are the exact notes of what I wear.” 

Your cheeks flamed, the heat radiating so fully through your system that you felt yourself begin to sweat despite how cold you’d been before. There was no worse fate than this, you decided. Amortentia had betrayed you, putting you under the mercy of Beomgyu’s knowing stare. Fuck, did he really have to find out now that the smell of his cologne secretly drove you crazy? That as much as you hated the way he teased and antagonized you, somewhere deep down you’d never quite lost the crush you developed in second year? 

“I was beginning to think you might’ve had a crush on me, Y/N. Isn’t that so sweet! The stony little Slytherin finally realizing that she’s attracted to me...this is quite the revelation!” Beomgyu lamented, obviously overjoyed at the new ammo he could load into his teasing. 

As much as you searched, you could find no words to defend yourself, as the proof was truly in the potion. A bit defeated, you sunk back into your stool, content to bury your face into your hands until your next class began; but at your new level you could see Beomgyu’s own piece of parchment scrawled with what he had smelled. Reading them upside down was a bit of a challenge, but he was too busy complimenting himself to recognize your analytical stare. Written in a neat list were the scents: sage, some type of berry (juniper?), eucalyptus, something woody (cedar?). 

Your heart stuttered, a bitter laugh threatening to spill out and give yourself away. Skillfully you held it back, cursing to any god or deity who might be listening. The notes matched up exactly with the perfume you wore every single day.

——

“You asked him why he sprayed his cologne?” Georgiana gaped at you across the table in the Great Hall. The two of you had joined up for lunch just hours after your Potions class disaster.

“Yes, but that’s not all! Just before I melted into a puddle of my own dispair, I saw his list, and I swear to Merlin it’s the exact notes of my perfume! Look,” you produced the travel-sized bottle from your pocket, flipping it to the back label and listing off the exact ingedients.

“Wow,” Georgiana nodded, sinking her teeth into a piece of pizza. “That’s quite remarkable.”

“Why are you not giving me more of a reaction?” You whined, stomping your foot against the floor petulantly. She raised an eyebrow high, taking a few more chews at her food.

“You want me to be honest? Or nice?” She asked, weighing the invisible options on her hands in front of you.

“Honest, I guess.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d pick that one. You see, my sweet Y/N, the two of you have been dancing around this for years. Even though you renounced him all those years ago, I still talk to him on occasion. Not to mention he’s friends with Soobin, so I’ve been provided with some...insider information. To be honest, Soobin and I have both been waiting for the day the two of you finally stopped bickering and like...made out.”

Your face twisted unpleasantly, shocked at her words. “Insider information?” You croaked, creases forming in your forehead. Georgiana smiled devilishly and you swore you could see red horns rising from her fiery hair.

“Beomgyu talks about you all the time. Apparently, back when he was dating Klara, he would often talk to Soobin about how she never bantered with him like you did. They broke up because he kept comparing her to you. Told Soobin that he’s had a crush on you just as long as you have, but he thought you thoroughly hated him.”

“He has a crush on me?” You sputtered, stomach twisting into knots somewhere between disbelief and excitement. Georgiana full on laughed upon seeing your face, the cackle permeating through the air and turning heads.

“Well, I’m not gonna be the one to bring it up. If he’s got a crush on me, he can bring it up.” You suddenly decide, finally indulging in the pizza that had been waiting for you since you sat down.

“That’s my girl, stubborn to the very end.” Georgiana grinned and offered her hand for a high five that you eagerly returned.

——

The weekend brought you a much needed break from both schoolwork and all things Beomgyu related. Christmas break was fast approaching, and all of your professors had surprisingly laid off on assignments. It seemed as if they were just as tired of grading as you were of doing the work.

Unsurprisingly you found yourself in the library, sitting underneath the twinkling of the fairy lights set up especially for the holidays. Most other students were out socializing, so the room was pleasantly vacant. As a result you were able to settle into one of the plush velvet couches that were usually occupied.

After roaming the aisles you’d found an anthology of wizard poetry that piqued your interest. Settling beteeen the cushions of the couch with a book made you feel the most at home you ever had, cracking open the delicate binding and balancing the book in your stomach as you began to read.

There was no way to tell how long you’d been reading, but by your estimations it was only about 20 minutes before someone was looming above you. Startled, you lifted your gaze over the book to see none other than Beomgyu standing before you. He was decked out in a sage green sweater paired with slightly oversized beige slacks. He had forgone his robes, but his Head Boy pin still shined on the breast of his shirt. Typical.

“Can I help you?” You asked, finally sitting up to regard him.

“I thought you’d be here.” He said simply, shuffling on his feet awkwardly. You blinked.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you poked, slipping your book shut dramatically. “Did you want to ask me something?” Beomgyu licked at his lips before rubbing his fingers against his forehead.

“Merlin, why do you make everything so hard?” He groaned and seemingly became so exhausted that he collapsed onto the ornate rug under his feet. Seeing that you’d riled him up so much by doing practically nothing sent excitement through your veins. As much as the bickering annoyed you, there was no denying the thrill you felt when giving him back a taste of his medicine.

“What exactly am I making so hard? I don’t even know what you’re here for. To be honest I’m shocked you managed to find me in the library. I figured you would start to burn at the door and have to find a different way in.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at his pillowy lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here.” He finally began to reveal the award winning smile you’d come to know whenever he teased you. “I know what Georgiana told you.” His voice was low, so quiet that if there had been any other souls in the library you’d have missed it.

Your eyes flew open and he flushed instantly. “You two aren’t exactly quiet at the Great Hall, and I’ve got more than a few friends.” It was your turn to flush red, wondering just how many conversations between you and Georgiana had been overheard by other people. 

“So you know that I said...” 

“Why do you think I’m here? All it took was me knowing you also...you know,” he picked at the nonexistent loose threads in the carpet. Honestly, you were shocked at how reserved he had become in the face of this confrontation. All traces of his usual confidence seemed to have vanished in the moment. 

“I do like you, Beomgyu. I had a massive crush on you in second year, but then we got into that fight and-”

“I wouldn’t call it a fight,” he countered animatedly. “You just never understood my humor. All this time, I was hoping that you would catch the hints.” 

“Hints?” It felt like your eyes were going to fall out of your head with how wide you held them. “You call those hints? I’d call those lackluster clues, at best.” 

He was quiet for a moment, examining the smirk on your lips carefully. In a moment of impulse you slid off of the couch to sit opposite him on the floor, knees touching. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, gripping at his thighs nervously. “Didn’t know how else to go about it.” 

“That’s okay, me either, obviously.” A rueful laugh escaped your lips, and he returned one just as easily. Up this close, the planes of his face were defined by the delicate light provided from the fairy lights. Shyly you shared glances, neither of you knowing quite how to deal with the charged anticipation in the air.

“Will you...come to the last Quidditch game tomorrow?” He finally spoke, snapping your attention back to him.

“Only if I don’t have to wear one of your ugly jerseies.” Feeling bold, you leaned forward just a few inches, beginning to close the gap between you gradually.

“Fine,” he acquised, leaning forward just the same as you had, his breath fanning hot over your face. “In exchange for not wearing a jersey, how about you...” he tapped at his lips cheekily. A surge of excitement tumbled through you.

“That’s a shit way of asking me to kiss you for the first time, Choi.” Nevertheless you leaned forward further, bumping your nose against his own before you finally pecked him firmly on the lips. You felt ridiculously shy, like you were having your first kiss all over again, but Beomgyu smiled reassuringly, pulling your hands into his own and linking them together. The touch encouraged you both, and your lips collided with more assurance than before.

The faint scent of pumpkin juice lingered on his lips, and you wondered how many bottles he’d drank before finally deciding to come find you. Finally you both sought a new breath, taking a moment to close your eyes and collect yourself. When they fluttered back open you saw Beomgyu staring back at you intently, pupils reflecting the strands of lights strung above you.

He mumbled something so quietly that you couldn’t even hear it at your close distance.

“What was that?” You asked, wondering if you’d caught the end of a charmingly romantic thought.

“I said you’re in need of practice.” He smirked, leaning back of his hands cockily.

“Fuck you, man,” you slapped at his shoulder with a firm clap. He gasped, a hand covering his heart as if he were being sworn into a committee.

“Already? I didn’t take you for such an impure heart!” Another hearty laugh bounced around the library and you ducked your head into your hands, resigning to the fact that you were stuck with him.