#but because its change it feels unsettling

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading. I would like to thank my best friend who, besides being a faithful reader of this fanfic, gave me the idea of the little confrontation between the Cannibal and Vermax dragons, thank you @dipyouuinhoney ❤️

Warning: This chapter will contain violence, as well as inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.

THREE

FOUR (+18)

Facing the dragon Cannibal, you heard his powerful roar, a clear attempt to communicate with his new rider—you. His restlessness was evident, perhaps driven by the need to understand why someone had disturbed him or because you were accompanied by a stranger. Or perhaps he sensed your own discomfort. The dark, rugged-scaled beast spread his wings in an imposing display, a signal that he was ready to take flight. His sharp teeth, glistening with a trace of blood between them, were fully exposed. You noticed his impatient paws pressing into the ground, claws sharp and ready. There was no doubt—this dragon would be a formidable asset in the war between King Aegon II's forces and the dragons fighting for Princess Rhaenyra.

"Uēpa taoba, dohaerās. Kostilus, rȳbagon," you command with a firm, dominant tone, attempting to assert control over Cannibal, readying him for what was to come. As you glance back, you notice Prince Aemond gazing at the dragon with unmistakable admiration—perhaps even something more. You could swear that he seems slightly aroused by the sight of you and Cannibal bonding. However, not wanting to acknowledge this observation, you quickly avert your gaze the moment he catches you watching him. The dragon lowers his snout toward you, as if trying to catch your scent. The blood of Aemond, still fresh on your skin, must be lingering in the air, drawing Cannibal closer.

"Sȳz gundjabo, sȳz zaldrīzes," Prince Aemond murmurs as he passes by you, moving closer to Cannibal. The dragon seems aware of the fact that both of you will soon take flight with him. Aemond, of course, never misses the chance to remind you of your station—what you are to him. Yet, in this moment, you’re far too anxious to care about his words. The looming flight, the dragon's immense power, and the weight of what lies ahead consume your thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

"Sȳz kipagīros, sȳz zaldrīzes; ñuha dārilaros. SōVegon, Cannibal," you gently correct Prince Aemond as both of you situate yourselves atop the dragon. After all, to your dragon, you are the rider, the one who will guide him down paths even you cannot yet foresee. In an attempt to appease Aemond, you address him formally in High Valyrian, acknowledging his status. As you position yourself on Cannibal, the sensation of his rough scales beneath you feels strange, unsettling even. Yet, without hesitation, you give the command for him to take flight. The air is filled with tension as the dragon obeys, lifting off the ground with powerful, sweeping wings.

"Be prepared for battle commands. If I know my strong nephew, blessed with the temperament of his late father, he will attempt to hinder our path. Do not allow Cannibal to kill him. That privilege does not belong to you," Prince Aemond commands, as though you are merely his dragon to control. He must be longing for Vhagar. However, you have no desire to harm any of Rhaenyra’s children. Making such a mistake would be far too reckless, and you are fully aware of it.

Prince Aemond's hands grip you tightly as you turn to look at him in order to respond. It is then that you notice a dragon approaching swiftly from the distance. With green scales and a more agile frame, it is small in comparison to Vhagar or even Cannibal. The rider of this dragon is coming with a speed that suggests a fierce desire for combat between their beast and yours.

"Aderī, Cannibal,"you command, and the dragon responds, accelerating towards King's Landing with a newfound agility.

"I do not wish to confront your nephew, Your Highness," you add, showcasing your ability to communicate both with your dragon and the impatient prince behind you. Aemond lets out a low grunt of frustration, likely longing for Vhagar to teach his nephew a lesson. As the son of Rhaenyra closes the distance, Cannibal visibly tenses at the proximity of the other dragon. With a swift maneuver, he performs a roll in the air, seeking to gain control. Aemond's hands grip you firmly, and you feel the heat radiating from your palms as you hold onto Cannibal, the tension mounting in the air.

Cannibal manages to distance himself from the smaller dragon, soaring above the waters where you once bathed alongside Aemond. The memory floods back, momentarily distracting you from the imminent danger. Your focus snaps back as you notice a flame nearly singe Cannibal’s wing. The heat from the attack of Rhaenyra's son sears your left hand.

"Angōs, Cannibal!" you shout through the pain of your scorched skin. At your command, your dragon rises, pursuing the smaller foe with determination. Cannibal requires no further direction; he unleashes a powerful blast of fire towards the smaller dragon, igniting part of the sky in a fierce blaze, as if he intends to incinerate everything in his path.

He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his. "Lykirī, Canibal!"you call out with urgency, hoping your dragon heeds your words to ensure the safety of his target. Amidst the roars and growls, Cannibal finally begins to settle, responding to your command as he assesses the outcome of the encounter.

"My strong and cunning nephew, hie thee to Dragonstone and alert your mother of the perils of being a wily fool." Prince Aemond takes the lead, addressing his curly-haired, brown-haired nephew as soon as he lays eyes upon him. The young lad's dragon bears a slight opening in one of its wings, likely from the intensity of the flames, or perchance Cannibal has grazed it lightly with his talon.

"My dear one-eyed uncle, I trust you do not believe this to be over. You and your usurper brother shall lose this war," the brown-haired nephew of Aemond declares in his most threatening tone. His words enrage the prince, and in a fit of fury, Aemond loses his composure, shouting, "Drakarys!" in a desperate command to Cannibal. Yet, the dragon does not obey. Instead, Cannibal stretches his claws toward the smaller dragon as if to intimidate, releasing a thunderous roar that shakes the very air around them.

"Choose your next move wisely, prince. You wouldn’t want your mother to bury another son," you warn Rhaenyra's son, your voice steady despite the tension thickening in the air. Though Aemond’s command failed, there is little you can do to rein in both the prince and your dragon. Cannibal, still looming and poised to strike, waits for no one’s control, and Aemond’s rage is far from spent. The weight of the moment presses on you, knowing that any misstep could unleash disaster. Your words seem to have an effect on Aemond’s nephew, who slowly retreats. You watch as he commands his dragon to return to Dragonstone, while Canibal resumes his course toward King’s Landing.

“You should have commanded Cannibal to strike him again,” Prince Aemond mutters close to your ear, frustration seeping into his voice.

“Your Highness, the death of your other nephew is not mine. It was by your own commands,” you reply, catching him off guard with the weight of your words. For the remainder of the journey, neither of you says another word. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken tension and the cold reality of what lies ahead.

Your dragon lets out a powerful roar as you approach King’s Landing, as if announcing his arrival. Cannibal swiftly glides toward the Dragonpit, and you can feel Prince Aemond's fingers brushing along your waist, almost as if exploring it. Cannibal lands amidst the growls of other dragons, releasing a burst of fire into the air as he adjusts himself on the ground. The Dragonkeepers gather around, making both you and your dragon uneasy. You wonder if Cannibal might attack them—if he cannot be fully tamed, his value to King Aegon II could be compromised.

You know that maintaining eye contact with Cannibal is crucial to calming him down. Between one growl and another, your dragon settles on the ground, lowering himself slightly. Prince Aemond dismounts with ease, accustomed to the task, while you, on the other hand, struggle on your third attempt to climb down. You start considering whether staying atop your dragon forever might be preferable. Impatience seeps into you as it does into your dragon. Just as you're about to give up, Prince Aemond’s attention shifts back to you after exchanging words with the Dragonkeepers. Like before with the horse, he extends his arms toward you, offering assistance.

"Gundjabo, you must learn how to dismount your dragon," Prince Aemond whispers near your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The way he helped you down from Cannibal still lingers in your thoughts, the proximity between you far too intimate. You try to respond, but no words seem to form, your voice betraying you. The truth, undeniable as it is, swells within you—you are undeniably drawn to Aemond Targaryen, with a hunger that you can no longer ignore.

"The King summons you both, Your Highness. He insists you be prepared for the banquet he is hosting in honor of his newest dragon's conquest. He desires the presence of both his brother and the dragon's rider as soon as possible," one of the King's servants announces as she approaches. Aemond stiffens, his expression darkening in clear displeasure, and he releases a low growl, a hint of frustration in his gaze. He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his.

"Inform the King that we shall join him shortly to celebrate this victory. I trust my bath is prepared, and the gundjabo will ready herself in my company. Ensure she is provided with new attire." Prince Aemond's command is sharp and unyielding, and the servant quickly scurries off to carry out his orders. You feel a rush of shock at the thought of undressing in the presence of Prince Aemond, but your mind immediately shifts to a more pressing concern—calming your dragon. As Aemond exchanges words with a few of the keepers, you make your way to Cannibal. His dark, formidable presence looms as you approach, but you reach out, your hand finding his rough scales. You whisper a brief farewell, a silent promise to return, feeling the bond between you and the mighty beast grow with each touch.

In silence, you follow Prince Aemond to his chambers, trying to discern why he insists on you preparing yourself in his presence. Two possibilities run through your mind: perhaps he seeks to assert his dominance over you, a display of power to ward off any designs his brother might have upon you; or perhaps, this is some form of punishment for the wound you inflicted earlier. His blood still stains your skin, and no doubt the pain from where you cut him lingers. The thought settles heavily—whatever his motive, you are likely in for a reckoning.

"Disrobe yourself; we shall bathe together. Afterward, you will be formally introduced to King Aegon II Targaryen . Know that every action you take in His Grace’s presence will be under my scrutiny, and any misstep will bring consequences upon you," Prince Aemond commands, his voice laced with authority as he begins to undress before you. His words send a shiver down your spine, the implications of his warning settling heavily on your mind. The thought of what consequences might await you under his watchful eye is enough to stir anxiety. It’s no surprise that Aemond seeks to instill fear—he thrives on your desperation, needing to ensure your obedience through intimidation.

"I do not think it proper for me to be bare in your presence, Your Highness. Surely, I can afford you the necessary privacy and prepare myself elsewhere. If you would excuse me..." you attempt, feigning modesty as an excuse to escape the looming consequences of your earlier actions. But before you can slip away, Aemond’s hand grasps your arm with a firm resolve, pressing you against the door of his chambers. His fingers trail up toward your neck, lingering there as if assessing every inch of your skin, studying you like prey caught in his grasp. His one good eye follows the curve of your form, tracing from head to toe in a slow, deliberate gaze. Your breath catches, growing shallow as uncertainty floods your mind. You stand frozen, unsure of what awaits next under his unrelenting scrutiny, as the tension between you grows palpable, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Gundjabo, gundjabo... cease these futile attempts to flee from me. Believe me, within these grand walls, I am the closest thing to safety you shall find. And I think propriety is no longer a concern between us. Now, be a good girl and obey me, before my patience wears thin." Aemond's voice drips with menace as he grips your face, turning it aside so his lips hover near your ear, his words slow and deliberate. His hold is firm, unyielding, and the weight of his command sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath falters, betraying the rising doubt in your ability to navigate this situation. Survival seems like a distant notion, slipping further from reach with each moment spent under his watchful eye. You can feel his control tightening like a noose around your freedom, leaving you cornered. With trembling resolve, you grip his hand, pulling it away from your face without a word. His gaze never wavers, a predatory intensity burning within, watching your every move. Though his words still echo in your mind, you begin to comply with his original order, slowly giving in to the dangerous dance that lies ahead.

You slowly remove your clothing, hoping that Prince Aemond won't torture you for hurting him. He lets out a moan that sounds more like a "hmm" as you finish getting off. When you finish taking off your clothes, he motions with his head for you to take off his clothes too. He had already taken off some of his clothes so in a few moments, he was naked. His dick was slightly hard was on display, which caught your attention. He walked over to enter his bath but not before carrying you into the bath with him. His arms wrapping around you, forcing you into the water with him, surprises you. Until then you didn't think Aemond had that much strength. But now that you're taking a bath together, you are trying to force yourself to think about how to calm him down. You approach him, helping him clean himself; all the while touching every part of Prince Aemond's body.

"Your Highness seems tense, perhaps there is something I can do to help you release all that tension..." You say as you run your hands over Aemond's chest, your fingers moving delicately down groping the hitherto unexplored body of your beloved Prince Aemond. When your fingers reach Aemond's cock, you see the Prince close his eye. He is receptive to your touch as you run your hand over his cock, stimulating it. Your hand moving back and forth slowly as you listens to the muffled moans of Prince Aemond who has his head turned back. Your movements become faster as you feel him becoming more and more surrendered in your hands. You approach Prince Aemond's neck, kissing the spot you cut. The Prince lets out a moan as you kiss his neck again now rising with the kisses, while continuing to make movements on his cock. You kiss Aemond's chin, then his mouth. You try to have some dominance in the kiss because his eye is still closed but as soon as your tongue meets his, he seems to light up. He sucks on your tongue as if tasting a delicious fruit, while pressing you against the bathtub. He then cums in your hand, while letting out a grunt as if he enjoyed it. His gaze upon you is a mixture of pleasure with something else, like pure evil. He gives you a mischievous smile just before pressing you underwater. His hands are pushing you to stay underwater while you try to use your strength to not drown. You're thrashing around, touching every part of Aemond's body to see if he'll let go of you. You start to run out of air, your attempts to survive aren't working so you decide to accept your imminent death. It is then that Aemond pulls you up, as he watches you trying to breathe desperately. As soon as your breath returns to you, you face Prince Aemond. He has a victorious smile on his face, as if he is teaching you a lesson.

"Next time you consider harming me, make sure I do not survive. Otherwise, you shall face a fate far more cruel than merely sharing a bath. But I must say, your skills with your hands, gundjabo, are quite... relaxing." Prince Aemond's voice is chillingly casual, as though the near-murderous tension between you has been nothing more than a passing amusement for him. His gaze lingers on your expression, clearly relishing the fear flickering across your features. For a moment, you stand frozen, words failing you in the face of his menacing calm. The weight of his threat settles in your chest, but you decide it’s best not to challenge him further.

Without uttering a single word, you quickly finish bathing, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere surrounding him. As soon as you step out of the bath, your hands tremble slightly while you hurriedly dress in the green gown laid out for you. Wasting no time, you leave Prince Aemond's chambers as swiftly as your legs will carry you, the feeling of his predatory gaze still burning at your back as you depart to face the next trial—an audience with his brother, King Aegon II.

TO BE CONTINUED

GLOSSARY

Uēpa - Old

Taoba - Boy

Dohaerās - Serve

Kostilus - Please

Rȳbagon - Obey

Sȳz - Good

Gundjabo - Prostitute

Zaldrīzes - Dragon

Kipagīros - Rider

Ñuha Dārilaros - My Prince

SōVegon - Fly

Aderī - Quickly

Angōs - Attack

Lyriri - Calm down

[littlecutiexox]

Christmas will forever feel unsettling for me

[swordmaid]

think i want to make shri'iia half illithid ... not bc she looks really hot (!!) but i think it's kind of fitting for her since she's very the type to do whatever it takes to win in the end and at that point she already knows how useful the illithid powers are. the thing is, she doesn't like the emperor since she's had enough of people using her but she does appreciate a good deception, even if it's done on her. she does come from menzoberranzan where deceit and manipulation is like, their bread and butter there lol but anyway im kinda thinking of making her half illithid now also i like the dialogue when you try to break up with spawn astarion bc ur turning into something worse and he refuses.

[unusualshrimp]

hey sorry i can't come to work today im thinking about the various implications of zombie horror and the way it affects people

[justanotherbirdbrain-blog]

A Workshop for Creating Magical/ Fictional Crystals: A Guide from a Geologist

Hi folks, its me, here to talk about fictional writing again! Today I'm just tackling the idea of magical stones/mana stones by looking at existing minerals today and some neat properties that they have, and how you can apply these things to a fictional world. The goal is mainly to help you if you are stuck trying to come up with a unique magic system, or a unique identification/characteristic of your mineral.

First Things First: Mineral Shapes

I am exhausted, petered out, down-right fatigued by seeing every mineral depicted with having the crystal structure of calcite and quartz. There are soooooo many cooler, more interesting crystal structures, don't you think you would stop and take a look at a perfect cube in nature? It is completely unsettling.

Second: Color

Color within minerals can either be really important, or not important at all! It is your choice to decide if color is going to be something that means something to your mineral. But what are some times when the color is important? Well.... there are some elements that are called chromophores, this classification just indicates that these elements, when present, will determine the color of whatever they are in. So, if you wanted to treat mana like a chromophore, you could say, "Oh everything that contains mana turns green!" This could mean that regardless of the mineral, if that mineral is a specific color, it means it contains mana. This concept is exciting because you can just stop here and use minerals that already exist! You can also use it as an indicator for a magical ore! Chromophores are typically metals, so if you are making a new metal weapon, making the ore of that metal a unique color would make a lot of sense!

However, your mineral can also just be every color of the rainbow like quartz and perhaps that's what makes identifying your mana stones elusive and create an illusion of scarcity that your character can solve.

There are other things that can change the colors of minerals, like radiation damage, and electron exchange, but I think that is beyond what would be helpful! So lets talk about some unique color properties that happen in nature that seem magical in the first place! Maybe you don't need to design a mana stone, but you want a unique gemstone that only the royal family passes down or something (IDK).

The first one is the alexandrite effect! This is where a mineral can change color in natural light vs. incandescent light. (the mineral itself is not changing, but the lights contain different amounts of different colors that then get absorbed by the stone). Even if you don't use electricity in your fictional world, you could have the colors change in the presence of light magic. This could create fun misunderstandings about what the mineral is reacting to!

Pleochroism

Pleochroism is something that most minerals have, it is frequently used to help identify minerals in thin sections, however minerals are usually not pleochroic enough for it to be visible to the naked eye! Pleochroism is just a fancy name to describe the change in how light is absorbed based on the angle of the mineral! So if you scroll up to the first image where I showed a lot of crystal shapes, most of them have angles where they are longer and shorter! This will effect the way light travels in the crystal. Tanzanite is a popular mineral that does this.

Photochromism

This is when a mineral will change color (in a reversible way) when exposed to UV light (or sunlight), I am not going to go too into the details of why this is happening because it would require me to read some research papers and I just don't feel like it. The mineral that is best known for this is Hackmanite!

Alright! These are all the really cool color effects that might inspire you or maybe not, but now I am going to talk about how you might find your minerals within a rock!

When I see a lot of magical caves/mines, typically I see them with some variation of a geode honestly, but most minerals are not found like that! Now I am sure most of you guys have seen a geode, so I will not really talk about those, but I will talk briefly about porphyroblasts which is when the mineral grows larger than the minerals around it, this happens in metamorphic minerals!

sorry random stranger, but this is an image of garnets inside a finer-grained rock at gore mountain in New York!

Another way you might find minerals is in a pegmatite! This is when all minerals are really large! This is a formed from really slow crystalizing magma!

But something else to think about is that your mineral might just be massive, it doesn't have to have distinct crystals, it may be similar to jadeite where small grains grow together which leaves it looking smooth and seamless! A note about all of these is that you would have to mine into the rock to find these, there would not be any natural caves in these rocks! Caves are only ever really formed in limestones and maybe marbles (rocks that react with acid).

How can your characters identify these minerals?

Typically when you are out in the field you will look to see what type of rocks the minerals are found in (The overall texture of the rock will tell you how it formed). If you know how the rock formed, it will narrow down the amount of minerals you need to think about by quite a bit! Next, you are going to look closely at it and observe its crystal structure, does it have an obvious crystal? if so what is the general shape? If it is broken, how did it break? Did it fracture like glass or did it break along uniform planes. Some minerals have a thing called cleavage (breaks along planes of weakness). If a mineral exhibits this habit, it will again help narrow this down. Next we can look at color. Color can be misleading, because minerals like quartz can be any color imaginable, but minerals like olivine will always be green! The next thing your character can do is test for hardness, minerals all have a specific hardness that can help identify it as well.

After you go through all of this, your mineral might have some special property! This could be magnetism, fluorescence, reactions to acid, or any of the color changing effects I mentioned above! Other than that, your character can take it back to a lab and do a number of things to identify it, but the most typical thing would be for them to make a thin section (very thin piece of the rock) and observe it under a cross polarized microscope!

On that note folks! I hope this helped in some way in thinking of new magic mineral properties! I have other guides that explore some different fictional worldbuilding issues you might run into, but if you have any topics you would like me to cover please that I haven't mentioned already, let me know!

[books-and-omens]

Heyyyyyy I’d really like to talk more about the ball, who’s with me.

Because for all its glitter, the ball is dark. No, seriously, it’s dark. It’s eerie, it’s disturbing, and the narrative doesn’t shy away from showing us just how much. 

As in a classic fairytale, mortals are being spirited away into another realm to dance through the night. Here, however, we see exactly who is orchestrating the dance, and why.

And we empathize with him, but watching Aziraphale has never been so painful or so unsettling.

Nina arrives distraught and is immediately hit with the realization that she doesn’t feel distraught, even though she knows she should be feeling it. She confronts Aziraphale and he just tells her: oh yes! :) no long faces tonight! And she is disturbed throughout the ball, thinks she is losing her mind, questions and fights the enchantment… but from time to time, the enchantment still takes hold.

And just—

Aziraphale. Aziraphale, you do know that manipulating people is wrong, don’t you? You… do know that? And yes, of course, neither Crowley’s nor Aziraphale’s approach to morality is human. They are eldritch, they are otherworldly. It was Crowley who changed the paintball guns into real guns in S1, though of course, the humans still had choice in using them.

But the ball is still different.

We’ve never seen Aziraphale do anything quite so disturbing before, or go so obviously deep into his own delusion. There are moments during these scenes when even Crowley, permanently frustrated, is very nearly disturbed. (“Angel! What are you doing?” or “Making it rain is one thing, but a BALL?”)

I fully think that by that point in the story, Aziraphale is not all right. He is in an anxiety spiral, denying reality fiercely, obstinately, disastrously, not listening to any of Crowley’s hissed warnings. Yes, yes, he is giddy, he is in love. It’s so very important for him that everything go RIGHT this night, the night he gets to dance with Crowley. Is he even aware of everything he is conjuring up, of the enchantment he has woven? The humans who step through the doors of the bookshop change: their clothing, their mood, their speech patterns… By this point, is Aziraphale doing this consciously at all? Or is reality conforming to his expectations, forcing everyone into a replica of the nineteenth century while Aziraphale himself, distracted and smitten, works himself up to inviting Crowley to dance?

In the first few episodes, as fear and danger grow, as Aziraphale is faced with the danger specifically to Crowley (I don’t see why he would risk his existence for you, Shax tells him in the car), Aziraphale only denies reality all the more fiercely, only holds on to his plans tighter, only puts more force into them and exerts more control (really, rather like the archangels with their Great Plan).

And the ball, beautiful and otherworldly and eerie as it is, is also a dire warning. 

In the morning, it will be Crowley, not Aziraphale, who will get told off for manipulating Nina and Maggie. Aziraphale won’t reflect on this. He won’t be forced to reflect, and Metatron will manipulate him in turn.

There is a plan to follow. The show must go on.

GOD the ball is so dark.

[freedomfireflies]

Pillow Talk*

Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just one time.”

“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”

You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it. 

“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”

You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”

You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine. 

But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.

“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”

There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.

You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.

Or maybe it won’t.

But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.

So, with that thought…you open the door. 

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.

And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.

He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.

“What?” you huff.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”

“Okay…?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s nice.”

You cross your arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.

“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Okay.”

You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.

When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”

He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”

Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

“Never thought I’d have to say it.”

“Mm. You changed your mattress.”

“Obviously.”

“And the sheets and blankets, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”

“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bite me.”

He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions. 

You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.

And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”

You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”

“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”

“Yeah. I know.”

More quiet.

“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence. 

Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”

“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”

“Right.”

“And I just figured—”

“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.

The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.

“What?” you eventually hiss.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”

“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”

“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”

“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”

Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”

His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”

You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”

“Vanilla?”

Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”

“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”

You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”

Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”

“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”

“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”

“So he’s not vanilla?”

“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”

“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”

“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”

Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”

“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”

“So what he’d do?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”

“Ew, no—”

“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”

You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”

“And…?”

“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”

“Sure.”

Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”

Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”

“I guess. It could have been worse.”

“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”

You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”

“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”

“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”

He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”

You turn back. “What?”

“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”

“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”

“Poppy—”

“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”

“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”

“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”

“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”

“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”

You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”

He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”

“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”

“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”

He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”

“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”

“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours  and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”

“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”

“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”

“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”

“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”

“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”

“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”

“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.

Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.

But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.

Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.

He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.

The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.

He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say. 

His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.

“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”

You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”

He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”

“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”

Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.

He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.

Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.

However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”

“Hm. Don’t push it.”

“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?” 

“Maybe.”

“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”

“…not exactly.”

“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.

“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”

“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”

He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”

He smirks. “How romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”

So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.

Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over. 

He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.

And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out. 

Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.

He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.

You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.

But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?

There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment. 

Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh. 

And just like that…

It’s over.

You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.

He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.

Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”

You blink. “Um…okay.”

He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”

The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”

“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”

“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.” 

“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”

“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”

“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”

“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”

 He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”

“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“I was taking care of myself—”

“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”

“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”

He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”

He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”

You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”

His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”

You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”

His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.

“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”

You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

And deep down…you know he’s right.

“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”

Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.

Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.

So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit. 

You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.

Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.

And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.

“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”

“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”

“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”

“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”

You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”

“Harry. Come on. I know you.”

“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”

You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”

“No?” He grins. “Why not?”

“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”

He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”

You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”

He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”

You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one. 

He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.

Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy. 

“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”

“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”

“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”

You pout. “Mhm.”

He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle. 

And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment. 

“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.

“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”

You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.

He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon. 

But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.

You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.

You glance up. 

“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”

“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

The soft strokes against your spine slow. 

“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”

“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”

You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.

But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.

“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”

“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.” 

“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”

More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.

And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Another pause. You don’t know what to say.

“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”

You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”

“Did we?”

“Harry…”

“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”

“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”

“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”

“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.

But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.

“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”

You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat. 

“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”

You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.

You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.

“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further. 

He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”

You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.

His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”

You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”

He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”

“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”

He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”

You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”

“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”

“Oh, you did, huh?” 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”

You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”

“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”

“We did indeed.”

“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”

“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”

“Is that right?” 

“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”

“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”

“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”

He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”

“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”

“I imagine you, too.”

You blink. “You do?”

“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”

You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop. 

Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.

Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent. 

Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.

Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.

The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.

He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.

You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.

You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot. 

You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave. 

And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.

You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.

Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.

But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.

“Make me a deal,” you whisper.

He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”

“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”

His eyes open.

“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”

He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.

Even if it’s just as friends.

Exes.

Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.

His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.

You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.

You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open. 

You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.

And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy.”

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry

[shorlinesorrows]

Give me a Percy Jackson who hates swim team. Who went to a public pool for swim lessons once when he was five and started to sob the second his skin hit the water

give me a Percy Jackson who is always just the slightest bit unsettled at pools because water is never meant to have the life sucked out of it and be divided into lanes or put in boxes in the ground

Water isn’t meant to be contained.

a percy jackson whose skin feels like it’s slowly beginning to burn when he tries to swim in chlorinated water, who hates any set swim stroke with a passion and can’t stick to one for the life of him

who doesn’t understand why you’d want to keep only to the surface of the water, when being cradled under the surface is everything

because swimming is supposed to be like the tides, maybe patterned, but never identical, it’s supposed to be flowing with the world around you as you please

Give me a Percy Jackson who loves the sheer nature of water so much that he can’t help but quietly despise our “pools” and their dead water with their constricted sides and restrictions on what it means to change with the world around you

A Percy Jackson who is the child of water in its most natural state, and who can hardly bear to see the way society has attempted to contain it and sterilize it and strip away its power

He hates swim team, but that’s only the half of it

[suntoru]

─ ✰ HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY.

─ SYNOPSIS: rin misses you. he wonders if breaking up with you was really worth it.

─ WARNINGS: 1.2k words!! angst, regret, pining, exes, perhaps ooc rin, probably bland but!! it’s here

─ AUTHOR’S NOTE: RIN GIRLIES HERE IS UR MAN <3

— rin’s eyes anxiously dart around, scanning for your face somewhere in the stands, an unconscious habit he hasn’t been able to drop. the roar of thousands of fans cheering him on, yet strangely, the absence of satisfaction lingers within him.

it’s weird, even he knows it, that he still hopes his ex comes to his soccer matches. he’s fully aware that you are unlikely to be present, but even so, a lingering sliver of hope refuses to fade. and it’s strange, because he was the one who broke up with you to pursue his career, he was the one who broke your heart, he was the one who'd made you cry... so why does his heart feel so damn empty when you aren’t there to watch him soar?

fuck. this isn’t the time to be thinking about this. so with an annoyed huff, he pushes his feelings aside, and plays ball.

as the final whistle blows, everybody in the stadium erupts into cheers, confetti cascading down to honor the exceptional achievement. japan won nationals, rin scoring the winning goal by himself, marking tokyo's historic first-ever victory. his eyes widen with disbelief, puffing from the exertion of the intense match. the weight of the moment settles on his shoulders, and he couldn't help but look up, expecting to see the familiar sight of your proud face in the crowd, your pretty eyes catching onto his— oh. that’s right. you won’t be there anymore.

his smile falls the slightest bit. the sensation of pride and joy seems to snap almost instantly, and he doesn’t know why. this… this was his goal, his dream. the thing he wanted most in the world, in the palm of his hand. and really, he should be more happy, but he can’t seem to shake off the sinking feeling in his stomach.

his radiant smile begins to falter, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the waves of pride and joy that had enveloped him seemed to snap abruptly. this achievement, this culmination of his dreams and aspirations, now lays within his grasp. one would expect satisfaction and happiness to course through his veins, yet an inexplicable unease settled in the pit of his stomach, casting a shadow over the moment. ignoring all his teammates’ cheers and screams, he speeds towards the locker room to get changed and go home.

his house really isn’t any better. (he questions if it’s really ‘home’ without you.) the concept of "home" now feels strangely foreign, a place that should be comforting but is instead tinged with an undeniable sense of absence. it's as if the essence of warmth has been drained away.

the once-inviting space lacks the comforting sprawl of your giant stuffed animals overtaking the bed or the mountains of your clothes taking over the closet. a peculiar emptiness lingers, a void that cannot be filled by mere physical belongings. the silence within the familiar walls is unsettling.

rin finds it quite odd not feeling your arms wrap around his torso, giving him a peck as you asked about his day. it’s strangely… quiet as well. there’s no you singing along to some laufey song completely out of tune, no alarm going off because you burnt the takoyaki, or the constant hum of the tv playing in the background. it's a quietude that, rather than offering solace, only accentuates the hollowness of the space. he’s not so sure he likes it.

he stares at the shiny, gold metal he had received. his mind, despite receiving a sparkly, golden-hued award— an emblem of achievement— stubbornly fixates his thoughts of you. he finds himself gazing at the metallic surface, a token of success that pales in comparison to the vibrant memories of your presence. he recalls your playful curiosity, imagining how you would have marveled at the gold medal, playfully testing its authenticity with an endearing chomp. he misses it. he misses you.

and he wonders what you might've changed his contact to. stupid ex, maybe? loser bitch? he deserves it. but he can't help but wonder, is there a possibility he'd still be 'rinnie', or 'my love' with a heart that never made sense because it looked more like a cheeky smile to him? (he wishes he had treasured you just a little bit more.) is he blocked? or is he just another number in your phone now? do you reread the messages he sent to you?

because he does. your contact name is still ‘loml’. he has every single photo you sent saved. he stares at the old "i love you" texts night after night after night. it's pathetic, really, but his heart aches for those moments when you'd scold him for overexerting himself, when you'd sleepily wake up at two am just to make him a hot meal when he came back late, when you'd stick those tacky hello kitty bandaids on top of the scrapes he got from soccer. he misses your good luck kisses, the ones where you'd pull his face down to your height and let out a big dramatic 'mwah!' in front of all his teammates— where he'd grumble and complain but his cheeks were undeniably a bright rosy red.

but above all, the vivid memory etched in his mind is the pain he inflicted upon you. your voice trembling, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you desperately clung to his arm, seeking an explanation. "what do you mean, rin? i don't understand. did i do something wrong?" your words quivered, on the verge of shattering, yet he callously shrugged you off, meeting your tear-filled eyes with a chilling glare.

"you're just a distraction. sorry, but soccer's more important to me."

he recalls the way your hand slowly fell away, the slow nod of comprehension, and the sight of your trembling bottom lip as you fought valiantly not to crumble. he was stupid. so, so stupid. he wishes he had pulled you into the shelter of his arms, confessed his foolishness, and reassured you that he didn't mean those hurtful words. or better yet, he wishes he didn’t say them at all. and he wants to ask, have you moved on? do you find your heart fluttering for somebody else, threatening to beat out of your chest like you once made him feel?

to be loved is to be seen. you saw him beyond the carefully constructed mask, piercing through the layers of the egoist the world molded him to be. in your gaze, he wasn't just the world's best striker or sae's little brother; he was itoshi rin. and that was enough for you.

oh, how utterly foolish he was to let you go. are you still as pretty as ever? (of course you are. you’ve never not looked absolutely stunning to him.) do you still smile as brightly as you once shone, his precious shooting star? he hopes you still find a reason to break into a grin every day.

but the question that is constantly on his mind like a broken record player. if he were to grovel and beg, surrendering his pride on his hands and knees, would you accept him back?

for a moment, he considers it. calling you. his finger hovers tentatively over the ‘audio’ call button, mere millimeters away from hearing you again. rin so desperately wishes to hear your sweet voice, see your angelic face, to be able to bask in your presence once more. would you be shocked? happy shocked, or enraged shocked, or maybe you wouldn’t pick up at all. would he go to voicemail? if he left one, would you listen? do you miss him as much as he has missed you all this time? (it’s been a month, but to him it felt like years.) yet, as the gravity of his past actions weighs heavily in his heart, an inexplicable hesitation ensnares him. you… don’t deserve this. you’re healing right now, he’s already chosen himself once, it would be utterly selfish to do it again. with a heavy exhale, he gingerly sets down his phone, fixing his gaze upon the ceiling above.

and suddenly, soccer doesn't feel like his passion after all. he wonders if it was really you.

his bed feels a little bit too cold now.

© KAEFFEINEE 2022-2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

⌗︙・⚠︎ fuckbuddy blade becoming obsessed and possessive ⚠︎ ♡⸝⸝

The arrangement you have with Blade is simple. Meet up in secret when either of you is feeling horny, and when you're both satisfied, you can part ways until the next time. No strings attached whatsoever. It's the perfect little arrangement for someone like Blade, and you get to enjoy having the best sex you've had in a while.

But of course, someone like Blade isn't so simple.

Kisses aren't allowed, they never will be. But that doesn't stop Blade from tracing his lips against your skin at the end of another vigorous round with him, or when he hugs you against his chest, trapping you against the bed. No matter how many times you squirm away or reprimand him for getting too cozy with you, he doesn't listen. He never listens.

The hickies and bites that Blade leaves all over your body are a huge pain, especially when he leaves them in more noticeable spots. He's begun to bite so hard that he's drawn blood, teeth breaking past your skin and leaving you momentarily frozen at the pain. But Blade has found a way to twist that pain into pleasure, and it scares you. It scares you that your body has become so susceptible to change, so quick to morph itself into whatever Blade desires.

Every time you move, it causes you to wince from the stinging that pulses across your skin. Something gnaws at you from inside the pit of your stomach when you see the way Blade looks at you, covered in his marks. His gaze feels so wrong—you swear you can feel his stare even when you're not with him, creating a sinking feeling deep within your stomach— like there is just something... twisted just festering deep inside of him.

He's starting to make you second guess becoming fuckbuddies with him.

Blade grows bolder with each of your meetups, using his immense strength to pin you down so you can't run away. He grows more... unsettling. The things that he says as he's pounding into you unnerve you once the pleasure dissipates and clarity begins to sink back into your once-fucked out mind. How you're all his, how nobody else but him can ever satisfy and touch you like he can, how he'd gladly keep you all to himself if he could, how—

How he can longer live without you anymore, the thrill and addiction of watching you beneath too much to simply cut off.

"Bla—" The faint whine of his name is quickly swallowed up by calloused lips against yours. It takes you a few seconds to process what's happening, to fully realize that Blade is kissing you. But once it sinks in, your immediate reaction is to squirm, to try and pry yourself away from the man above you.

No matter how much you struggle against him, Blade doesn't budge, holding your bare body hostage beneath his as he continues to fuck you into the mattress. The unrelenting good is weakening you, destroying your resolve to push him off, to yell at him and ask him what the hell is wrong with him.

You're becoming too weak to fight him off, and the frenzied kiss is making it so hard to breathe. Your body has become so accustomed to Blade's touch, so used to welcoming him without so much as a second thought. He has twisted your body into something he can claim.

Tears well up... the tears spill over, and you simply close your eyes. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, because you know that he loves watching you snivel and whine more than anything else. But a small, morbid part of you wants to open your eyes, to see the face of the man ravaging every single part of you with primal hunger, to—

No... maybe it's a blessing in disguise that your eyes are closed now. Because you won't have to see the sick darkness that swirls in Blade's red eyes, the utterly maddening glee as he forcibly kisses you. Because you won't have to see the way his entire body, in all of its brokenness, shudders as he finally has a taste of your lips. Because you won't have to see the way his chest heaves so deeply, his heart beating so rapidly that it may break past his ribcage, spilling forth all of his blackened love and twisted obsession. Because—

Because you won't have to hear his sick thoughts, the goal of finally claiming you surely come to its rotten fruition.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[daintylovers]

imagine moving to beacon hills around season one. right around the same time, allison moves in. it's nice not being the only new girl, so you two quickly become friends.

imagine meeting lydia for the first time. it happens in your fourth class of the day, you two are assigned to be partners for the semester. albeit, at first she isn't thrilled, but once she gives you a chance, everything changes. she's found someone like-minded for once in this small town. someone as intelligent, yet fashionable as her. she thinks for a quick second, if she liked girls, she would love you.

imagine seeing stiles for the first time. seeing- not meeting, because the boy can only gawk at you from across the hall. it's definitely weird and a little unsettling at first, but it's nice to be admired? right?

imagine finally talking to the poor boy for the first time. it had to be you who spoke first, his brain going a mile a minute. it happens a few days later, when lab partners are assigned. stiles almost faints when he hears your names paired together. scott has to be the one to push him out of his seat. it feels kind of how you imagine bella felt when edward and her first meet, awkward and stiff. does he not like you? maybe that's why he was always staring, it wasn't in fantasy, but with disgust. not being one to dwell on whether someone likes you or not, you push through, introducing yourself with a raised out hand. stiles is quick to latch on, spewing out his full government name. then once he catches the confusion on your face, he tells you that you could call him stiles.

imagine going to lydias house party, that very night. running into all your newfound friends, dancing and drinking a little. then seeing your shy new lab partner chasing after his drunk friend. but also allison chasing after the drunk friend. whats his name again? shawn? smith? stiles? no- wait stiles is yours. scott! its scott. but by the time you have that revelation, the three are already outside. so you watch as allison gets into some random car and stiles stands are dumbfounded. scott has seemingly disappeared, and there's an unease building in your chest. who was that guy with allison? stiles, sensing someone behind him, turns around to face the one person he doesn't want to see at the moment. not because he doesn't like you, but because he is pretty sure his best friend is a freaking werewolf.

imagine asking him if he knew who allison got in the car with, and getting an unsavory response. great, your new friend might get murdered and tossed into the woods tonight. the alcohol is catching up to you rather quickly, and the worry is only increasing. stiles starts to make a move to his car, eager to see if scott went back home when you wrap a hand around his upper arm. it's not harsh or anything, so he doesn't flinch, but he is confused. you ask him if he will give you a ride to allisons, because you guys live close together and you want to make sure she gets home safe. stiles immediately says yes, but tells you he has to make a quick stop at scotts. something about possible alcohol poisoning or something, which makes your head spin. oh fuck, what if you have that?

imagine being told to wait in the car as stiles goes into scotts house. the boy is very persistent as you try to help him out. he offers to get you fries from the local drive-through if you just please stay in the car. that gets you to comply, so you're left staring out the window. it doesn't take long for stiles to come running out of the house and speeding down the street. you don't even have to ask because he tells you that allison went home with this guy derek who is very very evil. you never get those fries. but the good news is that allison is alive!

imagine stiles walking you to your door because you and allison really do live right next to each other. you guys don't say much, the adrenaline rush already crashing. you guys are about to part ways when you stop him and ask for his number. he seems like a nice guy and you joke about how you'll harass him until he gets you those fries. his heart does cartwheels as you exchange digits, and makes a mental note to kill scott. in a perfect world, you two would have managed to spend the whole night together, but scotts newfound supernatural abilities are already infiltrating stiles life.

imagine waking up the next morning with a pounding headache and a text from stiles telling you to get dressed cause he is coming over in fifteen minutes. it has you smiling like a child and it feels so goddamn good. maybe this kid will be cooler than you imagined. he pulls into your driveway and you open the door to see him with iced vanilla lattes and Mcdonald's french fries. this guy might just be an angel. you let him in and for the rest of the morning, you guys eat and talk about nothing while lounging around your room.

[inkonparchment]

there's a man in the woods | Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

summary: everything changes when you find a man beaten, bruised and bleeding half to death in the woods.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: horror imagery. unsettling themes. mentions/description of blood, decaying flesh, organs, guns. mention of plagas. canon-typical violence. injuries. slow burn. eventual romance. hurt/comfort. plot armour goes crazy. language.

a/n: i have no idea what i am doing so please bare with me hehe. i would like to apologize for the lack of dialogue in this.

series masterlist

¤

Chapter 1

It starts the same way it always does.

A room so bare it may as well have never existed, a room so claustrophobic it may as well not have any oxygen, a room so untouched by light it may as well have been forgotten in time. And you; always in the centre.

Agitated by the slow sound of dripping water. Drip, drip, drip. You can never figure out where the noise comes from; above, below or one of the sides? You can’t tell because you cannot see, blinking rapidly pleading that some stray beam of light enters. But no, nothing is coming, no one is coming.

Breaths become shallow, chest constricting in pain as you fall to your knees, hands pressing over your heart as bile washes up in your mouth, tasting bitter. Then it’s the walls, they close in at a pace that you still can’t figure out. Helpless to its whim. And it almost does feel like a predator playing with its prey.

But just before it can crush you, embed your being in its rotten surface, soaking in your crimson colours as you lie awake, powerless to fight against your fate, tears wetting your cheeks as your screams of terror are heard by no one.

No one is coming. No one is ever coming.

A flicker of light, the gentlest hue of gold, and that’s all it ever takes for you to plant your feet, nails scraping against the stone, and run. You don’t dare to blink, terrified that it will vanish and leave you stranded. The light is like a distant star, always out of reach, mocking your efforts to escape the darkness.

It’s frustrating, legs feeling like they’ve seeped in molasses as you grunt and heave and fight to not sink. But it is fruitless as you feel a stabbing sensation in your chest, air exiting your lungs, watching in horror as your veins turn black, desperately clawing against your skin to stop it.

Repent and seek penance.

And then you awake in your bed.

Your eyes flutter open, the sound of your heart prominent in your ears as you lay in your pool of sweat, trying to control your breathing. You see nothing and neither do you sense anything, flaring the sense of panic in your chest.

Your fingers splay against the material of your bedsheets, inhaling the familiar scent of your pillowcase to pull yourself back into reality. Three deep breaths. The sound of a whine grabs your attention, brown eyes staring into yours, ears standing up in alert and the usual wag of her tail was nowhere to be seen.  She must have heard you in your sleep.

You manage a smile, reaching out to pat her between the ears, “Sorry, Luna. Did I worry you, girl?”  

The sound of the alarm startles you, groaning as you shut it off before it reaches the third sound. You peel the covers off of you, a layer of sweat stuck on your skin, cringing at the dampness that you found beneath you. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you wait for your eyes to adjust to the light. The ache in your shoulder returns, fingers moving deftly against your skin to ease the pain, hand slipping momentarily due to the slickness in your palms.   

It’s a bit suffocating still, your clothes sticking to your body, the vague dampness on your sheets and the duvet twisted between your legs, almost locking you in. You kick it away from you, the material falling onto the floor with a gentle thump as you finally stand up from the bed, giving Luna one more pat on the head which finally has her tail wagging again.

It’s still dark out, you note. A soft breeze blows in through the cracks of your window, gently jostling the cotton curtains. You peer out for a while, the first story window giving you a view of the woods, the trees standing still despite the obvious wind. But over the top of the thick foliage, in the far off distance, painting the pale heavens is a flock of birds, flying about in agitation.

Crossing your room to enter the bathroom, you close the door behind you with a soft click and hear the gentle thump of Luna taking her spot on the other side. You stand still. Hands clutching the marble of the sink, letting the coolness engulf your burning palms and you stare in the mirror only to find exhaustion looking back at you. Bloodshot eyes, the dark circles and lifeless cheeks.

A hollowed out version of the person you used to be, knowing it’s you but still being unable to recognize yourself in any reflection. You clutch the heart pendant that rests against your neck, its edges digging into your skin. What would your mother say if she saw you now?

Cold water splashes against your skin as you turn away from the mirror, shutting the sink off as you entered the shower. You don’t wait for it to heat up, finding this a better method to wake up, to ground you, to ensure that you’re in your own home.

And you scrub, almost desperately, against your skin, hoping that this would be enough to wash away the rot you feel festering in the depths of your stomach. Your hands move faster, fear beginning to slowly creep up on your back, long bony fingers tightening around your neck, waiting for the black veins to appear.

But they don’t.

The water is shut off, a towel wrapped around you and you’re out before the steam suffocates you. It’s gotten brighter outside, the first few rays of the sun peeking out over the horizon.

Luna follows you diligently as you dress yourself, earning herself scratches on her black-brown coat, patiently waiting for you to go downstairs for her breakfast. You undo the lock on your door and make headway for the kitchen, ordering to Luna to ‘stay’ as you fill her bowl up, take a few steps back, pause and then give her the green light.

It’s your usual routine, nothing out of the ordinary. Your isolation forced your hand to establish a routine for without you would feel yourself slowly descend towards insanity. You needed a purpose, no matter how small. After one decidedly panicked evening, you had brought back a handful of chicks to raise with nothing but your sheer will and a short guide book to help you.

Your need for a purpose was fulfilled and the chicks grew into beautiful hens.

Breakfast. Tend to the hens. Hunt for meat. Lunch. Take a walk. Stare at the landline hanging idly on your kitchen wall. Read. Dinner. Play with Luna. Sleep. Repeat.

But something feels wrong today, off, almost as though the world had tilted on its axis and you’re the only one who notices.

An egg falls and cracks on the floor as you fetch it from the fridge. The toast comes out burnt on the edges. Your tea doesn’t seep well.

But you don’t have time to linger on it, don’t have the energy too, already drained by your hellish subconscious. You need to check on your hens. You whistle for Luna at your front door, shrugging on your jacket and tightening the laces of your boots; always a good sense to dress for the terrain.

And then you reach into the small closet by the door, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal of your rifle. You check the cartridge, reload, slip a few extra ammos in your pocket, pull the strap on your shoulder and step outside on the porch.

The dew is glistening in the morning sun, shaking itself off the blades of grass as Luna bounds through them excitedly, not venturing far into the tall woods. You smile, watching her stretch her legs, descending down the stairs and looking up to the sky, frowning at the lack of yellows and oranges painting the blue canvas.

The sun has seemingly vanished, snuffed out like a cigarette bud on the pavement by the heavy rolls of dark clouds encapsulating the sky. The air smells different, charged and almost expecting to see sparks fly if you run your hand through the air fast enough.

Frowning, you stare hard at the trees, watching as far as your eyes take you through the rough foliage, the twisted roots overlaying on the ground. You wait, ears perked for any sounds of a howl, a break in the branch or a low growl, grip tightening around the leather strap of your rifle.

But nothing comes and you ease, although still unable to shake off the feeling of something amiss. Maybe you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

You twist on your heels, beginning the march to your little coop when you feel your feet falter, freezing at the sound of a loud crow echoing so loudly, it felt like a gunshot in the stilled air. You twist your head to your right, heart loud in your ears as you're met with beady, black eyes and a pitch black bird perched on your railing. A raven.

It bobs its head, twisting and hopping on the railing until it’s looking at you dead in the eye. You hold in your breath. It waits a beat before suddenly brandishing its wings to their full span and lunging at you, making you stagger backwards as it flies past your head, talons scratching your coated arm that you use to cover your face.

Loud, urgent barks fill the air. It drains the colour from your face, hand flying instinctively to your rifle as your panicked eyes dart around you in search. “Luna!?” And you don’t see her, finally registering the sound coming from the side of your house, near the chicken coop.

You run, stumbling on the uneven ground, the rocks poking out of the soil hindering your speed. The little coop comes into view, Luna barking maddeningly in its direction, teeth bared and hind legs charged up. You don’t see the obvious danger, taking a quick scan of your surroundings as you jog up to Luna, hand darting out to her collar as you try to soothe her, “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s-”

And your mouth runs dry.

The metal screen that you so dedicatedly had fixed a few weeks back, making the treacherous journey of two hours to and back from the nearest town, to keep out the predators from reaching your beloved hens was torn open from the side, the carcass of one of your chicken flung on the ground, its pristine white coat now drenched in maroon, organs exposed to the sky.

You feel a burn in the back of your throat, contents of your stomach churning viciously as you find a symphony of insects nestled inside, eating away at the decaying flesh.

You bite back the burn, shutting your eyes momentarily and exhaling a shaky breath. You need to get rid of this, and fast before it attracts all the unwanted predators in the area.

You do a quick count on the remaining hens, kick the metal screen back in place as best you can, gritting your teeth and rush back in your home to fetch a plastic bag, making sure to take Luna with you. You don’t want her engaging in any foolhardy duels with the coyotes. Your hands shake as you rip out a trash bag, making sure to knock on the wood for good measure.

The sharp noise of distaste from your mother runs through your mind. She never liked your belief in superstitions.

You shove the rotting carcass in the bag as best you can, making sure to leave no entrails behind. No visits by any wolves or bears would be appreciated right now. The sky above you begins to rumble, sneaking a nervous glance as you walk through the woods, weaving through the branches and roots, holding the bag at a distance as Luna carefully carves out a path in front of you. You need to be quick to avoid the rain, wanting to not get caught up in the storm.

You shake the bag as best you can when you’re satisfied with how far away the distance is from your home, emptying the carcass. Your heart falls when you notice there isn’t a single speckle of white left, all of it tainted. “Okay, girl. Let’s head back and enjoy a day of snuggling on the couch.” You scratch her chin, the eager wave of her tail easing the tension in your shoulders.

You make your way back, slightly different to the one you took in case you had left behind any scent. It’s quiet in the trees today. No rustling of the leaves, no chirping of the birds and no scampering of little feet on the muddy ground. There was a deafening silence today, an eerie atmosphere, only the sounds of branches snapping under your boots in the air.

And then you sense the shift.

You sense it long before Luna stills, ears perked up fully and taking her stance to lunge. The hair on the back of your neck rises. You feel your heart drumming in your chest, senses heightened as adrenaline slowly pumps into your system. The stench of despair; you know it all so well.

Your hand once again reaches for the rifle, shrugging it off your shoulder as you bring it up, finger lined up next to the trigger, breath slowing down as your steps become feather-like, gliding forward. There is barely any light out now, despite the morning hour, whatever left of it seeping in through the thick foliage like spotlights following the heroine on stage.

You suck in a sharp breath.

Lying there on the forest floor is a man. His limbs are sprawled, hands outstretched away from his body, head turned to the side, propped up on the roots. His blond hair is scattered on his forehead, sticking to the skin underneath, skin so pale and ghostly that he may as well be made of porcelain, decorated prettily with shades of black and blue.

His lips are parted, a gash rushing through them and a stream of blood dripping along its side. He lays in a pool of red, oozing out from underneath and extending as though in the shape of battered wings, his body marred in cuts and bruises, some deep and some shallow, leaving no part of him untainted. His shirt is ripped, holes in his pants. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, a faint wheeze accompanying each exhale.

But that’s not what’s jarring you, tipping off every alarm in your system, the rot returning in your stomach.

It’s the guns. The gear. The holsters. The grenades. The knives.

Who the fuck was this guy? And how the fuck did he find you?

No one was supposed to be able find you, no one.

You were promised.

if u see this pop up on ao3 in the next few weeks or something, don't worry, that'll be my evil twin. thank you for reading<33

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Two-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day, during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: very angst. lots of emotions going on here. reader proves herself to the syltherin boys. honestly just a really playful, fun, light chapter.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

In the wake of Mattheo's cutting words, three days had passed--three seemingly endless days since he had slammed the door shut on your attempts to help him, his declaration of your connection being nothing more than a futile endeavour, one destined for ruin once the end of the school year rolled around still ringing in your ears like a haunting melody.

The echo of his harsh words reverberated within your mind, an incessant hologram with no escape, seeping into your thoughts during sleepless nights, intruding upon your attempts to focus on anything else. You weren't sure why those words had cut so fucking deep, because in the moment you'd hardly even flinched, but you couldn't ignore the lingering pain they caused.

And during those agonizing days, an uncomfortable tension settled between the two of you, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. You took the hint, biting back the words that threatened to spill, choosing silence over confrontation. You trailed after him like a shadow in between classes, keenly aware that any attempt at conversation would only ignite another explosive clash, a battle neither of you felt prepared to wage again so soon.

The memory of your last argument lingered, its toxicity staining the air between you, leaving wounds too deep to heal without acknowledgment and remorse; two things neither of you seemed ready to give, quite yet.

But what really made matters worse, was that both of you were unyielding in your convictions--both of you shamelessly stubborn and unapologetic, neither of you feeling as though you were in the wrong. Mattheo barricaded himself behind walls, lashing out as if you were the enemy, despite your unwavering efforts to assist him--which, in turn, resulted in your pushiness. Your refusal to tolerate his aggression without challenge, became your armor, your way of standing your ground.

Maybe you had been too forceful, perhaps too harsh, but in your eyes, it was a response to the aggression he hurled your way. You couldn't simply let his hostility go unchecked; it was against your nature. And so, the standoff continued, a battle of wills and tempers, leaving both of you entrenched in your own convictions, neither of you willing to admit fault.

But today, you decided you weren't going to hide back anymore. You couldn't allow your stubbornness to completely destroy whatever progress you had made with Mattheo thus far. This was about more than just your pitiful feelings, or whatever emotions you had tied into the situation with that complicated boy. This was about being there for him, wether he wants you to be or not. Showing compassion and patience.

And so, summing newfound determination, you shook off the weight of your own melancholy and sought him out after dinner. Today, he and his group of friends had chosen the serene ambiance by the black lake as their study sanctuary, immersing themselves in the preparation for the upcoming charms exam next week.

Over the past three days, you had gradually grown somewhat acquainted with his friends. While you hadn't quite reached the level of camaraderie, there was a palpable shift in their attitudes towards you, a subtle warmth replacing the earlier distance. This change in dynamics became more evident, especially after the unsettling incident involving Berkshire, who still remained confined to the hospital wing, almost a week later.

With determined resolve, you traversed the courtyard and descended the hill toward the lake, drawing in a steadying breath. Each step echoed your silent promise: to honour Mattheo's boundaries, even if it felt like swallowing shards of glass. The crisp air seemed to echo your determination as you neared the group of Slytherin boys, their laughter and banter carried on the breeze.

Among them, Mattheo sat with his usual nonchalant demeanor, his tousled hair framing his intense eyes. A cigarette dangled effortlessly from his fingers, his bag slumped lazily beside him as he rested stoically against a tall tree, lost in conversation with Malfoy. As you veered closer, his gaze met yours briefly, as though he sensed your presence, the darkness within his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. Beside him, Blaise Zabini's face lit up with anticipation, a welcoming smile playing on his lips as he waved you over.

"Well good evening, little raven...always a pleasure," Blaise grinned, his tone teasing as he made room for you to sit down next to him. "Here to keep an eye on Riddle, are you?"

As you settled into the space between Blaise and Mattheo, the group of boys, including Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, and Regulus Black, welcomed you with light smiles and eager nods.

"Perhaps." You teased, sneaking a glance at Mattheo, his gaze planted on the cigarette between his fingers as he fiddled with it. "Or perhaps I'm here to make sure you lot don't burn down the entire forest during your little 'study session'..."

"Rest assured, we're Hogwarts' best-behaved troublemakers," Draco chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief, a cocky smile playing on his lips. "But if you're worried about the forest, maybe you should stick around...your presence might just be the calming influence we need."

Your blush was undeniable as you smirked, meeting Draco's silver eyes across from Mattheo. He leaned back on his palms as his gaze darted over your features, the top buttons of his uniform shirt undone, exuding an air of effortless confidence.

"I know enough about you, Malfoy, to know that's the furthest thing from the truth," you said, your tone teasing. "But either way, I won't be going anywhere anytime soon...unfortunately for him, Riddle here is stuck with me for a few more weeks."

Blaise chuckled, his voice low and smooth. "Ah, the lucky bloke," he replied, his eyes meeting yours with a smouldering intensity. "If I had my way, you'd find yourself stuck with me, instead...and I assure you, it would be a much more enjoyable experience..."

You quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Oh yes," he teased, his voice a playful melody as he shot Mattheo a knowing wink. "I know all too well the misery of enduring Riddle's icy presence all day; he could freeze a bloody dragon with that demeanor...it's almost cute that you think you'll be able to change him."

The timbre of his voice, a melodic dance of amusement, filled the space around you, and Mattheo's demeanor, once steely and composed, seemed to falter slightly under the weight of Blaise's remarks.

His features tightened, as if grappling with invisible chains, and your own smile, once confident, wavered slightly, betraying the impact of Blaise's words. Swallowing hard, you felt the weight of his teasing remarks settle in the pit of your stomach, a heavy reminder of the argument you and Mattheo had just a few days ago. Despite the discomfort, you summoned your courage, your voice soft yet resolute as you spoke.

"I'm not trying to change him, Blaise," your words hung in the air, delicate and firm, like a fragile thread of understanding. "I'm just here to support him...whenever he's ready to let me."

Your words lingered for a moment, underscoring your unwavering dedication to bolster Mattheo without imposing change upon his core. Although you were directing these words at Blaise, you hoped Mattheo had taken heed of them--as this mentorship, you understood now, was not about altering his identity; it was about assisting him in unraveling the internal struggles, urging him to redirect his anger into positive outlets rather than combatting every perceived threat with physical violence.

Blaise's eyes softened, his usual playful demeanor giving way to a more contemplative expression. He leaned in closer, his gaze scanning your features with a profound curiosity, as if searching for hidden depths within your soul. His voice, now tinged with awe and respect, broke the silence.

"Where have you been all this time, hm? He could have used someone like you years ago..." he murmured, his gaze shifting between you and Mattheo, a glint of intrigue shimmering in his dark eyes. "She must truly be something special for you to willingly sacrifice your freedom for her, Riddle."

"A special pain in my ass, yeah," Mattheo said, his voice seemingly devoid of emotion, a subtle hint of sarcasm lacing his words. As he took a draw of his cigarette, a flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes, the smoke curling around him like a shield. "Nothing about this arrangement was willingly chosen, Zabini..."

Despite the gravity of his words, a rush of warmth surged within you at Mattheo's candid remark. Amusement sparked in your eyes, a glint of playful defiance as you tried to suppress a smirk that threatened to betray your composure.

"Don't let him fool you, he loves it..." your voice, low and teasing, hung in the air, the words daring and provocative as you shamelessly appraised Mattheo's hardened features. "Isn't that right, Riddle? You know you enjoy being kept on your toes for once..."

Mattheo met your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly, but a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. Your boldness didn't go unnoticed, a silent understanding passing between you amidst the banter. With an air of nonchalance, he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he brought his cigarette to his mouth once more.

"Yeah, that's what I enjoy," he drawled, his tone dry and drenched in sarcasm. "Being kept on my toes."

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at Mattheo's sneakily playful words, your attempt to conceal your reaction falling short. Your eyes dropped to your lap, a feeble effort to shield your reddening face from the prying eyes around you. The charged words hung thick in the air, every gaze in the circle keenly aware of the subtle shift in dynamics. Before you could even think to react, Theodore Nott's voice, low and teasing, sliced through the tension, his eyes glinting with a playful gleam that hinted at secrets only he knew.

"Careful, Bella Mia..." he cautioned, his words hanging in the space between you, laden with enigmatic warnings. "You'll only get hurt."

Confusion knit your brows, a perplexed frown marring your features as you tried to decipher his cryptic statement.

"What?" you asked, your voice betraying your bewilderment.

"Your smile..." he replied with a knowing smirk, his tone light but filled with subtle implications, "...you look like you're about to fall in love."

The breath caught in your throat, the world around you momentarily blurring as Theodore's unexpected revelation hit you like a tidal wave. The color drained from your cheeks, leaving your face pale, and your heart thudded against your ribs with a fervent urgency, as if pleading for clarity. Flustered and unprepared, you turned your gaze toward Mattheo, seeking solace in his familiar presence.

Nervousness danced in your eyes, a desperate search for reassurance before you stammered out a denial, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush. "Fall...in love? With Mattheo? Sorry, no...no bloody way."

Your words spilled out in a hurried, almost desperate attempt to dispel the implication, yet there was an undeniable tremor in your voice, a subtle quiver that betrayed the unease settling deep within you. Mattheo's eyes met yours, but they held an emptiness, a haunting void that sent a shiver down your spine, something distant flickering within them, making your stomach twist in uneasy knots.

Around you, the group erupted into sneers and light chuckles, their amusement palpable as they sensed your flustered expression. But your attention remained fixated on Mattheo, his silent gaze carrying the weight of Theodore's words, a looming storm cloud hanging over your heads, heavy with unspoken implications.

In love. The notion seemed absurd, impossible even. No, it couldn't be true. There was no way.

"Nott's right, you'll only get hurt..." Malfoy's sneering voice cut through the air, his words laced with a malicious amusement as he cast a sideways glance at Theodore, who snickered in agreement. "You're far too innocent for Riddle... he'd chew you up and spit you out in a second...any of us would..."

He paused, his cold eyes darting from yours to Mattheo's, and back to yours again, as if sizing up the situation. A sly smirk played on his lips, the cruel glint in his eyes sharpening. "Well, perhaps not Notty boy here; he's a little softer."

A surge of heat coursed through your veins, igniting a fierce determination within you that contrasted sharply with the warm, gentle breeze caressing your skin. Despite the pressure weighing heavily upon you and the palpable weight of their expectations hanging in the air, you refused to succumb to their underestimation. With your pulse quickening, you squared your shoulders, locking eyes with Malfoy's cocky gaze.

"You know...I don't believe I'm as fragile as you all seem to think I am," you retorted, words laced with conviction, challenging their perception of you. "I can handle myself just fine."

"Don't let her appearance fool you," Mattheo's words, unexpectedly slicing through the charged atmosphere, nearly startled your heart out of your chest. His voice, dripping with playful irony, reverberated through your limbs as he spoke without even sparing you a glance, his dark hair framing his face and his whiskey eyes meeting Malfoy's with a challenging glint. "That pretty face hides one hell of a devilish mind."

A collective reaction rippled through the group of boys, their eyebrows shooting up in surprise, their smirks growing wider. The implications of Mattheo's remark hung thick in the air, sparking newfound curiosity and amusement that crackled in the atmosphere like electricity. Malfoy seized the opportunity, his smirk taking on a mischievous edge.

"Now you're calling her pretty, Riddle?" he teased, his tone laced with playful skepticism. "Are you sure there's nothing going on between you two? You have been spending a hell of a lot of time together..."

Simultaneously, you both shot back with lightening speed--your words colliding mid-air, overlapping with the others quick response in a chaotic symphony of denial.

"He wishes," you said, your voice carrying a playful edge--while at the same instant, Mattheo sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm and wit. "In her bloody dreams," he said.

Your synchronized responses elicited another round of chuckles from the boys, a shared moment of camaraderie at the expense of you and Mattheo. The tension between the two of you remained, but the exchange had shifted into a playful rhythm, now, the unspoken dynamics between you two sparking curiosity among the others. Malfoy's chuckles gradually faded, replaced by a challenging glint in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips.

"Alright then...little good girl," he drawled, his tone laden with mischief. "Why don't you prove it?"

Your nerves prickled beneath your skin, a rush of anxiety coursing through your veins as you stammered, "Prove...it? Prove what?"

"Prove that you aren't as innocent and fragile as we think you are," he challenged, his words hanging in the air like a dare. "Prove that you're more than just your books and your pushy, smartass attitude."

Nervously, you glanced around the circle at each of the boys, their eyes fixed on you with wide grins of anticipation. The weight of their expectations pressed upon you, and you felt the intensity of the moment, wether you wished to ignore it or not. Mattheo didn't dare to meet your gaze, but you could sense the slight smirk playing on his lips as he casually fiddled with his cigarette. After a long, silent moment, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

"Fine, Malfoy," you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "Challenge excepted."

With determination, you pushed off the ground, turning your attention away from the circle and toward the tranquil expanse of the black lake. The challenge had been accepted, and you were ready to prove that there was more to you than met the eye, ready to do whatever the hell you needed to earn their respect in your own damned way.

The boys surrounding you stared in wide-eyed shock as you swiftly shrugged off your uniform jacket, the soft fabric falling carelessly to the grassy ground. With a quick motion, you kicked off your shoes, the blades of grass tickling your feet beneath the fading sunlight--it was dark enough now that if you moved away from them, toward the edge of the lake, and stripped off your skirt and shirt, they wouldn't be able to see too much. Nevertheless, they'd still catch glimpses, and that was precisely the point.

Mattheo, still seated, shot you a puzzled look, his eyes narrowing with sheer confusion and concern.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he questioned, his voice slicing through the stunned silence. The weight of his gaze bore into you, searching for an explanation that might justify your unexpected actions. A surge of confidence pushed you forward, your resolve unwavering.

"I'm going to prove that I'm more than what you all think," you replied, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "And that sometimes, good girls do bad things, too."

Theodore Nott, always one to read the room, glanced between you and Mattheo, a sly smile playing on his lips. "This should be interesting," he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. "Salazar save us..."

With a newfound sense of liberation, you descended toward the tranquil lake, the gentle lapping of water against the shore a soothing melody in the background. The soft rustle of the wind caressed your ears, heightening the anticipation that hung thick in the air. As you began to undo the buttons on your uniform blouse, each delicate movement resonated with the weight of the challenge, setting your heart racing in your chest.

With every button that slipped out, the tension in the atmosphere grew palpable, the burning gazes of the captivated boys etched into your flesh. The fabric of your blouse glided off your shoulders, landing gracefully on the grass like a discarded shield at your feet. Standing there, clad in nothing but your bra and skirt, you felt a heady mix of exhilaration and vulnerability wash over you.

As the cool evening air enveloped your skin, you sensed a presence behind you. Slowly, you peeked over your shoulder to find Mattheo sprinting toward you, his brows furrowed in disbelief and his eyes widened in pure shock. He came to a halt just a few feet away, his voice laden with a mixture of astonishment and genuine concern.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" he exclaimed, his words a sharp contrast to the stunned silence that had fallen over the group. "You're going to fucking freeze..."

His gaze flickered over you, a kaleidoscope of emotions playing in his eyes, the dominant one undeniably being shock, tinged with a hint of something else--something unspoken and complex. Under the intensity of his stare, you felt a rush of warmth suffuse your skin, a bold defiance kindling within you as your hands moved to the band of your skirt. With deliberate slowness, you teased the length of its waist, holding his eyes captive in a daring challenge.

"What's the matter, Riddle?" you purred, savoring the power in the moment, knowing he couldn't physically intervene in front of his friends without arousing suspicion. "Are you truly worried about me?" Your voice dropped into a low, nearly inaudible whisper as your smirk deepened, relishing the way his eyes tracked your hands. "Or...perhaps...you're just unable to handle other men looking at your property..."

Mattheo's frustration was palpable, his brows furrowing as he struggled to maintain his composure. Yet, beneath the annoyance, there was a glimmer of amusement, a reluctant acknowledgment of your audacity.

"You're playing with fire, again, aren't you?" he muttered, his tone a blend of exasperation and begrudging amusement. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a hint of admiration for your boldness despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface. "Just be careful you don't get burned."

"Oh, please," you retorted, unable to contain your smirk, the confidence in your voice echoing your daring spirit. "Witches don't burn."

With a swift, decisive motion, you cast your skirt aside, the fabric pooling on the grass as you dashed toward the lake with unbridled determination. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, dulling the edge of the initial shock as you plunged into the cold water. A sharp gasp cut through the night as the icy embrace of the lake stole your breath away, the shock of the temperature quickly giving way to exhilaration. In the background, the boys erupted into cheers and hollers, their admiration for your audacious leap resonating in the crisp evening air like a chorus of approval.

Meanwhile, at the shore, Mattheo stood half-stunned, his eyes widening in surprise before that sly smirk slowly crept back onto his face. He watched you with a mix of amusement and something else, something that look almost like an undeniable respect for your audacity. His fingers absently toyed with his cigarette as he observed your fearless actions, his usual stoic demeanor momentarily shattered by your bold act.

From the water, you observed the boys exchanging glances, their smirks hinting at a shared understanding that transcended words. With an unspoken agreement, they shrugged in unison, a collective "fuck it" echoing through the air. One by one, they rose to their feet, shedding their uniforms with carefree abandon until they stood just as exposed as you were. Their toned bodies glistened under the evening sky, the moonlight filtering through the clouds, casting a silvery glow upon their skin.

With lively laughter echoing through the night air, the boys sprinted toward you, their infectious excitement palpable even from a distance. They effortlessly brushed past Mattheo, who stood frozen in place, his expression a mosaic of shock and amusement, his eyes tracking each of his friends as they leaped into the water alongside you. As the cold water embraced them, the boys couldn't help but groan in unison, their playful complaints filling the air.

"Bloody hell, it's freezing..." Reggie exclaimed, eliciting chuckles from the others. “How the fuck did I think this was a good idea…”

Amidst the banter, they turned their attention to you, their expressions a blend of awe and admiration.

"You've definitely surprised us, little bird," Theodore teased, his tone laced with genuine respect. "Making this look so easy, aren't you?"

Malfoy's voice echoed with a mix of amusement and challenge as he shouted across the water to Mattheo.

"Riddle, don't be a killjoy," he taunted, a playful glint in his eyes. "I know you can't resist a good challenge...you're really going to let little raven here outshine you like this?”

The words hung in the air, a tempting dare that Mattheo couldn't ignore. He stood at the water's edge, his expression a mixture of hesitation and a playful grumbling--clearly debating whether to join the revelry or stay put. You grinned as you watched, his face sporting a resigned yet amused expression, as he finally succumbed, muttering under his breath as he peeled off his uniform with deliberate slowness.

"You guys are bloody mad," he grumbled as he folded his clothes neatly on the shore, his movements deliberate and slightly begrudging. "If we catch hypothermia, Raven, I'm blaming you."

Finally, with a sarcastic salute and a roll of his eyes, he took a deep breath and dove into the water, his entry marked by a splash that mirrored the energy and excitement of the night, everyone erupting into laughter at his little display. Mattheo waded over, his playful irritation evident in the way he shot you a mock glare before unleashing a playful splash, water droplets scattering in all directions.

"Mattheo!" You squealed, wiping the water from your face. "You bloody arse!"

His eyes twinkled with mischief, and he couldn't help but smirk as you retaliated, sending a splash of water right back at him. The tension from earlier had transformed into a playful energy, the group now engaged in a water fight, laughter filling the air as splashes and giggles and squeals intermingled.

Before you knew it, everyone was caught up in the spirited frenzy, water splashing in every direction as the boys chased each other, their playful shouts and laughter blending harmoniously. Mattheo, who had initially been the reluctant participant, seemed to revel in the chaos, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he retaliated with gusto, no longer holding back.

As the water fight intensified, you noticed Mattheo momentarily distracted, his attention diverted by the antics of the other boys. Seizing the opportunity, you discreetly gathered a handful of mud from the lakebed, forming it into a small, compact ball. With careful precision, you approached him from behind, your steps silent in the water, and with a swift motion, you lobbed the mud ball, aiming for Mattheo's shoulder.

The ball hit its mark perfectly, leaving a satisfying splatter of mud on his skin, the boys erupting into laughter, thoroughly entertained by your clever move. However, turning around, Mattheo's eyes widened in exaggerated shock, his voice tinged with playful hurt.

"Did you just fucking ambush me? In front of my own men?" he exclaimed, his tone laced with feigned betrayal as he theatrically wiped the mud off his skin. “You’re real fucking bold, aren’t you, Raven?”

You snickered, grinning at the fact you’d caught him off guard like that. “You know what they say…never drop your guard, Mattheo…”

A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes as he casually glanced over your shoulder, spotting Theodore wading in the water behind you and Malfoy standing just a bit to your side. A subtle shift occurred in Mattheo's demeanor, a silent understanding passing between him, Theodore, and Malfoy. Their eyes exchanged a knowing look, a shared sense of mischief darkening their expressions. Mattheo's voice, once filled with mock hurt, now dripped with wicked amusement as he issued his command.

"Grab her, boys," he ordered, his voice taking on a sinister edge, setting the stage for the impeding revenge. "Time to show the little bird what happens when you mess with a bunch of venomous snakes."

Excitement surged through your veins, a thrilling concoction of adrenaline and laughter, as you attempted to evade their grasp. Your heart raced, the pounding in your chest echoing the playful chaos around you. Despite your best efforts, Theodore's fingers wrapped firmly around your arm, and Malfoy's grip held your other, their strength ensuring your playful struggles were in vain.

“Come on, Mattheo!” You squirmed and giggled, a delightful blend of resistance and amusement, as you found yourself caught in their playful trap. “I’m sorry, please…”

Mattheo, his confidence soaring now that you were being successfully restrained, seized a hefty clump of mud, his fingers sinking into its cool, squishy texture. As he spun back around, his eyes locked onto yours, and with deliberate measured steps, he closed the distance between you, his movements exuding a cocky swagger that only intensified your anxiety.

"Any last words, Raven?" he taunted, his voice dripping with playful malice, the echoes of your impending fate resonating in the air like a looming storm. "If you wish to pathetically apologize for that ignorant display, now is the time to do so."

"Mattheo, please!" Desperation and regret flooded your voice, your pleas tumbling out in a desperate rush, mingling with the tension that hung heavy in the air. "I'm so sorry, please don't--I didn't mean to-"

But Mattheo merely shook his head, a triumphant smirk curving his lips, dismissing your words with a casual flick of his hand.

"Actually, just decided it's too late for ass-kissing now, princess," he sneered, his words cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "Brace yourself."

With a swift motion, he hurled the mud at you, the clump splattering against your chest. Laughter erupted from the boys, their camaraderie deepening in the chaos of the moment. And you, caught in their playful trap, couldn't help but join in the laughter, realizing that the evening had taken an unexpected turn, transforming into a memorable, joyous escapade under the moonlit sky.

As the boys finally released their grip, laughter still lingering in the air, Mattheo met your eyes, his gaze dipping over your mud-splattered form with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

Grumbling, you couldn't resist a playful jab, "You're such an ass."

His chuckle transformed into a self-assured grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, his voice teasing. "But you have to admit, it was worth it for that look on your face."

You let out a reluctant chuckle, realizing the absurdity of the situation. "Fine, you win this round," you conceded, unable to suppress a smile. "But don't get too comfortable; next time I'm bringing everything I got."

"I'm counting on it," Mattheo replied with a grin, a spark of anticipation in his eyes, acknowledging the challenge you had just thrown his way. “Wouldn’t be normal for you if you didn’t.”

After a little bit longer, the group of you finally emerged from the water, the stars twinkling overhead like diamonds scattered across the night sky. Laughter and playful groans of annoyance filled the air as you all struggled to peel your clothes back on, the urgency to get back to the castle evident in the chilly breeze that swept through the night.

With clothes clinging damply to your skin, you all made your way back, sharing stories and laughter along the path. The atmosphere was light, the shared escapade having created a bond among you, making the cold night feel a little warmer. As you approached the castle, a sense of accomplishment and newfound friendship enveloped the group, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill at the unexpected turn the night had taken, leaving you with a memory of an exhilarating adventure under the starlit sky.

—————————-

Chapter 23->

[selarina]

Synopsis: You're mad at Gojo, and he spirals.

Warnings: Mention of a fire

Getou doesn’t feel like hanging out today, but he shows up anyway — it’s routine after all, and he doesn’t want to deal with a whiny Gojo Satoru, especially since he doesn’t have you to split the burden with today.

Summoning a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Getou walks into the threshold of Satoru's house.

He looks around the house and nothing. No one.

But something felt out of place. Satoru always seems to sense when Getou walks in, and he would be out the door just as quickly as he walked in, he’d be out at this new restaurant, or this new arcade Gojo wanted to check out. But today, he's met with silence.

"Satoru?" Getou called out, his voice echoing through the cavernous house, only to be greeted by the eerie emptiness.

A tinge of panic brushes its touch against Getou's hand. "Satoru, where are you?" he called out once more.

Some rumbling and soft sounds of several thuds emanate from above him. Without hesitation, Getou ascends the stairs, driven by an insidious sense of unease.

Upon entering the library upstairs, he was met with an odd sight.

An assortment of books lay scattered across the floor, each laying at different stages of unraveling — while most of them are closed, some of them lay open — some open on the last page, some halfway through, and some open to the first page. 

Then, amidst this chaos on the floor, Getou spots the white blur of hair through his peripheral vision. He turns, finding Satoru, who seems to be very intently jotting down something in a black notebook, seemingly oblivious to his presence in the room.

“Satoru, I called for you?”

Satoru looks up, caught off guard — something must be truly wrong.

“Suguru! Today’s no good. I’m busy,” he replied, his eyes immediately flitting back down to his notebook.

Getou thinks he should thread this lightly, he’s all too familiar with the boy’s ability to brush things off entirely too quickly. His eyes roved the scene — going over the balls of discarded papers, the books, and the plate of lunch that seemed to be untouched.

"Uh," Getou began, inching closer to the boy with his hands in his pockets. He's weaving his steps across the slew of books — careful to not step on any of them. "What are you up to?"

No response at all, it’s like Suguru isn’t even here.

Suguru bends down, picking up the nearest book on the floor — an austere hardbound volume with golden lettering, bearing the title "Time Travel in Einstein's Universe." His fingers gently placed it down, only to lift another book, paper this time — it read "How to Build a Time Machine: The Real Science of Time Travel."

Standing upright, still holding the book, Getou asks, "Satoru, why are you reading about time travel? No, better question — how come you’re… reading?”

"I'm trying to time travel," Gojo replied with an unsettling nonchalance, as though he was merely discussing matters of the weather.

A few beats pass, mainly because Suguru was deciding between a simple  “Why?” and a more emphatic “What the hell?”

But because Suguru is Suguru, and he’s been equipped with the art of patience, he oppted for a measured, “I don’t think you can do that.” He makes sure to punctuate his sentence with a faint chuckle. 

"I need to," Satoru asserts, standing up as his eyes scan the floor for another book.

"Pretty sure no one can change time," Getou countered. "Not even us."

"We could," Satoru insisted, his voice unwavering. "Maybe—if we tried hard enough." His gaze then locks into Getou's, his conviction unwavering. “We are the strongest after all.”

Getou decides to indulge this because he’s just far too curious. "All right," he began cautiously. "Why do you need to time travel anyway?"

"You know how my partner is upset with me?" Satoru asked.

"Yeah," Getou replied, a weariness permeating his voice — he vividly recalls Satoru's relentless whining on the subject from the previous night. He eventually got the boy to shut up, only for him to start all over today morning — it’s part of the reason he didn’t feel like hanging out today, but you’ll never catch him saying this out loud.

"Well, if I reversed time," Gojo continued with an unnerving grin, "then they'd never be upset with what I did. Problem solved!"

Getou feels the sudden urge to chew on a notebook to satiate his frustration. “Are you serious?” he asks.

“Deadly.”

"Satoru," he snatched the notebook from Satoru's table—the very notebook the latter had been intently writing in. His eyes find themselves looking at a plethora of mathematic equations he doesn’t understand. He sighs, looking up at the man.

“Do you know anything that can help? Help me, please,” Satoru implored, his head bobbing fervently.

Getou thinks that this is surely the height of insanity. Surely, someone needs to lock Gojo Satoru up.

Speechless, Getou succumbs to laughter — like a total madman. 

He dials it down as he notices Satoru’s escalating exasperation with him. He spoke again, “You’re an idiot. How about you actually apologize to them instead of doing… whatever this is.” 

He tosses the notebook back to Satoru, who catches it with a swift, outstretched hand.

—

“Please, stop!” He rushes behind you, as Getou trails right behind him. “Stop avoiding me please or I’ll die.”

“Wow, you really are like those high-maintenance plants,” you quip as you come to a stop, finally turning to lay your eyes on the boy. 

"I'm not..." He totally is. 

“Glad to see you’re not too torn up about our fight since you’re out here at an arcade,” you say, sarcasm dripping to the floor beneath you, just a few more missteps, and Gojo could slip and fall everlastingly.

“No! I was very upset. Ask Getou,” he points to the man, who simply nods in tandem. He starts again, "Can we please please just talk this out? I'm really sorry."

"Oh? Are you?" you questioned, skepticism etched into your features. "Is that why you ghosted me for a whole week?"

"I got scared," he admits. "I thought you'd leave me."

“I considered that,” you reply, arms crossed.

His eyes widen, and you think he looks like a kicked puppy. But this was a serious matter, and you suppressed the urge to ruffle his hair.

"See—now I want to run away, so you never will," he whimpered. "But I won't, because I'm genuinely sorry, I mean it."

You stared at him, the genuineness in his eyes catching your weary gaze. You had been tired all week. Finally, you relented.

"Fine," you sigh. "Let's talk it out."

"Okay! Thank you baby!" he says, an immediate smile spreading across his face. 

"See? I told you it's not a big deal—" Getou began, his smile mirroring Satoru's. However, he falls silent when he noticed your changing expression.

“Not a big deal?” You exclaim, clearing seething with a bubbling anger. It’s seemingly a harmless sentence but something in you must have broken down at the sound of that.

"I-I mean, it's not a big deal because I'll fix it, and everything will be fine," Satoru's voice stammers through.

"It's not all going to be just fine, Satoru. You burned down my house," you stated.

“I burned down your kitchen,” he corrects you.

“Wow, I’m sorry I don’t know why I was making such a big deal. It’s only my kitchen!” You start to chuckle, a deranged sense of amusement escaping your lips as you turn to Getou, “Do you hear that Suguru? It’s only my kitchen, he says.”

Suguru gulps, not wanting to be more involved in this than he was. He turns his head away, only now noticing that everyone’s watching the scene unfold like it’s their favorite telenovela. “Guys, maybe let’s not do this here.”

"Yeah, I was done here anyway," you declared, shooting a final glare at Satoru before making a swift exit.

Satoru immediately chased after you, throwing himself out the arcade's door.

“Baby, please!” He finally comes to grip your arm, stopping you in your tracks. You look up at him, and he notices you carry no malice really — just a weariness that shows in your tired tired eyes, he feels the urge to take you home, so he can run his hands over your eyes and put you to sleep. So he can finally sleep beside you himself.

“I’m sorry, Getou’s an idiot. It is a big deal. I never should have done that. It was obviously an accident but I was just trying to be nice, and obviously… that didn’t work out as I planned. And of course, I’ll fix the kitchen, I’ll pay for everything — even add in upgrades if you want. And before you say anything… this is on me. I should pay,” he says.

"I was going to make you pay anyway. What were you even trying to do in my kitchen?"

"Well," he began with a sheepish look on his face, almost ashamed. "It was our anniversary, and wanted to make you something."

“Why would you do that? You can barely boil rice,” you sigh, your eyes coming up to soothe your forehead.

“I-I don’t know. You mentioned how your ex-boyfriend made your food all the time when you guys were together so I thought you’d like that.”

“Yeah, well. Osamu was a chef, and you’re the opposite of that,” you replied, your arms encircling his in a soothing grip.

He sighed, gazing out at the street — his eyes staring down at the passing cars before speaking once more, “It’s not just that.”

"What then?" you inquired.

“I’m not good at this,” he confesses.

You maintained your steady gaze, urging him to continue.

“At this — Romance,” he clarifies. “I can’t do it so I’m always looking and copying others. I only leave you notes because you do that. I only give you keychains because Getou does that with his boyfriend. I only knew I had to invite you to work when Nanami mentioned it. I just—”

You hummed softly, encouraging him to continue.

“I don’t know how to love. It’s part of the reason why I even tried to cook. You’re so good at loving me, I can’t ever pay you back for it.”

“Satoru, you’re good at it too,” you say. “Just not in the ways I am, or Getou, or Nanami. You’re good at it in your own way. It’s about how you know when to order in when I’m feeling tired. It’s about how you pick out the stones I like for the keychains. It’s about how you showed up all the way to my Switzerland work trip when I was on the verge of a fucking mental breakdown. It’s about how you always draw something hideous when you leave notes knowing I’ll find it funny when I’m back from work. It’s about you trying in the first place,” you say.

"The drawings are supposed to be cute," he mumbled.

“I know you think that,” you chuckled softly. “And besides, I only leave notes because my mother did that for my father. We all learn from someone.”

A moment of silence enveloped you both, broken only by your gradual approach. “You can teach me, and I can teach you. If you let me.”

He sighed, enfolding you in a tight hug.

“Also, as much I appreciate the effort now, I hope you know you’re banned from my kitchen,” you mumble across his chest.

“Okay, I’ll learn how to cook though,” he says. “For you.”

“Okay,” you say. 

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Hi, I wanted to ask for a Clarisse fanfic where the reader is gifted in the arts? I would also like to ask that the reader be a daughter of Hades :)

What’s a girl to do

Pairings - Clarisse La rue x daughter of hades! Fem! Reader

An - this lowkey sucked but YALL will live

You had always been gifted in the arts. From dance, music, art itself and even theater.

Being that you were a hades kid most kids avoided you, not that because your dad was the king of the underworld but because just being around you gave them an unsettling feeling.

Something every great artist had was a muse, someone they could go to for inspiration, someone that gave their work meaning. But you? You didn’t have a muse.

Sure you’ve had inspiration come from all types of media but never once did you have an actual person you could call your muse.

That had changed though when you met clarisse. It started out small with small doodles of her. Then she started to show up as small details in your song lyrics. And even going as far as using her as your model in your photos

You two were friends.. but you knew you wanted more then that.

——

Clarisse spun her spear around on the sandy beach. She was so in the moment that she hadn’t heard the sound of your camera going off.

She ended in a pose with her spear tucked under her arm. Panting that’s when she realized you were sitting near by.

“You know its creepy to take photos of people without their knowledge right”

“Eh you’ll live” you smiled. Clarisse had always been beautiful even in situations like now where she was panting and sweaty from her workout.

You walked over towards her smiling sat the picture

She was a natural. The way clarisse moved her body it was like she was meant to be infront of the camera.

subconsciously you started leaning into her to show her the photo. “this one here, I like how your curls kinda spun around with you, you know” You smiled, clarisse nodded placing a hand around your waist, she had always done that but it didn’t mean it didn’t get you flustered everytime.

“Mmhm” she stuck her spear in the ground before reaching over placing her free hand onto yours clicking back on the camera to a photo of her standing with her spear pointed down the sun hitting her at a certian angle adding dramatics. “this one is better”

“Well I think both are fine” you smiled looking over at clarisse. Your faces were close. So close if you even just moved a little you might accidentally kiss.

You waited for clarisse to do something, to move away and tell you to piss off but she didn’t. Instead you started to feel her rub circles on your hip.

Almost out of a movie mark clarisses bother appeared. “Clarisse!” He yelled gaining the now irritated girls attention.

“The hell do You want Mark im busy” she looked over at him not wanting to deal his bullshit. “It’s Sam and Jane, they got into another fight and are in the infirmary now Chiron wants to see you about it all”

You watched as clarisses closed her eyes trying to calm down even a little. She looked back at you before squeezing your hip and letting go to head off to beat her siblings.

You stood there frozen and embarrassed. Clarisse didn’t like you. There was no way if anything she liked silena. Clarisse only saw you as a friend…

Right..

——

Around 3am you decided to sneak out of your cabin not able to sleep.

Lazily walking around the camp trying to not get caught you noticed a familiar girl jumping out the ares cabin window. Using shadow travel you quickly moved to stand beside the cabin.

Clarisse sighed as she landed on the ground, silently closing the window “since when did you sneak out”

“Fuck!” She whisper yelled having to pull her hand back from hitting you. “What the hell are you doing out here”

“Selling hardcore drugs— now you tell me why your ever so quietly leaving your cabin” you sarcastically spoke. Clarisse rolled her eyes in defiance. “Your a pain in my ass you know” she scoffed.

You shrugged your shoulders. “You’ve said worse to Me” starting to follow the girl into the forest you took in the scenery.

The full moon brought you a sense of comfort, mainly in the fact that the goddess nyx had always brought protection to people in need through the veil of night.

Clarisse continued until she came to a clearing in the woods, high on the mountian side and far enough away from the camp you wouldn’t get caught but high enough you could see the stretched out lake.

“Wow..” you whispered. “I never new this spot existed”

“That’s supposed to be the point”

“Is this where you take girls to makeout with them then torture them before k—“

“I’m not some insane serial killer dumbass” clarisse laughed pushing you softly before sitting down. You followed her lead sitting a little to close to her.

After a few moments you watched as clarisse silently complained befote grabbing some Kindle Wood arranging it to make a small fire. Using a lighter most likely taken from the big house.

After sitting back watching the fire clarisse looked over at you. “How long have you been doing all this shit”

You raised an eyebrow confused. “You mean photography” you chuckled, Clarisse nodded in response her face unreadable.

You sighed for a moment “uhh I’m not really sure, I just I’ve always had a passion for the arts and been naturally gifted in them, I like photography the best with painting being right underneath though” you tucked some hair behind your ear slightly embarrassed.

“Why me” she continued to asked. “Like out of every camper here why am I the one you take the most photos of me”

“Well I Ju—“

“Wait wait don’t tell me you like me” clarisse laughed at the end of her statement. You went to speak but decided to stay quiet letting clarisse finish her laughing fit it. She soon stopped looking over with a playful face. “Wait seriously.. you use me as your muse because you like me”

You started to get up embarrassed walking away quickly not wanting to listen to the girl yelling after you. About five steps into your leave clarisse grabbed your arm. “Gods damnit can you just wait” she huffed.

“Yeah because I just love being laughed at thanks clarisse” you tried to pull your arm away but it was pointless “you know it’s actually really shitty to laugh at someone when you find out they like yo—“

You were cut off by clarisse grabbing your head and crashing her lips against yours. Not caring how messy it was, clarisse kept a firm hold on your head while grabbing your waist pushing you against her.

The kiss moved from messy to controlled. You let clarisse hold you close, soft breaths leaving both your mouths not wanting to pull away but still needing to breathe.

Pulling away you felt clarisses hot breath on your lips. “Do you ever stop talking” she asked now with her hand on the side of your face comfortingly rubbing circles. You rolled your eyes but kept quiet, your arms around clarisses neck.

Clarisses kissed you once again slowly, she pulled away kissing your cheek. “I like you to dumbass”

“Really..?”

“Uh yeah you really think I let anyone take photos and draw me?”

You playfully pushed the girls shoulder before pulling her back into a grinful kiss

“Great now that we’re together can we please go back to the fire it’s cold as shit out here”

“Whatever La rue”

[bl3upi3]

A Night to Remember | Monkey D. Luffy

Part 2

Summary: In the midst of a disaster at sea, your crew encounters the Straw Hat Pirates led by Monkey D. Luffy. After initial skepticism, you accept their help, and amidst the chaos, a deep connection forms between you and Luffy. The night brings passion, revealing mutual feelings.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut, p in v unprotected (I'm bad with warnings)

A/N: This is straight out of my imagination. I just watched the live action and am thinking of starting the anime so yes, this work is a messy mix of anything and everything. English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. I tried not to change Luffy's personality as much as I could. (My requests are open if wanted)

As you and your crew sailed through the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, the tranquility of the day shattered in an instant. A violent collision rocked the sturdy vessel as it struck an unyielding underwater rock, tearing through the boat's hull with a heart-wrenching screech of rending wood. The impact sent shockwaves of fear rippling through your crew, their faces etched with stark dread as they grasped the gravity of the situation.

Chaos ensued as you scrambled to assess the extent of the damage, your hands slick with seawater as you desperately tried to gauge the severity of the breach. Panic gnawed at your senses, every second feeling like an eternity, and uncertainty hung heavy in the salt-tinged air.

As if orchestrated by the very elements themselves, a thick and disorienting fog descended upon you with an eerie swiftness, obscuring your vision and muffling any sounds beyond the boat. It was as though the elements had conspired to further complicate your dire predicament, isolating your vessel in an unsettling cloak of obscurity.

Your heart pounded within your chest as the realization settled in—the lives of your crew hinged upon your quick thinking and resourcefulness. Yet, amidst the silence of the disaster, a creaking sound pierced the air. You yielded your place to a member of your crew to investigate the source of the noise.

As you strained your eyes to peer through the dense fog, a white boat with a sheep-shaped figurehead slowly materialized before you. Your gaze instinctively rose to the flag fluttering from its mast—a skull-headed emblem adorned with a distinctive straw hat—a flag of pirates.

"Hey there! It looks like you could use some help," a figure standing on the edge of the approaching vessel called out.

"Who are you?" you inquired, squinting in an attempt to discern the identity of the mysterious individual.

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy, the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates! The fog swallowed us up, and we stumbled upon your beleaguered vessel, which doesn't seem to be in the best shape," he cheerfully replied.

You and your crew exchanged glances, unsure of how to react to this unexpected turn of events.

With a cautious tone, you responded, "I appreciate your offer, Monkey D. Luffy, but we can't be too careful out here. We've just suffered a terrible collision, and our ship is badly damaged. How can we trust that your intentions are genuine?"

Luffy grinned widely, his boundless energy seemingly undeterred by your skepticism. "I get it; you're being cautious. That's a good trait to have out here. But you've got my word. We're not here to harm you. We're pirates, yeah, but we're not the bad guys!"

As he spoke, Luffy's crew members began to emerge from the fog, appearing on the deck of their ship one by one. Each of them had a distinct look and demeanor, but there was something about them that suggested they were not the typical ruthless pirates one might encounter.

One of Luffy's crewmates, a man with green hair added, "We're just passing through these waters, and we've had our fair share of adventures. We know what it's like to be in a tight spot. We're offering our help because it's the right thing to do."

You considered their words and looked at your own crew. They were still on edge, but the desperation of your situation was evident. Your ship was taking on water faster than you could bail it out, and the fog showed no signs of dissipating. It was a perilous situation, and you needed all the help you could get.

After a moment of deliberation, you turned back to Luffy and said, "Alright, we'll accept your offer of help. But know this, if there's any treachery or harm intended for my crew, we won't hesitate to defend ourselves."

Luffy's face lit up with excitement "Deal! You won't regret it! We'll get your ship fixed up in no time!"

A wooden plank was placed between the two boats, allowing you and your crew to board the white vessel. Luffy spoke with enthusiasm, "Welcome to the Going Merry," offering his hand for you to shake.

You looked around at his small crew, taking note of each member. However, you didn't shake Luffy's hand just yet. Instead, your gaze settled on his comrades. Luffy followed your gaze and introduced them, "This is Roronoa Zoro," pointing to the green-haired guy who had spoken earlier, "This is Nami, Usopp, and Sanji," revealing the rest of his crew whom you hadn't seen yet.

"I hope you're hungry," the blond-haired Sanji said with a smile, "I've prepared a meal fit for thousands."

As your crew members cautiously stepped onto the Going Merry, they exchanged wary glances, still unsure about this unexpected alliance. But the warm smiles and genuine hospitality displayed by Luffy's crew began to put them at ease, albeit slowly.

You finally shook Luffy's hand, sealing the agreement. "Thank you for coming to our aid, Monkey D. Luffy. We appreciate your help, and we'll do our part to assist as well."

“You can call me Luffy” he smiled

"Thank you, Luffy," you replied with a nod. "I'm y/n, the captain of this crew. We're in your debt."

With introductions made and a mutual understanding established, the two crews set to work. Your crew members, alongside Luffy's crew, began assessing the extent of the damage to your ship, while Luffy himself seemed to be filled with boundless energy as he led the charge, making plans and offering assistance wherever needed.

As the day wore on and repairs were underway, you couldn't help but notice the camaraderie among the Straw Hat Pirates. They worked seamlessly together, each member contributing their unique skills to the task at hand. It was evident that they were a tight-knit crew, bound not just by their captain's leadership but by a genuine sense of friendship.

Nami, the crew's navigator, approached you as you oversaw the repairs. "You're lucky we happened upon you," she said with a sly grin. "The Grand Line can be unforgiving to those who sail it unprepared. But don't worry, with our help, you'll be back on your way in no time."

Usopp, the sharpshooter of the crew, chimed in, "And if you ever run into any trouble out here again, just give us a shout. We've got your back."

Sanji, the crew's cook, began preparing a feast for both crews to enjoy together. The aroma of his cooking filled the air, and your crew members couldn't help but be drawn to the delicious scent. It was a welcome respite from the earlier chaos and fear.

As evening fell, and the repairs to your ship neared completion, you gathered with Luffy and his crew around a makeshift table on the deck of the Going Merry. Plates of food were passed around, and laughter filled the air as stories were shared.

It felt so peaceful and normal—it wasn't often that you found yourself enjoying such casual conversation with strangers.

"So, where are you headed next?" Nami asked as she took a sip from her cup of sake.

You shrugged, briefly glancing at your crewmates before responding, "I haven't made up my mind just yet."

Luffy leaned back in his seat, his signature straw hat tilted low over his eyes. "You know, y/n, the Grand Line is full of adventures waiting to happen. We're always looking for new crewmates and allies. You and your crew seem like good people. Ever thought about joining us on the ultimate adventure?"

Your crew members exchanged surprised glances at Luffy's proposition. It was a tempting offer, to say the least. The idea of joining the Straw Hat Pirates and exploring the Grand Line with them was exhilarating, but you knew you couldn't make such a decision on a whim.

You chuckled, trying to defuse the sudden tension in the air. "Well, Luffy, that's a tempting offer, but we've got our own dreams and goals. Maybe our paths will cross again in the future."

Amid the ongoing dinner festivities, you couldn't help but become engrossed in the lively conversation with Nami. It was a refreshing change to find yourself in the company of another woman after what felt like an eternity. You shared an unspoken connection, a bond that went beyond words, stemming from the shared experience of being the sole females in your respective crews. It was as if you both understood the unique challenges and dynamics that came with that role.

Your discussions with Nami ranged from the practicalities of navigation and mapmaking to the more personal aspects of life at sea. You exchanged stories of your adventures, your dreams, and the occasional frustrations that came with your responsibilities. Nami's wisdom and wit resonated with you, and it was clear that you were kindred spirits in many ways.

However, despite your best efforts to focus solely on your conversation with Nami, you felt a steady gaze on the side of your face—Luffy's eyes never left you. He remained leaned back in his chair, contentedly eating and drinking, seemingly absorbed in your every word.

The dinner eventually came to an end, and the crew members of both vessels retreated to their respective quarters for some much-needed rest. You returned to your boat, grateful for the repairs and hospitality of the Straw Hat Pirates.

As you lay in your cabin, trying to find sleep amidst the creaking of the ship and the gentle rocking of the waves, you couldn't help but think about Luffy's offer. The allure of joining his crew and embarking on the ultimate adventure was tantalizing, but your responsibilities as a captain weighed heavily on your mind.

Unable to sleep, you decided to take a walk on the deck of your ship to clear your thoughts. The night was calm, the stars glittering above, and the moon casting a silvery glow over the water.

After your contemplative walk on the deck, you noticed a faint light coming from one of the rooms on Luffy's ship, the Going Merry.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to investigate. The door to the room was slightly ajar, and you could see a warm glow emanating from within.

As you entered the room, you were met with an unexpected sight. Luffy was sitting there,his face illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp atop his desk. His head was resting against the table as he continued to write something down on his notepad.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence that had engulfed the room

Luffy looked up, his wide grin returning as he noticed your presence. "Hey there, y/n," he greeted, his tone friendly and inviting. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

You nodded, stepping further into the room. "Yeah, I wanted to thank you for everything you did today”

Luffy gestured for you to take a seat opposite him, and you obliged, settling into a chair. The room was cozy, filled with maps, navigational tools, and scattered notes that attested to the adventures this crew had undertaken.

"No need to thank me," Luffy said with a shrug. "Helping out is what we do. Besides, it's been fun having your crew around." He then dropped his voice into a whisper having a more serious tone “I appreciated having you around,  y/n."

As you stared into his eyes, you noticed  something in his expression that caught you off guard. His eyes… they were different. In a way, they were filled with longing and desire. 

"Luffy…" you muttered softly, unable to tear your gaze away from the intensity of his eyes. "What's going on? Why are you looking at me that way?"

Luffy sighed deeply getting up of his chair, he walked over to the small window in the room, gazing out at the starry night. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, as if contemplating how to put his feelings into words. Then, he turned back to face you, his usual carefree demeanor giving way to a more serious expression.

"Y/n," he began, "I don't know how to say this the right way, but I can't help how I feel. Ever since we met today, there's been something about you that's drawn me in. I've traveled to countless islands, faced dangerous foes, and encountered all sorts of people, but meeting you felt different. It's like... like I've found something I didn't even know I was searching for."

His confession left you breathless, your heart racing in your chest. This revelation took you by surprise, especially considering it came so soon after your initial meeting. 

You, too, stood up and approached him, "Luffy," you began, your voice soft but filled with warmth, "I can't deny that there's something special about you. But we both know we will never see each other again”

Luffy nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I know that, y/n. But I've always followed my heart, and my heart tells me that you're special. I don't want to let this opportunity slip away without trying." 

As he leaned closer, his eyes locked onto yours,  his hand reaching forward to cradle your cheek in his palm. Your breathing grew shallow, your pulse quickening, as he brought his lips closer to yours.

Before you knew it, his lips were gently pressing against yours, sending tingles throughout your entire body.  A feeling of euphoria overcame you, and your eyes widened as you realized that what you'd felt was real. The kiss lasted longer than you expected, and when you finally pulled back, your heart was pounding so hard inside your chest.

Luffy smiled brightly, "This was a first time for me, y'know?"  

A blush spread across your cheeks as you laughed lightly in response. "Well, then don't stop" you whispered.

He instently crashed his lips on yours again, this time angrier and hungrier. His hands wandered from your waist to your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him until you felt as if you were melting in his embrace. His kiss deepened,  his tongue dancing with yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

There's no need to hold back now, you told yourself. You felt his warm hands caressing your skin, making heat pool between your thighs.

Your hand instinctively reached to remove his hat, but he stopped you, his hand gently grasping your wrist. He paused to look into your eyes for a few heartbeats before releasing you and carefully placing his hat atop your head.

As Luffy's hat settled atop your head, you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions. It was a symbol of trust, a connection that transcended words, and a promise of something more. You gazed into Luffy's eyes  again, still flushed red with passion and arousal.

"Can I be honest with you?" you asked, your hands still resting on his shoulders.

Luffy hesitated for a second before giving a quick nod in return. "Of course", he replied.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again " You're a good kisser" you whispered against his lips. 

His lips curled into a slight smirk as he responded "Thanks".You closed your eyes as his lips trailed down to your jawline, leaving soft kisses along the way. His lips traced down your neck, slowly kissing your collarbone.  Your breathing increased, your mind becoming clouded with lust and desire. As your fingers ran through his hair, you felt him smile against your skin. Luffy's warm breath brushed against your ear as he spoke. "Do you want to have sex?" he asked.

His question surprised you, your mind taking a couple seconds to process the request. After all, this wasn't something you usually discussed with anyone. "Umm, I'm sorry. What?" you stuttered.

Luffy chuckled "Don't worry. There's nothing wrong with saying no if you don't want to."

You shook your head in disbelief. “It’s just…” you began, a frown forming on your face as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Are you sure? Do you really want to?” you asked quietly.

Luffy's smile grew wider as he leaned in, bringing his face closer to yours once again. “Yes, I'm sure.”

Your eyes darted to his lips, which were inches away from your own, hesitating for a moment before you moved forward. With your lips barely touching his, you whispered "Then yes..." 

Luffy grinned as he kissed you, his hands slid from your waist to behind your thighs, lifting you off the ground as your legs encircled around his waist. His mouth moved hungrily against yours as he got to his knees, the wood  creaking beneath his weight causing you to moan when you felt his hardness press against you through his pants. 

Your breath hitched in your throat when he began to move his hips slowly, eliciting a gasp from you as you pressed your pelvis against his crotch, feeling his erection harden in response. You moaned louder as you felt him grind his hips forward.

"You'll have to be quiet, everyone's asleep downstairs" Luffy whispered into your ear, moving one of his hands to cup your breast. 

The sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine, your body heating up as his hand moved to the hem of your shirt, removing it and throwing it to the side. You hurried to undo the buttons on his vest, letting it fall to the floor with yours. 

You slide off of him, your heart skipped a beat when he reached down and started unbuttoning his trousers,  pulling them off and tossing them aside. Your gaze drifted lower, noticing his bulge pushing against his black boxers. When you heard him groan, you glanced up at him, seeing his eyes darken in anticipation.

You took off your shorts and underwear, allowing them to fall to the ground next to his clothes. As you crawled towards him and lowered yourself onto his lap once again, he held you tightly, bringing you so close to him that you could feel his beating heart pulsating against your breasts.

"Oh God!" Luffy gasped, his teeth grinding together as he gripped you tighter, grinding you against him. You reached between your bodies, slipping your fingers into his boxer briefs, rubbing them lightly against his length. He let out a low grunt, his hips bucking upwards as you continued teasing his shaft with your touch.

You set him free from the cloth that separates you, and positioning his member against your entrance,  you pushed yourself slowly down onto him, feeling him tense as he entered you completely.

He grunted loudly, his hands clutching tightly onto your thighs as he thrust himself into you, the sensation of being filled filling you with joy. 

Luffy leaned forward, capturing your lips once again in another passionate kiss, his tongue tangling into your mouth. His hand traveled downwards, stopping above your clit as he slowly stroked it. As he did so, you moaned softly into his mouth, your whole body shaking.

"Fuck! Y/n," he gritted out.

"I thought you told me we had to be quiet" you teased, your voice breathy.

Luffy smirked as he rolled his eyes, shifting you slightly on top of him to allow you to continue to ride him.  Your hips thrust upward and downward, faster and faster until you reached an orgasm. Luffy placed his hand on your mouth as you rode your high, his face scrunched up in pure pleasure.

The moment passed, and you sat yourself up, looking down at him, "Sorry" you giggled. "I guess I kind of lost track of myself."

He snorted, "You mean lost track of my dick" he joked.

You laughed softly while playfully hitting his arm, "Yeah well, maybe I got carried away... or perhaps a little bit too excited."

Luffy shrugged, "Maybe a bit, but we're not going to talk about those kinds of things right now. We're both naked and horny, remember?"

"Mhmmm" you hummed as you grabbed him and laid on your back, pulling him atop of you . He gently took the hat off you and set it down somewhere to the left of where your discarded clothes lay.  He then proceeded to take control once again, pushing his cock deeper into you. Your breathing grew rapid, your eyes closed as you relished in the feeling.

Luffy began thrusting rapidly within you, his eyes staring deeply into yours. In response, you grasped onto  his back as your nails lightly dug into his skin.  Sweat dripped from your brow, and your legs quickly wrapped around his waist, pulling him ever further into you until there wasn't an inch of room between you two.

Luffy looked down at you as his thrusts slowed, watching as your chest rose and fell rapidly as you panted lightly.

 He gave you one last loving peck on the lips before returning his attention to his own actions. He pulled out slightly only to slam back in just as hard. Your back arched, causing you to moan loudly as he drove deeper into you. He buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh as you cried out with ecstasy.

Luffy's movements became frenzied as his climax overtook him, he withdraws himself from you before his semen spilled onto your stomach. A gasped escaped your lips as you felt his seed drip onto you.

The two of you fell silent, your eyes locked on each other, your chests rising and falling as you caught your breaths.

"Fuck, I thought it was your first time" you said between heavy breathes as you took a nearby tissue to clean you off

Luffy smiled, laying  down beside you "It is" he said out of breath looking at you with lustful eyes.

You gave him a soft smile,  your fingers running through his messy locks as he closed his eyes and sighed in content. 

The night, filled with passion and tenderness, eventually yielded to the creeping light of dawn. Gently, you stirred from the warmth of Luffy's embrace, feeling a pang of bittersweet nostalgia as you reluctantly disentangled yourself.

With a sigh, you rose from the ground, limbs still tingling from the shared intimacy of the night before. The room held the faint fragrance of your encounter, a lingering reminder of the passion that had unfolded.

As you dressed and made yourself presentable, you couldn't help but steal glances at Luffy, who lay in peaceful slumber, his straw hat resting next to him.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the small window, casting a gentle glow on the room.A sign that the time had come to part ways with the Straw Hat Pirates. Though the night had felt like a dream, reality beckoned, and your own ship awaited.

You bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your heart heavy with unspoken emotions.

As you made your way towards the door, you turned back one last time, taking in the sight of the man who had turned your world upside down in just one night. With a whispered goodbye, you stepped out of the room, leaving behind the memories of an unforgettable encounter.

A/N: Hope you liked it, idk if I should make it a short fic or not. Anyways, don’t hesitate to give other ideas, my requests are open :)