#but for now I’m trying to be mindful of the fact that restricting/trying to look smaller wouldn’t be worth not enjoying this

[bookofbonbon]

strut: without consequence or retribution - coriolanus snow.

Characters: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Summary: True intentions are revealed behind your presence in Coriolanus's life.

Word Count: 900+

A/N: I'm sorry it couldn't be funny forever :( it's drama time. Lets gooo!

This was not how things were supposed to be.

Everything was wrong. 

Everything was all wrong and it was because of you.

You were supposed to try to lie your way out of what you had done to him, instead you told the truth and made a fool out of him. 

Deep down, Coriolanus knew it was his own fault. He hadn’t accounted for the fact that you may actually tell old Strabo and Ma Plinth the truth about what happened, how you’d hit him with your car while he was supposedly strutting about in the middle of the road. 

Coriolanus scoffed.

I do not strut, he thought to himself. 

Now, he couldn’t escape the incessant fussing and worrying of Ma Plinth and all because you played up his injuries; again, his fault, nothing he hadn’t already done himself. 

Now, you sat across from Coriolanus, amused and trying to hide your smile behind the tea cup you were pretending to sip from. 

“Something the matter, Coryo?” you ask him, placing your tea cup on its matching saucer. 

“Not at all,” he smiles tightly, Ma Plinth placing her clammy hand against his forward for what had to be the fourth time in seven minutes. 

“Oh, are you sure you should be returning today, dear?” Ma asked worriedly. “You don’t have to go back so soon. I mean really, you should be resting-”

“I’m fine, honest,” Coriolanus reassures her. 

He had been restricted to the apartment for the past three days and he was sure he would go mad if he had to spend one more dreaded day with Ma Plinth fussing over him and like hell would he allow you to be right about an underlying madness. 

“Oh-” Ma hesitates, her eyes drifting over to yours.

You had, for the past three days been backing Ma's every decision when it came to Coriolanus's care, including encouraging that he remain bed bound for the better part of those three days and when he spotted the mischievous glint in your eye, he was tempted to reach over and throttle you.

“I think he’ll be okay, Ma” you back Coriolanus instead, Ma’s expression falling. “I think he’s ready. You’ve taken such good care of him, honest.”

“But surely it isn’t safe for Coryo to return to his duties in the Citadel.”

“Perhaps we can send word to Dr. Gaul that he be put on light duties,” you suggest, paying no mind to the true meaning behind her words. “How does that sound, Coryo?”

Coriolanus squints at you suspiciously, unsure of what you were playing at but, having no doubt that he would find out soon enough. 

“Of course,” he agrees.

-

You watch the head of white hair stationed outside of your office door in amusement, hands moving on muscle memory as you reassemble the peacekeeper rifle.

His body is rigid with tension, foot tapping impatiently against the marble floor, his nails biting into the steel arm rest of the waiting room chair. You were surprised his nails hadn’t cracked under the pressure. 

You push down on the intercom button, “let him in.” 

You turn your back to the door just as it swings harshly open and smacks loudly into the wall behind it. 

“What the hell did you do?” he snarls.

“Whatever do you mean?” you play dumb, returning the rifle to its spot on the wall. 

“You know exactly what I mean.”

You turn back toward him, head cocking to the side to appear nonchalant but, analysing him, head to toe. He looks nothing like the boy from the photo; sounds nothing like the boy described in the letters.

“Might have to spell it out for me, Coryo. My poor district education and all that. Well- that and I’ve done a great many a thing since you’ve been back.”

A sinister laugh fills the office space, Coriolanus smiling menacingly at you. 

Poison with perfect teeth. 

“You will regret this,” he states matter-of-factly. 

Stepping toward you, he only stops once he’s close enough to look down his nose at you, “You have no idea what you’ve done; no idea who you’re messing with.”

“Oh, Coriolanus,” you speak softly, allowing your hand to brush against his. “Your concern is comforting but, I assure you, I know exactly who you are. Did you really think I would let you strut about your precious Capitol without consequence?”

Coriolanus’s eyes flicker; clouding with confusion and a flash of fear, it’s quick but it’s there as you continue talking. 

You look like your cousin, he thinks. You look like your cousin but you don't sound like him, not really.

“Whatever do you mean?” he repeats your words back to you, swallowing thickly, playing dumb.  

“I think you know exactly what I mean, Coriolanus or would you like me to fetch a jabberjay to explain it to you?”

Coriolanus stands over you but in that moment with your hand pressed against his, he’d never felt smaller. 

“Did you really think that you could get away with it? That you could bring about my cousins death and then replace him as heir to the Plinth fortune without retribution. Snow might land on top but, I promise you when you apply a little heat,” you touch the centre of his palm, your skin hot against his. “It melts away to nothing... as if it never existed.”

This was not how things were supposed to be.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2023. All rights reserved.

[literaila]

what did reader and satoru do when they got called in to the guidance counselor because megumi beat up some kids 😭

it’s safe to say that satoru handles the talking in this particular instance.

because you’re just looking at megumi, arms crossed, face blank. in reality the silence is probably worse than if you were just scolding him.

but you’re not. this is your third time sitting in this office.

megumi is cowering even further into his seat with each second that ticks by.

“he’s a…” satoru is smiling at megumi’s counselor, and you’re glad that he’s charming in his own, foolish way. “problem child. we’re trying to train it out of him, but apparently restricting food isn’t very effective.”

the counselors face is skeptical. you nudge satoru with an elbow without breaking megumi’s gaze.

“kidding,” satoru laughs. “i’m just kidding. please don’t report us.”

“this is his second suspension,” the counselor says. “if he gets a third—“

“he’ll be expelled?” you ask, raising a brow not at him, but your little boy.

the twelve year old who really knows better.

“yes. we do not tolerate physical altercations, but witness accounts say that mr. fushiguro was defending a child from another student.”

satoru hums and you just stare.

the man sitting in front of you looks very confused. the three of you are communicating in hand gestures and looks that he doesn’t—and shouldn’t—understand.

he clears his throat. “so, we’ll just have you sign this acknowledgment, and megumi can resume class again at the start of next week.”

“great!” satoru claps his hands together. “hear that? next week?” he pokes your side, glasses sliding down his nose.

“uh-huh.”

megumi winces.

“…i’ll sign then. do you have a pen?”

and then the three of you are walking out of the school doors, satoru’s hand on megumi’s shoulder, and your eyes on every inch of him. he’s got a cut on his cheek and bruises along his hands.

it’s not that you’re not used to it—more that you’re not used to it on a small little boy.

and megumi is glowering.

satoru tries to get your attention with a hand, but you don’t bother to give him the time of day. honestly, right now you’re preoccupied with your son—your son who is about to be kicked out of school.

“i’m sorry—“

“do your hands hurt?”

you and megumi say at the same time, and his eyes whip towards yours, blue and guilty.

seriously, for someone with no biological ties to satoru, he really does look like him.

“you’re sorry?”

“i know i shouldn’t—“ megumi stops, groaning. he turns toward you. “i just… there were these boys and they were trying to mess with this other kid and i—“

“he was trying to help,” satoru says, ruffling his hair.

megumi nods.

you raise a brow. “why are you on his side?”

“because it was just a normal fistfight,” satoru abswers, shaking his head. “remember last time? with the cursed energy thing?” he’s smiling like he’s won this argument.

you sigh.

“i’m sorry. really. but i couldn’t just watch them bully someone else.”

“of course you couldn’t, ‘gumi. you’re a fighter,” satoru pinches his cheeks.

“we are not praising this behavior.”

“i’m just stating a fact!”

“megumi, what’s the one rule we set for school?”

megumi kicks at the ground. “don’t get into fights.”

“then why’d you do it, kid?”

“clearly, those devil children—“

“satoru.”

satoru mimes zipping his mouth shut and you both look to megumi.

megumi bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “i don’t know.”

at that, your entire body softens. it’s true that you and satoru have tried your best—but the mind of a twelve year old boy is a strange place.

if you hid in the pantry when you were scared as a little girl, then megumi goes down swinging.

you crouch down, finger nudging his chin so he’ll look at you. “if you can’t handle school, being around those kids then we need to figure something else out, megumi. you can’t hurt people—even if they’re being mean.”

“i know.”

satoru messes with his hair again. “ah, he reminds me of myself. so strong and intelligent.”

“you’re not helping.”

“don’t you agree, megumi?” satoru asks the boy, ignoring you.

you sigh, standing up again. “let’s go home. we’ll talk more later.”

this time, satoru moves between you and megumi, slinging an awkward arm around both of your shoulders. “well, i think it all worked out splendidly.”

“shut up, satoru.”

“what? my son won his fist fight and my wife isn’t pouting anymore.”

“i was not pouting.”

“i thought we weren’t supposed to lie around the—“

[saelique]

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE ?

ᡣ𐭩 ・tw : mentions of blood, wounds, bars, reader is a nurse, reader doesn’t rlly act like dazai is a executive, shorter than chuuya, NOT PROOFREAD

you quietly hum as you gently clean dazai’s wounds and wash out the blood, applying new bandages and handing him a fresh suit to wear.

“[name].” dazai suddenly calls you which takes you by surprise, “. . . yes ? how can I help you ?” “was-“ he started but paused again, seemingly trying to find better ways to word his sentence. “is there anything you would like to be ?” “like . . . to be ?” you put a finger to your lips, thinking of the things you like.

“I suppose I would like to be left completely alone for a day. no visitors or anyon-” “no. i was asking a a new profession or whatever.” he interrupted, looking at you, a small smile on his face. you couldn’t understand what he meant by that.

“what ?”

“I mean, if you weren’t in the port mafia, what would you be ?”

you gulped, “is this a trick question boss told you to ask ?” “nope ! I’m just curious ! you don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna~” he sang, swinging his legs back and forth on the medical bed he was sitting on.

”just put on the suit sir. would you like me to help you ? since you have quite a lot of wounds here . . .”

“sure.”

the conversation ended after you started to help him put on the white shirt, too busy with your own thoughts. it still lingered on your mind after he left, not saying anything. presumably heading off to a bar. that’s what he told you these days. it was weird. how he would leave your office everyday after getting hurt to head to some place to go out with friends.

that was the word that struck you. friends ? not acquaintances ? it was weird. although you were glad that he has people to rely on now

but . . .

what you would like to be if you weren’t in the port mafia . . . ?

you wrote it down quickly on a slip of paper then folded it up quickly, biting your lower lip, you slipped it onto the now clean suit he has. he would most likely see it later.

even though it was dangerous, you didn’t mind. it’s not like you had anything to live for.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

dazai reached into his coat pocket a few days later, getting ready to burn it. but checked around it just in case before a small slip of white paper fell out and fluttered down the floor.

raising a eyebrow, he reached down and picked it up from the ground, carefully unfolding it. after he saw what was written in there, he chuckled, slipping it into his pockets then took a lighter and lighted the black coat on fire, creating a bright light in the black night.

in that slip of paper you wrote in one word, hopefully enough to not cause you any suspicion.

「 detective 」

cinna’s notes : both reader ‘n dazai r 18 in here !! :D the reason why reader talks with dazai so freely is cause most likely she doesn’t rlly care what happens to her + da fact that dazai threatened her to do so. he thought that she would be less blunt when she didn’t have any restrictions but surprise surprise ! she’s still as blunt as ever !! (●´ω｀● ) might make a part two hehe

[milkywaygalaxygurl]

Comfort - Peeta Mellark

Purely self indulgent fic, I’m not doing the best right now and I wish I just had Peeta here to give me a hug :( sorry if there’s any typos or anything! fyi, i will take requests! i write for a lot of different characters so just ask if i will and i might! i don’t really have any restrictions on what i’ll write about minus smut:)

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Female!Reader

Warnings: maybe OOC!Peeta?, mentions of trauma but no description, pure fluff, idk if there’s anything else lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 600(?)

Like I said, purely self indulgent. (Y/N) is sad and Peeta is a Sad Baby™ himself and understands how to comfort (Y/N) because of it.

Peeta could tell you were upset the second he laid eyes on you. Your smile when greeting him wasn’t as bright as it usually was and you seemed distracted, like you weren’t really present, when Peeta began talking about his day. He always seemed to pick up on your moods, even when you tried hiding the fact that you’re upset from him. Dealing with his own traumas and bad days had caused him to be able to spot yours in seconds.

“(Y/N)?” He says your name softly, so as to not startle you, and smiles softly when you turn to look at him. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, tilting his head as he studies your features.

“Are you doing alright, my love?” His voice is soft, so gentle, and it causes the dam to break. Tears begin to slide down your cheeks as you shake your head, a sob racking your body. Peeta gathers you up in his arms and pulls you into his lap, holding you tight against his body.

“It’s alright, it’s okay, I’m here.” He kisses the side of your head, one of his hands rubbing up and down your back while he rocks you slightly. He feels his heart tighten as another sob falls from your lips, his hold on you tightening.

“If you’re feeling up to it, we can talk about what’s bothering you. Don’t force yourself to if you don’t want to, okay? We can always talk about it later.” Peeta pulls you away from his body so he can see your face and smiles softly at you, wiping the tears off your cheeks. You smile weakly at him, trying to convey to him that you were grateful for his comfort.

“I-I think I j-just need to c-cry.” Peeta nods his head in understanding, kissing your forehead. He pulls you into him again, whispering sweet nothings and comforting words in your ear. Your sobs eventually subside, but tears still fall from your eyes as you hold tightly to Peeta. He doesn’t let you leave his arms until you’re no longer crying, but even then he doesn’t stop taking care of you. He draws you a warm bath with scented bath salts, ones he knows help calm you down. Once you’re seated in the bath, he whispers about anything that comes to mind to distract you from the bad thoughts as he washes your hair. After the bath, he helps you into the clothes you always prefer when having a rough day.

“Thank you.” You whisper to him when you’re settled in bed, your head tucked into his chest and his arms around you. One of the things you loved most about Peeta was his ability to be so kind, so loving, without even thinking about it. It was just in his nature to be that way and it made you fall head over heels for him the first time you witnessed it.

“Of course, my love.” His whispered reply makes you pull back from his chest to look up at him, pure adoration and love in your eyes for this puppy dog of a man you called your boyfriend.

“I love you.” You whisper, your lips split into a lovesick grin. His smile mirrors your own as he pulls you into a gentle kiss, trying to put all his love into the gesture.

“I love you more than you could ever know.” His murmured reply is all you hear before you’re slipping off into a much needed rest.

[urvenicebtch]

Liquor: A Guide

-----pairing: dbf!Bucky x reader

Summary: after some drinking games with Bucky and your father, you can’t help but surrender your feelings to Bucky which leads to some more the next morning.

A/N: two things, i’m a whore for neighbour and dbf Bucky and i’m apparently a panther as per urban dictionary’s definition

Warnings: drinking, intoxication, masturbation (f!, though there’s allusion to m!), mirror play, spit kink(?), bit of a daddy kink, overstimulation, size kink, painful sex, pet names (honey, daddy), insemination, fingering, oral (f! receiving), palming

The night before was a usual hang out until Bucky found the cabinet of board games and persuaded your father to make it into a drinking game. Fast forward four hours, your father is piss drunk, you’re pretty fucked up, and Bucky’s going on strong 9 drinks deep and not even a slurred word slipping past his lips.

You and Bucky packed the last game away and made your way upstairs, using the banister to hoist yourself up as the ground began to feel like it was folding. Eventually, you and Bucky made it to your rooms, and you stripped to just your bra and underwear before climbing into bed. With your bedside lamp still on, you stared at yourself in the mirror across from your bed, wondering what you would look like if he ever did have sex with you.

Not likely.

You climb out of the covers onto your hands and knees and look behind yourself in the mirror, instantly turned on by the sight of your lace panties perfectly fitting across your ass, revealing just enough yet still covering your lips properly. The sight of your covered heat just beneath your ass made you excited to show Bucky, though you knew that wasn’t gonna happen. After all he’s your dads best friend, not to mention the 20-something year age gap.

Rolling onto your back, you spread your legs the way you would for missionary and eye the way your thighs look spread apart, showing your crotch once again. Tired of the restriction, you pull off your panties, dropping them to the ground as you climb back into your hands and knees. You spread your lips to see yourself properly and moan quietly at the sight, the clear fluid starting to leak from your entrance glistening in the lamp light.

Slowly, you gather some of your arousal to test if there’s enough there to masturbate. Making a decision, you bring your hand back up to your face and spit on your fingers before running them through your lips again, whining when you start to circle your clit.

In the mirror, you watch the way your folds move around your fingers, listening to the quiet wet noises coming from it. You moan softly, adding more pressure to your clit before pulling your hand back and sliding a finger into your wet entrance. You groan as you watch your finger disappear into yourself before sliding it back out and adding another.

You moan a little louder with the second one, using your thumb to flick your clit side-to-side, covering your mouth with the other. You know Bucky is still awake, so you try to be quiet despite the fact that you want him to hear you. With Bucky now on your mind, you glance back at the mirror, imagining they’re Bucky’s fingers disappearing into you with every swipe of your clit.

Moving your fingers faster, your care for how loud you are begins to fade away, now only thinking about how Bucky would finger you… no, how Bucky would fuck you. The louder you moan makes you concerned that you might get caught, but the fear just makes you even closer to your high. With every lewd sound from your mouth, a wave of pleasure courses through you until you cum. Hard.

You moan provocatively and very loudly into your bedsheets as you bury your fingers in yourself, forcefully fucking yourself and abusing your clit to get the most out of the orgasm that you can. As you come down, you look in the mirror and watch the small bits of fluid that leaks out of you as you pull your fingers out, moaning softly as you wipe yourself up with the same two fingers before putting them in your mouth and licking them clean in the mirror.

About to go to the bathroom, you pull your panties back on and throw a pair of pj pants on before walking to your bedroom door, stopping when you realize that it’s been opened a couple inches. Your heart drops as you realize that you may have just broadcasted your orgasm to Bucky just down the hall from you, and you freeze.

You’re frozen in place until you hear skin slapping coming from the guest bedroom. Immediately, you put two and two together and guess that he, too, is masturbating. Without a second thought, you walk straight to his room, knocking quickly on the door.

Obscenities are muttered from behind the door and a belt buckle rattles before he’s at the door, hair askew and shirtless. He opens the door a crack, hiding his hips down behind it as he stares at you pale as a ghost.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the liquor coursing through you making its way to your head all at once. He stops moving entirely, his breath caught.

“You’re drunk,” he says, his body tensing with restraint.

“So?” you ask, stumbling a little in place.

���So, I’m not gonna take advantage of you. Go to bed,” he says softly before closing the door on you.

You groan and drag your feet back to your room, dropping flat on the bed.

Hours later, you wake up, tucked under the covers in the middle of your bed— not at all where you remember falling asleep. You sit up in bed, rubbing your eyes before you realize Bucky standing in your doorway, leaning on the frame.

“Morning,” he says.

“Hi,” you respond, turning to the side and climbing out of bed. You grab a crewneck sweater from your dresser and pull it over yourself, knowing he’s already seen you in your bra courtesy of your poor judgement the night before.

You’re about to walk past him out of your room when a hand on your abdomen stops you. The placement of his hand makes you whimper quietly as your mind instantly wonders if that’s where he would put it while he holds you, fucking you from behind like you did in the mirror. He groans at your reaction before saying what he was going to.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” he asks, eyes already holding yours when you look up at him.

“Yes,” you respond quickly, taking the chance to pass him when his arm drops. You don’t get far before he pulls you back, kissing you deeply with a need you’ve never seen in anybody before. You kiss back instantly, clasping your hands behind his neck. He picks you up by the hips, hoisting you around his waist as he carries you back to your bed.

He places you on your back on the bed, facing the mirror the same way you did last night. He parts your lips and stares down at you as you realize where you are.

“So you were watching me,” you say, biting your lip with a smirk. He shifts with a chuckle before moving back toward your face.

“Your dad’s still asleep,” he says, just before reconnecting your mouths. “Gives us quite a bit of time.”.

Your tongues press together, lifting and swiping one another as you hold his face, running your thumbs across the stubble on his jaw. You lift your hips for him as he runs his hands down your sides before pulling your pyjama pants down. His hands knead the flesh of your hips, working toward your ass, then your inner thighs.

You pull back from him, worrying him until you pull your sweater back off, sitting up to lift his up too. He grabs his black t-shirt from the side and pulls it over himself in one motion, prompting you to trace his flexing muscles with your gaze as he breathes. He places his metal hand around your throat, pushing you back down onto the bed as he works his lips down your throat toward your chest.

Leaving wet kisses in his wake, he trails toward your breasts, unclasping your bra with his free hand and pulling it off your arms before kneading one breast and sucking the nipple of the other. You hum in response to the stimulation, grinding your crotch upward onto his jeans and moaning softly at the way his fly reaches your clit perfectly.

He thrusts downward onto you, switching breasts and crafting hickeys across your chest. His suckling noises cease when he sucks your breast into his mouth, releasing it with a groan before chuckling and kissing his way down your stomach. Your muscles tense beneath him as his stubble scratches your flesh, quickly soothed by his warm lips.

When he reaches your lower stomach, you jump your hips up, butterflies erupting in your abdomen the same way they did earlier. He laughs out a breath and smiles at you with his hands moved down and hooked in the band of your panties.

“May I?” he asks, tilting his head. You nod a couple times and bite your lip, furrowing your brows as he pulls them down, kissing from your abdomen to the edge of your pubic bone before spreading your legs apart and running his tongue between your lips slowly, sucking one of them into his mouth.

You moan when he licks a second stripe, giving your clit a couple kitten licks before sticking his finger into his mouth, coating it in saliva before rubbing it against your entrance, gently working its way in. You moan out when he begins a pattern of sucking your clit, licking it, and circling it with his tongue, thrusting his finger upward into you the whole time.

You whimper at the feeling of his tongue on you, melting into you like it’s what it was made for. He picks up the pace, fucking you with his finger faster as he just sucks your clit, ditching the pattern as you clench around him repeatedly. You moan out as your orgasm builds fast, quickly breaking through and making you grind up onto his face as you arch your back and grip the sheets with one hand and his hair with the other.

He flattens his tongue against your clit, staring up at you and letting you rub yourself off on it as he burries his finger in you as far as he can, groaning hoarsely. Once you’ve come down, he pulls his finger out of you slowly, licking and sucking at your entrance to clean you up, making you squirm. He resurfaces at your face and kisses you deeply, rutting into your thigh desperately.

You reach down, groping his hard cock through his pants before unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping his fly, pushing them down his hips as far as you can. He takes over and pulls them the rest of the way off along with his boxers, leaving the both of you entirely exposed.

You reach down blindly to rub him again, shocked by how quickly your hand meets his tip considering how much farther you had to reach before. You pull from the kiss and look down, gasping quietly. He traces your ear with his tongue before chuckling and thrusting toward your hand.

It’s not just the length that shocks you but the girth. You can just barely wrap your hand all the way around him as you try to massage his intimidating length, veins entirely visible and the tip a harsh shade of pink. He groans at the contact, moving his hips into your hand as you focus on his his tip.

You pull your hand back, spitting into it as he watches before returning your hand to him. He hisses at the coldness of your saliva before moaning into your ear as you massage his tip with it. You continue stroking him for a few more seconds before maneuvering his tip between your lips, shuddering at the feeling of his hot skin between yours.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he says, using his metal hand to guide himself through your folds.

“Hang on a sec, actually. I wanna do something,” you suggest and he steps back, still holding himself as he watches you maneuver yourself on an angle facing the mirror. He chuckles as he places himself back between your legs, noting how the angle provides both of you with a perfect view of everything in the mirror. “I’m ready,” you say, taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” he whispers, leaning down and taking one of your hands in his flesh one, interlacing your fingers as he ruts between your lips a few more times before aligning himself at your entrance. You squeeze your eyes shut as he starts to push into you, immediately feeling yourself stretch around him with a burning sensation. You yelp a quiet sob at the pain as he penetrates you, squeezing his hand tightly and covering your mouth.

“I know, I know, honey. If you want me to stop just say so and I will. Do you want me to stop?” he asks as he pauses. You shake your head ‘no’ in response and he looks down at you with worried eyes.

“You sure?” he asks. You hum affirmatively and nod and he lowers himself back down to you, kissing you softly as he pushes himself in some more, pulling out a bit every time he meets resistance. You whine into his mouth and he groans as he continues pushing. Once he bottoms out, you moan out in both pleasure and pain, more-so the latter.

“Ah yeah, fuck,” he groans.

Giving you time to adjust he doesn’t move his hips at all, just kissing you and running his free hand down your side and up your thigh repeatedly. You wiggle your hips around a bit, moving your free hand to your clit to relieve some of the pain. You feel his cock throbbing in you as he watches you play with yourself, aching to move. Toying with your clit helps you to feel yourself relax a bit, ready for him.

“I’m alright,” you assure him.

He kisses you gently on the forehead before watching in the mirror as he pulls out of you slowly, making you squirm and whine. When he pushes back in, you scrunch your face up until he bottoms out, moaning more-so out of pleasure than pain when he pulls out again. Soon enough, he’s able to slide in and out of you with barely any pain besides the slight burning at your rim.

Watching in the mirror, you both moan as you watch the entirety of him disappearing into you then the pull of your skin when he pulls out. You moan louder when he picks up the pace a bit, his balls slapping your ass and his tip pushing behind your cervix with every thrust deep inside you.

“What a dirty young lady. Letting her dad’s best friend make love to her while her dad’s asleep just downstairs,” he taunts into your ear, losing more and more of his self-restraint with every push into you. You clench around him at his words, the idea of getting caught making you even hornier than you already are.

“Oh-o, you like that, honey? Huh?” he prompts. You moan in response, nodding your head as you drag your nails up his back, leaving red raw marks behind them. “Let me hear you,” he says.

“Yes!” you shriek, pushing your head backward into the bed as you moan.

“Yes, what?” he presses.

“Yes, Bucky!” you grip his shoulders for support as you watch his hips snap into you in the mirror and his eyes meet yours in it. He grabs your face with one hand, pushing you back onto the bed.

“No, not Bucky. Daddy. Say it”, he demands. Your eyes roll back as you moan out again, unable to control it.

“Yes, Daddy!” you shout out as you near your orgasm. He moves his hand to your clit, rubbing it fast and hard, same as how he’s fucking you. You moan out as you cum around him, your walls fluttering around him as he splits you in half. You cry out as he picks up the pace again, moving his thumb even faster now to push you over the edge once more.

“Daddy, it hurts!” you cry to him, the overstimulation too much for you to handle.

“You can take it, honey, come on. Just one more,” he urges you as his breathing becomes laboured. You cry out again as your third orgasm pushes through you. It’s mind numbing and leaves you trembling as his pace breaks down and his hips stutter before he’s spilling into you, thrusting a few more times before pulling out of you.

It takes you a moment before you can open your eyes again, when you do, they immediately find Bucky on his knees across from you, entranced by the sight of his fluid leaking from between your folds. You whimper quietly and try to close your legs, finding it difficult.

Bucky slowly moves up to you, lying next to you and pulling your figure into his embrace. You melt into his touch, trying to ignore how sore you are between your legs already.

“Sorry if I was too harsh,” he mumbles into your hair.

“I loved it, Bucky,” you respond, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as you focus on the feeling of him running down your legs.

[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 7 - Summer: Paintings and Sunflowers

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: Your relationship with Neuvillette continues to develop. Warnings: None except for restrictive gender roles, also for some reason Fontaine’s regency england (sort of) now?. Also someone walks in on someone coming out from the bath Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette hanging out in front of his fellow dragon apep's house

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“This isn’t working...” you sighed as you stared at your watercolor painting, which was more water than color due to the fact that your paints were heavily watered down to make them last longer. 

You were currently trying to update your art portfolio, which was woefully inadequate. You had heard that governesses who could teach art were in high demand these days, so you decided to concentrate on art recently. 

However, the blobby mess that meant to be the view of the sea from the garden was highly unlikely to impress anyone. 

The sun was beaming down on you heavily. Even your old straw hat was having a hard time doing its job. You took a sip of Snezhnayan water. Seriously, what is the difference between this and water from Fontaine? Maybe I’m just too unenlightened to understand. 

Ever since you and Neuvillette decided to be friends, things had been...quite different. The two of you talked about everything and nothing. Neuvillette liked talking about water and the Melusines, while you would talk about the books you had read. After a while, you sensed that he was learning more about you than you about him, as he always steered the subject away from himself and towards you. It was odd to have someone be interested in your opinions about things...but you found that you really liked that feeling. 

You could ask Neuvillette for money to buy new paints, a voice said in your mind, but you shook your head. You couldn’t ask that favor of a friend, and besides, it was better that you didn’t rely on him too much, or you would get used to it in the future. 

Maybe I'll go check out the art supplies store again and see if they have anything on sale, you thought. Standing out here wasn’t going to do anything.  

Deciding to do just that, you went up to your room to change and spotted your sister’s letter on your desk. That reminded you that you had to buy her a birthday present soon. Since you didn’t have to worry about money as much these days, maybe you could buy her something nice this year.  

“Marie, I’m going out!” you called out to the parlor where she was dusting.  

“Okay, Madame,” Marie said, poking her head out from the door. Her eyes widened upon seeing your long-sleeved dress. “Are you truly going to wear that dress in this weather?” 

“Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. It’s in solidarity,” you said, thinking of Neuvillette’s heavy, multilayered getup that he wore every day. You idly wondered if he sweated.  

“Solidarity?” Marie repeated in confusion, but you were already out the door.  

“Ugh...” 

You were quickly regretting your choice to wear this particular dress. Your hair was already matted to your forehead with sweat.  

It was late afternoon, but the temperature showed no sign of dropping. Looking at the cold drinks held by pedestrians, you decided to stop by the Café to get some iced Fonta first. Ah, just the thought of it made your water. 

As you approached the establishment, you stopped in your tracks. Sitting in the corner table, far out of sight (but not far enough to not attract stares from other patrons) was Neuvillette and Menthe. Both of them reminded you of wilted flowers. 

“What kind of water do you serve here?” you asked the manager, Arouet.  

“...Just regular water, Miss?” the manager looked confused. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Alright, please get me a glass of cold water, an iced Fonta, and an iced coffee, please,” you said.  

After you got your orders, you walked over to the table. “You two look like you could use a pick-me-up.” 

“Ah, Madame,” Neuvillette said and attempted to straighten up in his chair. He looked as impassive as ever, but you had observed him long enough to know that he was in quite a lot of misery right now. “Such pleasant weather we’re having today, perfect for a walk in the city. I see that you have the same idea as well.” 

You stared at him. Is he being serious right now? “Please don’t force yourself, sir. We both know you can’t stand this weather,” you placed the drinks down on the table and sat down. “Here, water for Monsieur Neuvillette, and an iced coffee for Menthe.” 

“Thank you, Madame,” Menthe said with a yawn. “I needed this.” 

“What are you doing here?” you asked Neuvillette. “You know better to than to be out and about, dressed as you are.” 

“I was out for a quick shopping trip, and then I saw Menthe looking a bit dispirited, so I thought I would take her into the shade to rest.” 

I think you’re the one in need of rest here, you thought as you watched Neuvillette wipe at his forehead with a handkerchief. So he does sweat after all. 

“You were shopping? Why didn’t you just get someone to do it for you?” 

Neuvillette cleared his throat and looked away. It was only then that you noticed something wrapped in parchment paper in his lap. “I didn’t wish to entrust this to someone else. I was shopping for a present for someone important.” 

“Oh, I see,” you nodded. Was it a Melusine’s birthday today or something? “What a coincidence, I’m out shopping as well. For paints, and if I’m lucky, a birthday present for my sister.” 

“Paints?” Menthe looked at Neuvillette. “Oh, Monsieur—” 

“Ahem, Menthe,” Neuvillette cleared his throat.  

“Oh, um, I mean, Monsieur Neuvillette told me that you paint really beautifully, Madame! He really likes your paintings of the sunflowers back in your hometown.” 

“Her sketches are wonderful as well,” Neuvillette said, sounding oddly proud. “You should show the Melusines your sketchbook some time, Madame.” 

“Ooh, may I?” Menthe looked at you with big eyes.  

He’s making too much of me, you thought, hiding your embarrassment by chugging down your Fonta. “Alright,” you said. 

“Yay!” Menthe clapped her hands together. Just then, the great clock in front of the café let out a chime, signalling the end of the hour. “Oh, I must get back to work. Goodbye, Monsieur, Madame!” 

“Goodbye, Menthe. Please take care of yourself,” Neuvillette patted the Melusine on the head, who giggled and skipped away. You found yourself feeling oddly jealous. 

Now it was just the two of you. You looked at Neuvillette, who was sipping his water. He looked back at you.  

“Um, I hope the water is to your liking,” you said. “I know it’s not the fancy imported stuff you enjoy.” 

“It’s perfect,” he said. “Just what one needs on a day like this.” 

You looked at his outfit. His cravat was tightly tied around his neck, and his cuffs were buttoned neatly, showing not a bit of skin. He must be dying on the inside right now, but he still managed to look put together. You felt very shabby next to him. 

“I know you said that you always dress according to your standing, and I respect that. But I feel like you could at least take off your gloves, or loosen your cravat a little when you’re on break. I doubt anyone would mind.” In fact, they might go crazy over it.  

“Very well,” Neuvillette said, then proceeded to take off his gloves. The silver ring on his finger glinted even in the shade. 

“You're still wearing the ring!” you blurted out in surprise. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Neuvillette raised an eyebrow.  

You didn’t know how to answer that. 

“And you’re wearing yours as well,” Neuvillette said, indicating your right hand, which was mostly covered by your sleeve. To be honest, you put it on every morning without even thinking about it anymore. It was a reminder to yourself that as easy and comfortable as this “marriage” was, it was still a marriage, and one that was a means to an end. That was what you told yourself, anyways. 

Neuvillette continued to sip his water. He seemed to be enjoying it, which pleased and baffled you at the same time. You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the idea of water from different places having distinct flavors, but Neuvillette swore up and down that the difference was real and that anyone could taste it if they savored the water patiently enough. Even now, you still wondered if he was secretly testing you or something.  

Still, what a shame it is that he doesn’t enjoy Fonta, you thought. He’s missing out.  

Back in your hometown, only the basic, original flavor was available. But once you moved to the Court of Fontaine, you were introduced to a veritable rainbow of Fonta flavors. You had even spent a week drinking nothing but Fonta. You suspected Neuvillette might have a heart attack if he heard about it. 

Neuvillette finished his water, and then stood up with the box tucked under his arm. “I must return to work. I shall see you at home, in the evening.” 

You nodded. “Make sure to stay cool, sir.” 

Neuvillette was about to walk away when he suddenly turned around. “Ah, Madame. Are you still going to visit the art supplies shop?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

He looked like he was about to say something, but then shook his head. Was he...smiling? Before you could look closer, he turned away. “It’s nothing. Please, enjoy your day.” 

You watched him until he was just a blue speck in the distance. 

Afterwards, you headed to the store. Unfortunately, none of the good quality paints were on sale. Maybe I should just make my own, you thought glumly. The owner, on the other hand, seemed to be in a very good mood. 

By the time you got home, it was already evening. You decided to take a nice long bath to wash away all the sweat. Ah, baths are the best, you thought as you soaked in the bubbles. Back at the boarding house, you had to share two bathrooms with twenty other girls. This was heaven. 

Just then, you heard a knock on the door. That was probably Marie. You wrapped yourself in a towel and went to the door. “Coming!” you shouted and opened the door. “Marie, what—” 

Your words got stuck in your throat as your eyes took in the tall figure standing in front of your room. He was holding the wrapped package from earlier in his hands.  

For a few agonizing seconds, the two of you simply stared at each other. You saw his hands start to shake, and redness creeping to his cheeks. 

You slammed the door in his face and hurriedly put on your bathrobe. Your thick, fluffy bathrobe with a sturdy tie that could be fastened tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination.  

Taking a few deep breaths to control your pounding heart, you flung open the door, catching your bright red face in the vanity mirror in the process.  

Neuvillette was still standing there. You were pretty sure that he hadn’t moved a single inch. His face was now visibly red. As soon as he caught sight of you, he closed his eyes and turned his head away from you.  

“M-My deepest, sincerest apologies to you, Madame,” he said. His voice sounded as though it was being uttered from the deepest trenches of the sea. “I have committed a disgraceful act—” 

“Let’s just forget about it,” you interrupted him. “We’ll both pretend that it never happened. And besides, um, I wasn’t completely naked or anything, I was wearing a towel, and we’re technically married, so...” 

What in Archons’ name are you talking about? Your mind screamed. Neuvillette seemed as though he might never look at you in the eye again. 

“So, anyways, that present is for me?” you said. Does that make me the important person? Despite the situation, your heart grew warm. 

Neuvillette nodded and held it out to you. It looked like he wasn’t going to speak to you again either. 

You carefully accepted the box and tore open the packaging. You let out a gasp when you saw a rosewood box with a carving of roses on the lid. 

It was the watercolor set from the art store you had always admired from a distance. It was too expensive for you to even dream of owning it, of course. 

But now, it was in your hands. 

You opened the box and was met with robes of paints, brushes, and an even a small palette.  

“Y-You got this for me?” you said, looking up at him. He still wasn’t looking at you. “Why? H-How did you even...?” 

“I-I did say that I wanted to help you achieve your goals, and I...I noticed that you were in need,” Neuvillette said. “And, do friends not give presents to each other?” 

“Yes, but...not anything so expensive!” you stroked the lid. “I cannot possibly repay you.” 

It was then that Neuvillette finally turned his head and fixed his gaze on you. “There is no need for repayment. I bought this because I wished to. Just seeing you content is enough for me.” 

His words struck something deep within you. You were so used to receiving hand-me-downs, of stretching things to their limits, that you had no idea what to do in this situation. Your hands felt like they should be doing something, but what? 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and before you knew what you were doing, your hands reached out and clasped his hand tightly. You could feel its warmth even through the glove, and the contours of his ring. You shook his hand vigorously. “I will treasure this gift for the rest of my life.”  

Neuvillette stared at you for a few moments, and then he turned around and walked away. It might have been a dramatic moment, if his brisk pace didn’t cause him to step on his coat tails and almost trip. 

For the third time in the hour, Neuvillette glanced at the clock. He was currently attending a banquet hosted by an important government official, which meant he had to attend. 

He forced another bite of the dry steak into his mouth. He reached for his glass to wash it down with wine. Wine wasn't his first choice of beverage, but it was better than nothing. 

The other dignitaries sitting near him engaged him in conversation about politics and other related topics, and he did his best to respond in kind. But perhaps because his mind was unfocused, his answers came out short and curt. The others seemed to take this as annoyance at being bothered and excused themselves. 

He held back a sigh. Even though social events like these weren’t his strong suit nor even his hobby, he generally tried his best to perform his role and to fit in. But tonight, he was suddenly feeling very impatient to go home. He had been feeling this feeling a lot recently.  

Neuvillette absentmindedly stroked his ring. I wonder what she is doing right now... 

For the past few days, his wife had been working on something and had promised that it would be finished by today. She had refused to let him see it until it was ready. All he knew was that it had something to do with painting.  

Neuvillette glanced at the clock again. There were still hours before this banquet was supposed to end. He closed his eyes and took another sip of wine, imagining calming things in order to quell the restlessness he was feeling. A perfectly flat water surface at night, a cool sea breeze, the smiles of the Melusines, his wife’s smile when he gave her the watercolor set, the feel of her hands around his... 

“Ah, Monsieur Neuvillette, thank you for coming,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see the host of the banquet standing before him. There was a young woman standing next to him. “May I introduce you to my daughter?” 

The young lady curtsied gracefully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur.”  

“Likewise,” Neuvillette nodded.  

The young lady stepped closer, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. He couldn’t help but compare it to his wife’s scent when she came out of the bath that day— 

“Oh, dear, Monsieur, are you okay?” the young lady and her father looked at Neuvillette with worry as he coughed violently, having choked on his wine. 

“P-Please excuse me,” he said after the fit subsided, and then proceeded to walk out to the balcony to catch his breath. There was no view of the sea from here. It was going to be a long day. 

The sky was dark by the time Neuvillette arrived home, but even from the front door, he could tell that his house was uncharacteristically noisy. 

There seemed to be a crowd of people in the parlor. Neuvillette paused at the door, listening to the snatches of conversation. 

“Madame, are you almost done with Rhemia?” 

“Blathine, don’t rush her. She has been sketching for hours now.” 

“Madame, could you teach me how to sketch too?” 

“Sure. It’ll be good practice, anyways.” 

Neuvillette opened the door. A group of Melusines were sitting on the couches and floor of the parlor. Even Marie was there. They were all holding sketches in their hands, and watercolor paintings were scattered on the floor. In the center of it all, his wife was sitting in his chair, sketching a posing Rhemia.  

“Monsieur Neuvillette, you’re home!” Sedene was the first to notice him.  

His wife turned her head towards him, and the corners of her lips turned up slightly. Neuvillette felt all the restlessness and fatigue he felt earlier drain away.  

“Welcome back,” she said and stood up, giving him back his chair. “How was the banquet?” 

“It was fine,” he said. “What are you all doing?” 

“Well, the Melusines all came over and asked me to show them my paintings. Then, they wanted me to sketch them, so I did.” 

“I see,” Neuvillette said, peering at the sketch of Rhemia. “They are wonderful.” 

“Thank you.” His wife seemed to be putting the finishing touches on the sketch. Neuvillette studied her profile. She looked completely focused on her work. 

“It’s done,” she announced, and handed the sketch to Rhemia.  

“I’m next,” Blathine said and stepped forward. 

"I think Madame Neuvillette needs to rest her hands a little bit,” Marie clapped her hands and gave Neuvillette a knowing look. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen for cakes?” 

The Melusines followed her outside, leaving Neuvillette and his wife alone in the parlor. 

“I apologize for their rowdiness,” Neuvillette said as he watched her gather the scattered paintings in her arms. “Please feel free to decline their requests if they inconvenience you.” 

“It’s no problem,” she said. “It was nice having so many people here. It reminds me of the old days. And I’ve never drawn Melusines before, so it was a fun challenge.” 

Neuvillette also stooped down to help her. He didn’t have the discerning eye for art, so he couldn’t make any comments as to technique, but he found that his wife’s paintings had a quality to them that made him yearn for something unidentifiable, which was what made them so fascinating to look at. 

“By the way, I finished your surprise,” she said. “Would you like to see it?” 

Neuvillette nodded, and she led him upstairs to her room. 

“It took me some time to work on it, because I had to use my imagination instead of drawing something I see,” she said, speaking a bit quickly. “And I wanted to use the paints you gave me carefully.” 

“Are they to your liking?” 

“Yes. The colors are so vibrant, and the brushes are so smooth, that I’m afraid that they are a bit wasted on me, since I don’t really paint because it’s my passion, so...” 

“But they are useful to you, are they not?” Neuvillette said. “Isn’t that enough?” 

“...I suppose so,” his wife said after a few moments of silence. She then cleared her throat and turned towards the covered easel near the window. “Here it is.” 

She lifted off the blanket, revealing a small canvas. At first, Neuvillette didn’t know what he was looking at. Then, his eyes recognized the amorphous blobs, the blurry line of blue in the distance. 

“This is a painting of the garden in rain,” he said, looking to her for confirmation. She nodded. 

“It hasn’t been raining at all recently, so I had to try hard to picture the scene in my mind.” 

“What made you choose this subject?” 

“Well...before, I’ve never really paid attention to the rain. It was just an excuse to stay home for me. But...then I would see you standing out in the rain, and I would suddenly notice all these things I haven’t seen before...so...” her voice trailed off, and she looked down. “I just wanted my first painting with your gift to be something you like.” 

Neuvillette felt an unfamiliar feeling in his heart. If he had to compare it to something, it would be feeling the heat of a warm current all around you after ages of swimming in the cold ocean.  

“Do you like it?” his wife asked, looking up at him. 

Neuvillette had to think about how to answer that. “...Yes, I do,” he said at last. “It’s my favorite of your works.” 

His hand reached out towards her head, his fingers running over her hair, gliding over her cheek, and rested on her shoulder. His wife stared at him quizzically. “Sir?” 

“...It’s nothing,” Neuvillette said. He wasn’t sure what came over him. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” Sedene’s voice sounded from downstairs. “We have a request for you!” 

“Sounds serious,” his wife quipped. 

The two went downstairs to the kitchen, where the Melusines were looking at paintings of houses with sunflowers standing in front of them. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette, what do you think of planting sunflowers in front of the front door, just like in Madame’s hometown?” Sedene asked. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Neuvillette said. “One rarely sees sunflowers in the city.” 

“I can ask my family to send us some seeds,” his wife said. “But one thing I’m worried about is the lack of rain lately, since sunflowers need a lot of water to grow.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Neuvillette said, drawing a confused look from her. 

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Taglist:@just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims

[lightlycareless]

sneak peak of one of the requests I've been working on :> also an idea I wanted to explore with Naoya hahahah he's a jerk btw.

complete version here.

When the idea of an open relationship is suggested… the first, of many fractures, unwittingly struck onto your relationship.

First by shattering the image you had of him.

Sure, your feelings for him remained, which is what made this ordeal far more painful…

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t harbor other feelings, such as anger.

“—just before we finally settle.” Is the lousy excuse he gives you when confronted, another stab to your heart. “Get it out of the system, you know?”

No. You don’t know, because for the past few years, Naoya is the only man you’ve had eyes for, imagining a future with him—and solely him.

It hurts to even consider he hasn’t been doing the same, probably already interested in some other woman, the reason behind his suggestion in the first place.

“I don’t want to…” you murmur, doing your best to not leave the table, or at least not shed a tear.

“It’ll only be a short time.” Naoya insists. “This way, we can know if we’re truly meant for each other. See if we don’t feel the same with others, hm?”

It’s stupid.

It really is—

Naoya’s suggestion… and your devotion to make him happy.

Because even after all the dumb things he said to justify the unjustifiable, you still wanted to please him.

“I guess we could go through restrictions or something, not that I have an—”

“No sex.” The rapid way in which you reply is something Naoya can’t help but find adorable, interpreting your eagerness as jealousy, overprotectiveness… before brushing it off as silly.

“Y/N—my love, you’re not seriously thinking we can reach a conclusion without that now, can we?”

Truth to be told, you didn’t want to find out. Not by this way at least, by laying in the arms of another…

Could he really blame you for trying to fight it?

“Besides, don’t you want to try it out too?” Naoya smirks. “I’m fine with it, really. It’s a two-way road, after all. What’s good in me having all the fun?”

What hurts more?

That fact that Naoya wanted to pursue other women with your permission?

Or that he was pushing you onto other men, appearing careless to whatever you did or didn’t do with them?

It’s not that Naoya doesn’t care—far from that, really. He doesn’t like when men do as little as glance in your direction.

But he doesn’t worry, because he knows there’s nothing to worry about.

Trusting that his hopelessly-in-love girlfriend would never betray him like that. Aware that your attention and devotion has been on him the moment you took him into your heart—and that no matter what, you’ll always come back to him.

It’s why he suggested the idea in the first place, because he’s long acknowledged that even past your limits, you still tolerate him.

Thus, unsurprised that you agreed to this change—Naoya leaving the apartment soon after that.

Looks like you were right in assuming he already had someone in mind to debut this new arrangement; willing to bet anything to prove he’s already on way to her.

…Well, you hope that Naoya at least respects the only condition both agreed on: not bring any partners to the apartment.

Not that you’d be there to see much of it anyways, opting to stay in your friend’s—Shoko— apartment for the time being.

“Can’t say I didn’t imagine him capable of something like that—but I guess I never thought he’d actually do it, not after dating you as long as he did.” She’d say, before taking a deep huff of her cigarette and exhaling.

You always found it endearing how she’d release the smoke to the side, as if it didn’t permeate the air around you… but at least Shoko cares enough to try.

“So much for having faith on him…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say, offended yet intrigued by her implications.

“I mean, you knew of the rumors before dating him, Y/N.” Shoko adds, you sigh. That, you did. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but…”

“I guess I was hoping they weren’t real.” You slowly admit. “…What am I going to do, Shoko?”

A breakup isn’t exactly what you had in mind, certainly not what you wanted to do….

But why do that now when you could take advantage of this exploitable opportunity? An opening all too obvious to Shoko, which she doesn’t hesitate to let you know.

“Give him a taste of his own medicine.” She suddenly suggests. “He told you, didn’t he? That you were good to be with other men.”

“But I don’t want to.” You shake your head. “I don’t—I don’t think I can.”

“It’s exactly the same, just another face if that’s what you’re wondering.” Shoko explains, but to you, it was much deeper than that, always has been, certainly for an emotional personal like you.

It’s why she was so angry that your beloved boyfriend was quick to disregard your feelings.

“Ok, sure, let’s say I agree.” You play along. “How do I even start? It’s been a while since I’ve been in the dating scene—I don’t even know if I’m still… desirable.”

Oh, if you only knew.

.I. naoya

[thearchercore]

I’m currently going down a social media rabbit hole, trying to see the difference between both Carlos’ and Charles’ , because let’s be real, after a few posts, you could see the difference and the narratives they both are going for.

Carlos is going for the “I’m loyal to Ferrari” Narrative, with him sticking to the red and the Ferrari merch in training, in Dakkar when he was supporting his dad (who by the way, is a RED BULL Rally Driver to this day!!). He is going for Charles’ approach last year, where everything in his socials is Ferrari, is curated and is very much according to the Ferrari politics and how they post.

Then there’s Charles, who is going for the silly, relaxed and relatable approach in his socials, and as mentioned a lot by you, he’s kind of working on detaching himself from the Ferrari narrative and the whole “Charles Leclerc the Ferrari driver”.

In a way, they are each working on their agendas, Charles could be working towards that exit or towards pressuring Ferrari that “Right, I’m starting to detach myself from you, and if you don’t wake up, I’m out next year, and I have teams who would definitely take me in” and Carlos who is showing Ferrari “I’m your man, I’m loyal, I’m not complaining, I’m doing what you want, content with your sponsors? Check. Always repping Ferrari even when I’m rooting for Red Bull in Rally which you guys aren’t a part of? Check. Looking the way you want me to be in my socials, that pristine Ferrari F1 driver? Check”. As if he’s trying to convince them to give him the contract and to put their trust in him, make him their number 1.

And let’s be real, with everything going in with contracts and the politics of it, with Fred who wanted the contracts to be signed and announced BY CHRISTMAS OR THE NEW YEAR, and now we’re almost done with January, the narrative both drivers are putting out through their socials, with both of them knowing its power and how to use it properly, I would say that Ferrari is most likely in a dilemma that no team would want rn

yeah! tbh, carlos never really went the extra mile for any other side quests on social aside from racing (the netflix cup event the only recent one that comes to mind.)

the way charles and carlos approach social media is wildly different. but you're right, the way they present themselves definitely reflects the current state of their negotiations with ferrari.

carlos - presents himself only as a ferrari driver on social media. there were news that his contract negotiations faced new obstacles again this week, and his dad again complimented the upcoming audi f1 team:

| Carlos Sainz Sr. reveals he's discussed Audi's F1 entry with Sainz Jr. "I know how seriously they take every project."

at this point it's a pattern that has been repeated a few times. carlos is a very realistic option for audi (that launches in f1 in 2026) -- so his goal is to rn renew with ferrari for at least the 2025 season, and then has audi as an another option.

while carlos uses his family's prominance, charles has more personal sponsors and social engagement. he's using that to negotiate on his end a better contract for himself.

the ferrari contract is known to be quite restrictive, they have puma as their clothing brand so charles was banned to launch his own clothing brand CLACE (which he recently started wearing again). the ferrari contract in general is built around the fact that ferrari doesn't want to have a driver bigger than themselves, ferrari always comes first.

so it's interesting to see their different approach in it and i'm interested to see how the contracts negotiation turn out and when we get the announcements

[goldenhypen]

❣︎ ⎯⎯ mess with me, you get the lips .

PAIRING ! nishimura riki x reader // GENRE ! fluff // WC. ! 0.6k

PROMPT(S) ! 8. embracing them from behind ;; 9. ruffling their hair ;; 10. placing their chin on the other’s shoulder ;; 24. patting their head // requested by @emmachase89 @clarakyunisageek and two lovely anons <3 // 2k followers event

A/N. ! for this event i’m only taking up to 2 prompts per req, but i decided to combine four reqs for this bc it ended up working rlly well. hope you like it! also don’t mind the title skjskd i thought it was kinda cute and fit pretty well 😭

a soft squeal could be heard from rooms away as it left your lips.

riki had just snuck up on you from behind before quickly pulling you into his embrace, your back pressed against his chest. at the unexpected contact, you jumped slightly before attempting to turn around in his arms. however, his strong hold had you trapped in this position, unable to move. so you sighed, resorting to turning your head to look at him instead before giving him a playful glare. he rested his chin on your shoulder before turning his face slightly, placing a soft, apologetic kiss on your cheek.

“i’m sorry for scaring you,” he gave you a small, playful pout.

“it’s okay,” you told him before continuing, “what i’m more frustrated about is the fact that you have me restricted in your arms right here.”

he let out a small chuckle before loosening his hold on you, allowing you some freedom to move.

you turned around to face him, both of you softly locking eyes.

“‘kay, i’m sorry,” he began again, placing his hand on top of your head and ruffling your. “better?”

you squirmed in his hold before stopping his actions, “hey! no! no, stop!” you said between giggles. “this is not better! you’re messing up my hair! nishimura riki!”

laughing at your reaction, he eventually stopped and you glared at him again, even harder this time.

“okay, okay,” he let out, beginning to fix your hair by patting it down. “sorry, my love.”

after a few seconds, he succeeded in returning your hair back to the way it was before, and only a moment later, you watched as his eyes darted to your lips. before you could process, he already had his lips on yours, pecking them softly.

“better now?” he asked after pulling back slightly, voice calm.

you nodded before a smirk made its way to your lips.

you snaked your arms around his neck before quickly pulling him in for another kiss, this time lasting much longer.

he felt himself melt under your touch, kissing you back with equal passion. however, little did he know, you were taking this as an opportunity to get back at him as you continuously and messily brushed all of your fingers through his hair.

when you eventually pulled back, you had to control yourself as you succeeded in stifling your laugh. however, he didn’t miss the way your lips twitched and were being forced into keeping straight. and once you realized he caught on, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“what’s so funny?” he asked you before he noticed your eyes travel up to the top of his head.

turning around to face a mirror, riki quickly noticed the way his hair was now in a mess with each lock of hair out of place.

he turned around, looking at you annoyed, but you didn’t fail to notice the way his lips were now the one holding back a smile.

and before you knew it, riki was chasing you around the room, squeals leaving your lips once again before he eventually caught you from behind and lifted you off of your feet, only causing you to let out more protesting squeals.

and just like that, the day ended with you in his arms, either trying to get at each other’s hair, or exchanging kisses, and you couldn’t have wished for it any other way.

A/N. hope you enjoyed ^_^

2K EVENT MASTERLIST.

TAGLIST FORM.

[freedomfireflies]

any chance you'd write something small about harry being jealous?? i'm a sucker for the stay with me tropes 😭

“That’s the dumbest fucking excuse I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Your expression falls, eyes narrowing into slits as you throw an outraged look Harry’s way. “Right. Because you’d be the authority on dumb.”

It’s not your best jab, although it is the only one you have the strength to offer. 

This whole night has been a bust. Starting the moment you saw Harry waltz into the bar all the way until the ostentatious end when you watched him throw Luke out of the bar.

Harry isn’t offended by the retort, instead scoffing to himself as he leans against the dark, brick walls that line the alleyway. “I told you I wouldn’t do it—”

“Nobody fucking asked you to,” you remind him quickly, taking a brave step forward. “You knew he’d be here—”

“Oh, did I?”

“Yes.” Your voice is clipped. Irate. You’ve had this conversation with him more times than you can count, and sometimes he just doesn’t use his fucking head. “Luke has always been a huge part of my life, you know that—”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

A pause. Both your postures ridged with indifference and pride. 

“I never asked you to like it,” you mumble, thrusting your chin toward him. “But you agreed to at least play nice.”

“I agreed…to let him keep his teeth in his mouth,” Harry corrects, his own glare just as venomous. “I never fucking agreed to watch him stick his tongue down your throat.”

“He was drunk—”

“He was over the fucking line,” Harry seethes, volume rising until each word can bounce off the brick walls and ricochet back to you.

A bit hypocritical, you'd say, coming from him. Someone who has no claim over you. Someone who has no claim over who you kiss drunkenly in bars. Someone who started this very arrangement with you by kissing you when he was drunk in a bar.

You don't point this out. But you could.

In fact, you’re quite tempted, although you already know that won't help the case you're trying to make.

His arms move to cross angrily in front of his chest and you don’t miss the ruby red stain bleeding down the white fabric.

You wonder if it’s Harry’s blood or Luke’s.

But you suppose it doesn’t matter because it’s on Harry’s shirt and not in somebody’s body where it’s supposed to be.

And whose fault is that?

“I can’t keep doing this with you," you exhale aloud, the sad truth you hadn’t wanted to accept becoming painfully obvious.

The same realization that first dawned earlier tonight when the bartender was dragging Harry from the building and throwing him out into the cold night.

You don't want to end things with him. But what other reason is there to stay?

“Harry, I—why do you keep doing this?” you ask now, wanting so desperately to have a reason for the madness that you'll just fucking ask him if you have to.

The muscles in his jaw restrict as he forces his eyes off into the distance and you can practically see the real answer appear in his mind.

But will he actually offer it to you?

When silence becomes your only friend, you sigh, accepting that nothing is now the only thing he has to give.

Your feet take you backward. Away from the wall. Away from Harry. 

Away from the nightmare of tonight.

“I’m gonna go find Luke,” you tell him softly, ignoring the snort he has the nerve to exhale. “I’m gonna make sure he’s okay and then I’m going to go home.”

Still no response from the pensive figure in the shadows.

That tells you all you need to know.

You figured the day might come. The day when your, for lack of a better term, situation-ship with Harry would meet its inevitable end.

You just hadn’t expected that day to be today.

“Don’t make me lose you,” you murmur, the one wish you truly have left. The one wish that supersedes the rest.

And still, his façade remains. Stoic and unnerving.

You leave him with your last request. No more fighting. No more pleading.

It’s up to him now.

“Wait.”

You’ve reached the entrance to the alley, sneakers screeching to a halt on the wet pavement when you hear his call.

There’s something different in his voice. Something���urgent. Docile, even. 

You turn, eyeing the familiar face you hate to love, still pressed to the wall.

“Don’t go.”

A request so quiet, so light it’s almost carried away by the wind.

“What?”

Green eyes, bloodshot and now a tad glossy, meet yours. “Don’t go.”

Your throat constricts. The burden of his request weighs heavy on your chest. “Harry…”

“Don’t go,” he repeats, now for a third time. His head shakes, sweaty curls falling to his forehead, tortured yet still peeved. “Don’t…just—stay.”

Your lips purse together, weighing the consequences of each option. “Harry, I—”

“Just don't fucking go,” he pleads, the bass in his voice not deep enough to hide the small crack as it echoes through the alleyway.

You exhale a gentle breath, watching as the man so consumed by rage and jealousy metaphorically bows before you. “Then what do I do if I don’t go?”

You notice his chest rise and fall as you wait for his reply.

“You stay.”

The answer pulls you. Pulls you back into the dark crevice of the city as you retreat back to him. As you place yourself in front of his frame. As you watch him. Up close.

Truth be told, you’d wanted a reason to come back. Wanted a reason to leave Luke in the past, where he belongs. Wanted a reason to stay with the man you can’t exactly even call your own.

You just wanted that reason to come from Harry.

Your fingers reach for his jaw, crawling up his cheeks until you can cup his face and pull it higher. Force his eyes from the pavement and onto yours.

“I need a reason to stay,” you tell him. No sugar coating. No hesitation. Just the truth.

Pleased yet hopeful, you feel his hands move to your hips, pulling you between his legs until your chest is taut with his.

For the first time all night, you watch him smile. Feel the way his yearning bleeds through his touch. Knowing, undoubtedly, that he needs you. No matter what he says. No matter how he shows it. No matter what arguments he might present to convince you otherwise.

You feel a hand reach for the back of your neck, tugging you closer until you can’t help but swoon at the urgency in his movements. 

Soft lips graze your own, your lashes fluttering until it’s just him and the darkness.

“I’ll be your reason.”

I've never gotten to do this before and it was so scary but so much fun, so thank you for asking 😭

Full Masterlist

[mangoshorthand]

five hargreeves as a dad? Him being a single father and taking care of his daughter; she could be adopted too

(Not his dinosaur age but if he was still a younger adult would be great thanks!)

more on fluff please!

I thought this request was a good opportunity to write a situation I referenced in After We Fall (Hard Feelings part 6) which has been playing on my mind. I went slightly off-book with the request: Five is not a single dad, but he's a SAHD and his wife is only referenced a couple of times. It's not necessary to translate the Italian lines to enjoy the fic, but you might like to. Hope you enjoy.

No Blinking! | Five Hargreeves & 3 y/o daughter Words: 3k

Some parts of the apocalypse were nice. 

Sometimes, when the sunrise hit the earth in just the right way, everything would be bathed in this sweet, rosy glow. He’d lie there, facing the sunrise, and watch the progress of the long shadows thrown by the debris; abstract shapes at his toes which retreated further and further away, the tiny pieces of surviving glass twinkling in the light. 

Every morning, the sunrise fascinated him. It was the middling time between sleep and waking, when his thoughts had not yet formed into coherence. It was evidence he had survived another night. He never knew whether that was a good thing or not: this fact, proclaimed by the sunrise, held both pain and promise. 

On the one hand, another day alone was dawning and another day had gone by in which he’d failed to calculate his way home. On the other hand, there was today’s possibility of success, glimmering illusively in the new light. 

It was impossibly lonely, but it was peaceful, and blessedly quiet.

And, sitting there with blood-curdling screams echoing off the high ceiling, Five couldn’t help but miss that time. 

He was looking down into his sour coffee and trying to imagine being back there, the sun gently warming his cold bones, when a small, familiar voice reached him amidst all the other shrieks. 

“DADDY!”

Five looked up to see his daughter waving at him from the very top of the soft play apparatus. She was waving and smiling at him with the sort of deranged glee that only a little kid can muster. The sight immediately broke through his self-pity and misplaced nostalgia: he smiled and waved back at her, a more pleasant warmth than the apocalypse sun filling him now. 

In a flash of blue light, she appeared at his elbow. 

“Jesus, Aoife!” 

He put a restricting hand on her shoulder and looked around surreptitiously, to check that nobody was watching. There were two moms at the next table, but they were too engaged chatting between themselves and watching their kids. 

“No blinking outside the house! Cosa ti ha detto papà?”

She was looking up at him with his own eyes and his own pout. Her pigtails were loose, hair awry and her upper lip crusty with the ubiquitous snot that always seemed to gather there.

He sighed, grabbed the slightly moist napkin that he picked up with his coffee and wiped her nose.

“No blinking, okay?”

“No.” she said, stubbornly, wriggling away from the napkin. “I’m a big kid now. I’m in charge.”

Five suppressed a smile.

“Oh, okay. That sounds nice. If you’re in charge, then are you going to drive me home?”

“No, papà ” she scoffed, “I can’t drive.”

Five couldn’t keep up the pretense of sternness, unable to resist her little face. 

“Oh,” he said, in mock confusion, “well if you’re in charge and you can’t drive, how do we get home?”

“We get the bus.” she said, decisively.

“We'll get the bus?” he repeated, “Okay. You got the money to pay for the bus, Rockefeller? If you’re in charge then you have to pay, right?”

She considered it for a second or two, and then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it.

“You know what,” she said, “I was just kidding.”

“So is papà in charge?”

She didn’t answer, but the pout’s return let him know he’d won the argument, (and yes, he did congratulate himself on this. She might be tiny, but she was already a formidable interlocutor). 

“So: no blinking, right?” he said, holding up a single, authoritative finger. 

She nodded and gave a theatrical sigh. 

“That’s a girl,” he said, leaning over and kissing play-warmed head, “now go play.”

“Will you come and play with me?”

“No sweetie,” he said, “Daddy’s too big. And I'm having a sit down.”

She threw back her head with a flourish, all abject frustration and pure drama.

“What the HELL?”

He suppressed a laugh and dismissed her, watching her run back to the play area with a whoop that made it clear his refusal to join her had by no means spoiled her fun.

The attention of the pair of mothers on the table beside him had been attracted at some point during this exchange. They were smiling at both Aoife and him with a strange look of adoring pity.

He noticed it on women’s faces often when he was out with his daughter. He had once, foolishly, imagined that being a seemingly young dad instantly boosted his fuckability by about 300%, but he learned quickly that the real reason was far less flattering. 

He picked up a newspaper probably left by the previous parent sitting here, slowly losing the will to live. The front page yielded nothing interesting: a politician had been up to something sleazy, but what was new? “PAPÀ, GUARDAMI!”

He glanced up to where Aoife had grabbed a tiny, smiling boy by the hand.

“ME AND NOAH ARE GOING DOWN THE SLIDE!”

“Good for you.” he called back, “You and Noah be careful, piccolina.”

He watched as they shuffled their way, beaming, into the tube slide and then emerged at the bottom after lots of giggling and thumping from within. He applauded politely and Aoife, hair flying, grinned back at him, showing all her sharp little teeth.

He tried to return to the newspaper, but could no longer pretend to ignore one of the women from the next table over, trying to catch his eye.

He looked up and gave her what he hoped was a polite but quelling smile.

His hope was not answered.

“How old is she?” the woman asked, smilingly, jumping on his acknowledgment.

She was thin, blonde and green-eyed. Mid thirties, he’d guess. Pretty too, he noticed, though in a detached way. Her friend, a brunette wearing a yellow blouse, seemed to be assessing him as if she didn’t fully trust his presence.

“Three years, seven months,” he said, shortly.

“Awh,” she said, politely, “Noah turned three in September. It’s such a nice age, isn’t it?”

Five looked back up to the ballpit where Noah, white-blonde like his mother, was shrieking with laughter as Aoife smashed two balls together in time to the raucous melody she was singing.

“Cute kid,” he commented. 

“Thank you.” she smiled, “So is…”

“Aoife,” he supplied.

“What a lovely name,” she said.

He nodded and tried to look away, but the yellow-bloused woman called back his attention.

“So you’re Italian?”

“No. I just speak it. I taught her and now we speak it together. She speaks a little Spanish too.”

“Have you considered what it might do to her speech development?”

“Does her speech seem under-developed to you?” Five asked, eyebrow raised, “It didn’t do my speech any harm: I bambini di tutto il mondo sono bilingui e se la passano bene. Potrei dirti di andare a farti fottere in sette lingue."

The women smiled uncertainly, clearly not understanding the last part of his speech. He continued as if he was translating:

“Multilingual children have developmental advantages over monolingual. I’m fluent, so why not give her that advantage?”

They both nodded their acceptance of this, and Five was just feeling he might have shut them up, when the blonde spoke again.

“So, is it Mommy’s day off?” 

This piqued Five enough that he looked up from his newspaper.

“No.”

“So you’re a single dad?” the brunette asked, her expression softening as she looked at him.

Five smirked, and a memory of Klaus floated to the surface of his mind. 

“Yup. I was young when I had her. I don’t even know who the mother is.”

He looked up, and the women were looking at him. There was a second or so of confused silence before Five put them out of his misery.

“That was a joke. My wife works.”

“Ah, so Daddy’s babysitting?”

“No,” he said, with a smile that tried extremely hard to hide his irritation, “Daddy’s parenting.”

With effort, he managed not to add: ‘dumbass’ to the end of that statement.

Both the women nodded earnestly, and the way they did it told Five they were probably the type to admire his stance on the surface, but underneath still pity him: convinced he was a hapless male incapable of lone childrearing for periods longer than an hour. 

“And do you manage okay?” asked the brunette.

“Well, Aoife’s still alive,” Five said, coldly, “I’ll take that as a win.”

Noah’s mother laughed, (somewhat sycophantically in his opinion), and her friend eyed Aoife critically for a few moments, lingering on her messy hair before speaking again.

“I’ll show you how to braid her hair.” she said, with the air of one taking control of a dire situation.

“No thank you,” Five said, shortly.

Noah’s mother stepped back in, tilting her head placatingly and speaking to what she imagined was his misplaced pride.

“I swear, you’ll never look back. It’s so good for keeping it out of her eyes.”

Five fought to keep his irritation contained, and his eyes found Aoife, throwing herself between two squashy funhouse rollers with a loud ‘Ooof!’

The sight gave him the grounding he needed.

He couldn’t lose it at these two moms, because then he’d have to leave. If Aoife was going to sleep tonight, she needed to run off all this energy. 

Not to mention the fact she was having the time of her life. 

He looked back at the women, his patience renewed:

“I can braid hair just fine. She just hates them. Hates having them done, hates having them in, screams like you’re pulling out her fingernails if you try.”

Five had, in fact, pulled out many fingernails in his time, and the similarity was disturbing. 

“Oh,” the brunette said, apparently disappointed at being denied an opportunity of dictating to him. 

As she sat down, and Five’s eyes sank thankfully to an article about the reformation of a blues band, Noah’s Mom asked.

“Is your wife a career gal then?”

“I guess,” he said, “she works hard.”

“That’s so admirable.” said the blonde - though he got the sense she didn’t really mean it. 

Her eyes moved over to her son as she continued.

“I just don’t know how she does it. I just couldn’t leave him to be brought up by someone else.”

Five felt himself becoming quite seriously annoyed. 

“Aoife’s being brought up by both her parents.”

“Of course, of course. But every girl needs her mom.”

Five took a sip of his coffee.

This shit was old news. He encountered it too often, whether it was this specific flavor of bullshit or the type where he got nasty looks at the playground as a lone male. He cleared his throat and hoisted a smile onto his face.

“So where’s Noah’s dad today?” he asked, leading her into a trap whether she was aware of it or not.

“He works too.”

“Oh.” Five said, trying to keep his smile playful rather than antagonistic, “So does every boy need his dad?”

As Noah’s Mom and her friend sputtered, Five held up a hand and continued.

“As long as a kid’s with a parent that loves them, it doesn’t matter if they’re a woman, man or hyper-realistic robot. Now,” he said, gesturing firmly to his newspaper, “if you don’t mind - ?”

He was glad that the women seemed to accept his request for solitude, and even happier when they went to get coffee and moved to a different table.

The next thirty minutes passed silently (as silent as it was possible in an echoing room full of shrieking kids), with Five flicking through his newspaper and glancing up to check on his daughter every few minutes. He was engrossed in an op-ed on the latest labor strikes when one shriek in particular drew his attention.

This shriek was distinct from happy play shrieks.

He looked up, and there was Aoife on the floor at the top of the netted play apparatus, bawling her head off with cries so high-pitched that soon only dogs would be able to hear. 

He looked around surreptitiously. Nobody was watching, Aoife was the only kid in that area and there was plenty of cover. He stood, took a few steps towards the play area and concealed himself behind a brightly-coloured padded pillar and thrust himself into the static electricity of a spatial blink. He emerged strategically, stooping behind a giant firetruck. He ducked out from behind it and approached his daughter at a crouch, unable to stand in the confined space.

Aoife was sprawled out on the soft floor, watching him approach through red eyes. 

She might be hurt, he thought, but she was tired too, and these tears seemed more linked to that. 

“What happened, bambina?”

With a gulp of air in between each word, she answered:

“I - fell - off!”

He dropped to one knee and scooped her up, pulling her dress down to cover her butt as he did so. 

“You hurt, sweetie?”

“Yes,” she said, the rate of her tears already slowing as he pulled her onto his knee, “I hurt my leg!”

She pointed forlornly to her left knee. Five took a quick survey- there was a small red mark from impact  - probably against the firetruck - but it seemed fine otherwise. 

He held her briefly to his chest and kissed her forehead, rubbing her leg with the palm of his hand, the warmth of his skin soothing away the pain. 

“Daddy’s got you, little one. You’re okay. Can you bend your knee for me?”

Aoife bent her leg with ease, though still sniffled in his arms.

“Okay,” he said, seriously, with the air of one performing serious diagnostic tests, “now, can you wiggle it for me?”

Aoife looked seriously down at her leg and wiggled it. 

“Excellent,” Five said, keeping his features schooled into mock-concentration. “Now, can you just put your finger on your nose for me?”

Aoife did so, looking up at him in confusion.

“Hm.” he said, lowering his eyebrows as if at an unexpected medical outcome, “Just let me try that.”

Aoife moved her finger and he prodded her nose.

“Honk.”

Aoife’s serious face broke, and she sniggered.

“There we go, see?” Five said, pressing her nose again, “Honk! - You just gotta press it hard enough, you’re fine.”

Aoife giggled and fell against his chest with an ill-coordinated thump. She rested her head against him, rubbing her face into his sweater.

You’re dumb.” she said, affectionately, “and bad.”

“Charming.” he said, stroking her hair, “Dumb I’ll accept - you got me on that one. But why am I bad?”

“You said no blinking.”

Five smiled as he pulled her onto his hip, stooping his way to the exit. 

“I’m allowed to blink in public.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m grown-up.”

“That’s not fair.”

“True, but I’m afraid life’s not getting any fairer than this, bambina.”

“That makes no sense!”

Five chuckled and held her closer, finally straightening up and heading back to their stuff over at the table. 

“We’re gonna go now. Mommy will be home soon.”

Aoife grumbled slightly, but he bribed her with a promise to play her Turvytown playlist on the way home, (as much as it pained him to put himself through it again). As a result, she allowed him to place her down and assist her in putting on her coat with a good grace. 

“It’s not fair rules that daddy can blink outside but I can’t.” she said, thoughtfully.

“I know,” Five said, grabbing his jacket and folding up the newspaper for the next beleaguered parent who might sit there, “but lots of people already know that daddy can blink. It's no biggie if they see me - but we don’t want them all knowing you can.”

“Why not we just tell them?”

“Because -” he faltered, “because it’s better if it stays a secret.”

He took her hand, folded his own jacket over his arm and lead her towards the parking lot, where 

“A secret? Like Daddy’s birthday present?”

“No,” he said, leading her outside by the hand, “not like Daddy’s birthday present, because you told me what that was the day Mommy bought it. You have to actually keep this secret, kiddo.”

“Okay.” she said. 

When they got to the car, he leaned over to help her with her car seat, but she slapped his hands away.

“I want to do it.”

“Sure,” he said, letting his hands fall into his pockets, watching her with interest. With a few minor grunts, she clicked the belt home and looked back at him, satisfied.

“See? I’m a big kid.”

“You sure are.” 

He looked back at her; into his own eyes in miniature. He felt the familiar rush of serotonin as he did so. He’d always had a soft spot for kids, but Aoife was different.

He loved his wife, sure, but his love for Aoife was in an entirely different league. She delighted him - there was no other word for it. Having her in his arms was just…right. It wasn’t rational, he knew that, but it didn’t make it any less true.

She made him more aware than anything else of his animality: his love hit him like a kick in the gut - it was something that pulled hard on a cord deep in his stomach. The first time she was put into his arms, he felt his foundations tremble, crumble and reform. He was enamored - totally and utterly. If anyone ever tried to hurt her…

Proud of herself, she smiled at him. It emphasized her cherubic cheeks, still pink from the chill outside. She was perfect. There had surely never been any child so perfect.

He leaned over and hugged her silently, pressing his angular jaw against one of those plush cheeks. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

She even smelled like his. 

“Love you, kiddo.”

Aoife suffered her father’s fervent hug for a few seconds before getting impatient.

“You gonna drive already?”

Five laughed, pressed a kiss to her cheek (which she wiped away with the back of her hand) before closing the car door and heading around to the driver's door.

“What, am I your goddam chauffeur now?” he murmured to himself, smilingly.

Request masterlist >> HERE

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed): @thebearmage, @nevbrooke-555

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

[lambergeier]

silviculture - 13.1k, alhaitham/kaveh

in which alhaitham switches places with his younger self and everyone handles this extraordinarily badly. we will improve this situationship or die trying. now on ao3! first two scenes below for ur reading pleasure.

Alhaitham, being no longer in his living room, decides the first thing he should do is sit down. He does so.

He’s in an Akademiya dorm room. It’s early afternoon. A few moments ago it was late at night and he was speaking with Kaveh, who was in the kitchen of Alhaitham’s own house. Alhaitham was leaning against the couch in the living room and flipping through a book that wasn’t worth the paper it’d been printed on. The book is also gone.

Alhaitham only began dreaming again eight months ago, but he’s confident that this isn’t a dream. It looks, with a great deal more specificity than could be possible even for his sleeping mind, like Kaveh’s dorm room. Books of design, materials science, desert exploration, runic translation, and piano theory are piled on the desk. There is, laying on the bedsheets by Alhaitham’s hand, a cheap but fashionable earring he remembers vividly for the way it had caught the light in their single shared lecture, late afternoon in the hall below the Sanctuary. Semiotics and Glassmaking in Deshret’s Kingdom. He skims the earring briefly with a fingertip then moves his hand to his lap.

He considers what this might mean.

The door swings open and Kaveh says, “Haitham, can you take some of these? I borrowed everything I could find on desert Seelies but it’s really almost nothing, like I can’t tell if we’re running into another ridiculous knowledge restriction again or if genuinely no one’s ever tried to track the Seelie courts in Upper Setekh, which would be so typical, wouldn’t it, so I grabbed everything else I saw on the–”

Kaveh’s face is bright, young, flushed, freckled, happy. He’s wearing an Akademiya uniform and is as tall as the last time Alhaitham saw him (fifteen minutes ago) which means he’s an inch or two shorter than the last time Alhaitham saw him, because the uniform boots are heeled. He’s staring at Alhaitham with the aforementioned flush spreading like dye over the silk of his cheeks.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “Don’t freak out. I believe I’ve been displaced in time.”

“Oh, I,” Kaveh says. His hands start to go slack beneath the stack of books leaning against his chest, so Alhaitham takes the books from him and sets them on the chair beside the desk.

“You–yes,” Kaveh says, the flush climbing down his neck and up to his ears now. “I–oh.”

He couldn’t be more than eighteen. Which would make it, assuming this is in fact the past Alhaitham remembers, which he really has no way to determine without further investigation, the year Alhaitham himself turned sixteen.

“I developed a bodybuilding habit when I was twenty and attempting to do some metabolic experiments that ultimately proved unfruitful,” Alhaitham says. “You can touch my shoulders if that would get this over with.”

Kaveh, whose left hand had begun to drift with little apparent thought towards Alhaitham’s bare deltoid, snaps back so hard his head smacks into the doorframe. “I’m so sorry!” he says. “I’m so sorry, this is so rude of me, I should never have assumed, I’m so sorry, and you’re so much older, and you never said–”

Alhaitham sighs.

--

Kaveh stands bent over the kitchen sink, working his jaw and watching his cuticles slowly go to ribbons in the soapy water. Not literally. Literally enough. He should have let Alhaitham buy the stupid gentle dish soap that didn’t ruin Kaveh’s cuticles. Kaveh stops himself from thinking further on Alhaitham’s incredibly domineering dish soap opinions.

Alhaitham has gone quiet in the living room, but that doesn’t mean very much. The state of their immortal souls could be at stake and Alhaitham would still bar himself from Celestia before he continued a conversation he continued boring. Or a fight.

Kaveh works his jaw harder, tension dull and radiant above one eye. It’s not impossible for him to wait Alhaitham’s silence out. He’s done it before and he could do it again. It’s a way to end a fight, and wouldn’t it be nice, ever, to end a fight? Without starting another? Could they hope for that much peace, at the least?

Suds climb up Kaveh’s wrists. The number of nights he’s spent in this same position, mirroring himself like silvered glass over the past year and whatever he’s lived in Alhaitham’s house, frustrated and sad and exhausted by this whole situation, feels suddenly like a millstone around his neck. What a joke.

“Look, I get that you don’t think conversation is worth your time!” Kaveh shouts as he slams the cutting board into the sink. “But pretending like this isn’t a problem just because you’re bored is not actually a long-term solution to the problem!”

Silence. “Haitham, I know you’re still out there!”

“Kaveh?” Alhaitham calls back. His voice ends on a high and uncharacteristic quaver.

Kaveh throws himself through the door to the living room.

There’s a different Alhaitham standing in the soft streetlamp glow of the window. There’s an infant Alhaitham. He’s skinny, teetering, his hair too long over his ears, where are his headphones?, god, look at those stretch marks on his shoulders, red as fresh paint—

Alhaitham is looking up at the ceiling, head tipped back, balancing poorly on his heels as he turns. His head follows the lines of the woodwork. “Is this—” His voice cracks, squeaking in a way that Kaveh was viciously self-conscious of when he was young and Alhaitham never gave a shit about. Alhaitham didn’t start the masculinizing meds until he was at least fifteen, supplies a portion of Kaveh’s heart that very rarely forgets. His voice hasn’t cracked since they were—

Alhaitham looks from the vaulted ribs of his home to Kaveh. His eyes are enormous. He appears full of stars. “Is this the research center… you designed?” he asks. “This is our project?”

“Oh, no,” says Kaveh.

He’s wearing the undershirt and trousers of an Akademiya uniform. The permanent frowning divot between his eyebrows has yet to form. The longer he looks at Kaveh, his pale eyes flickering from Kaveh’s face to hands to chest to belt, the more he appears, ludicrously, to blush.

“Oh, no,” says Kaveh, as Alhaitham trips backwards over the footstool and lands flat on his ass.

and u can get the rest of this over here 👍👍

[rainbowmaze]

Motorcycle

✩ Character: Draken

✩ Word Count: 1.7k

✩ Summary: “C’mon! You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Dropping your voice to a whisper, you leaned up - never mind that doing so required you to stand up a bit - and cajoled, “Sex.” Or, you convince Draken to have sex with you on his motorcycle.

✩ Warnings: 18+ Only | Minors Do Not Interact

✩A/N: Also posted on AO3 by the username rainbow_maze. 

Draken liked to store his precious motorcycle in the locked-up garage that was attached to the brothel he was raised in. In order to dissuade thieves from breaking in and stealing it, he’d spent quite the time and effort securing the place with locks.

You were one of the lucky few that he allowed inside the garage rather than forcing you to wait outside for him to lock up. As Draken put down the kickstand with a practiced movement of his foot, a mischievous idea formed in your brain. Smirking, you allowed your hands to snake down from his waist to kneed his dick through those baggy black pants.

He inhaled a sharp breath and half-playfully glared at your smiling figure over his shoulder. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to do it on here?” you questioned excitedly. You were always down to try something at least once when it came to sex barring anything that had to do with extreme emotional or physical pain. It would be a new experience for both of you and would spice up your sex lives. “Just one time?”

Draken sighed and gripped the handlebars tighter. “What do you mean by ‘it’?” he avoided while purposefully ignoring your gaze.

“C’mon! You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Dropping your voice to a whisper, you leaned up - never mind that doing so required you to stand up a bit - and cajoled, “Sex.”

You could feel him taking a deep breath for patience before exhaling it. “But we don’t even have any protection. Besides, anyone can walk into this place.”

Your lips planted a soft kiss on his neck, enjoying the feeling of him tensing and relaxing in quick succession. There was a bulge in his pants now after your careful ministrations that continued in order to further convince him of your idea. “Just pull out on time, then. It should be a safe day for me anyways. And if anyone walks in, then I’m sure you can take them out on your own. I thought you were supposed to be all big and strong?”

“Ha-ah?” Draken drawled, a fire officially lighting underneath him at your teasing. You yelped as he picked you up and deposited you on his lap to face a semi-playful scowl. His breaths fanned over your face as he leaned in close enough for your lips to brush. “Be careful what you wish for, then, little minx.”

Draken’s lips slot with yours, exuding a pressure that steals your breath as his hands slip under your shirt to rub circles on your sides. You moaned into his mouth and ground your hips just to hear his breath hitch again. The action sent a shiver down your spine that was accompanied by a jolt of pleasure as one of his warm hands tangled in the hair on the back of your head.

You broke away from him with half a mind to take off your bottoms and underwear, hazily gazing at the string of saliva that connected the two of you together before it broke off. Your legs swung to one side before standing up as your hands made quick work to remove the two most restricting clothing you had on.

There was a shuffle of fabric near you and the sound of a zipper going down while your gaze was turned away. Looking over your shoulder, you spotted Draken sporting a lazy grin and slowly stroking his erect cock. Though you should be used to the sight of it by now after dating for a couple of years, the fact that it was so long always threw you off guard each and every time. He knew this fact if the cocky expression on his face had anything to say about it.

The concrete of the garage was uncomfortable on your knees, but you bared with it anyway. Just for him, of course. “You don’t have to,” he mumbled but didn’t protest as you leaned forward from your kneeling position to hold his dick with one hand and lick along a bulging vein. Draken hissed and held the back of your head to simply tangle his fingers through your hair, mindful to not exert any pressure.

His body warmth caused your already heated cheeks to darken. The taste of Draken was salty and on the bitter end, but it wasn’t a bad one and rather easy to ignore in favor of watching his intimidating facade cracking with each purposeful stroke of your tongue. You rubbed your thighs together at the growing wetness slowly leaking down to stain the floor and allowed your tongue to tease the head and slit of his cock. Beads of precum were licked up by you and quickly swallowed, not allowing the taste to linger on your tastebuds for too long.

He groaned at your movements and bucked his hips. The movement was quickly stilled when your mouth took in his head, careful in keeping your teeth away and your eyes locked with his heated gaze.

It was a slow process to take all of him in, but you used your hand to rub the part of him that wasn’t shoved down your throat. “You’re doing so good,” Draken mumbled when you got halfway while stroking your hair, keeping it out of your way. He hissed again and tensed the muscles in his thighs after your free hand fondled his balls.

You bobbed your head up to breathe and wrapped your tongue around the underside of his cock, feeling drool leaking down the side of your mouth. When you went back down, you were able to take in nearly all of it before coming up again and repeating the process. A sense of satisfaction filled your heart every time Draken’s breath hitched, and you had to fight down the accomplished smile when your nose brushed against the neatly trimmed hairs on his pubic area.

Your cheeks hallowed as you started to bob your head at a faster pace now that you achieved what you were aiming for, feeling your jaw start to ache from the position. He whispered encouragements in the silent garage while continuing to stroke your hair as you sucked him off. His uneven breathing and the moans slipping out of him keyed you in on his impending release. It was just in time, too, because the friction of your thighs rubbing together wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy you and the hardened concrete was causing your knees to ache.

Draken’s hips thrust unwillingly and the grip he had on your head tightened as he came down your throat, panting and groaning with his head thrown back as you shoved down the instinct to spit it out and swallowed it all instead.

You gazed at the way his throat looked exposed and how his brows furrowed from the force of his orgasm. There were beads of sweat and perspiration dotting his forehead and neck when you released him, wiping away the spit and leaked cum from your mouth with the back of your hand. You groaned as you stood up and heard the sounds of your bones cracking from the position you were in.

His steading hands were more than welcome to your aching body, and you allowed him to guide you back onto his lap on the motorcycle. Needing to feel any kind of friction, you ground your hips up against his and whimpered at the feeling of his cock against your pussy.

“Someone’s impatient, aren’t we?” Draken teased with a small grin decorating his face.

Chuckling, you put your foreheads together and aligned his dick with your entrance. “You have no right to say that.” You bit back a moan and gripped his shoulder using your free hand at the feeling of him stretching your pussy. His grip on your hips tightened as he helped you slowly make your way down, allowing you to adjust at your own pace rather than forcing you down.

The feeling of him was different without a condom, and you began to understand just why a lot of people preferred to have sex this way. The friction was greater and knowing that there was nothing between the two of you had you unconsciously clamping down, drawing a sharp hiss and tightening grip from Draken.

When his eyes started to close, you removed your hand from his dick and took his face in your now-free hand. Your thumb brushed over his closed eyelid and cheekbone in an effort to gain his attention. A smile pulled up the corners of your lips as your butt reached his lap once again, fully sheathing his dick inside you.

“How do you feel?” you muttered against his lips.

He hummed and thrust his hips once, bouncing you on his cock before smirking at your startled cry and the loud squelch of your sexes mixing together. “Too good,” Draken admitted. “I’ll have to be careful not to get addicted.”

Clinging onto his shoulders was all you could do as he set a brutally fast pace now that you warmed up, eager to chase that second release. The sounds of your moans and his balls slapping against your perineum echoed throughout the empty room, and you hoped in the back of your mind that no one outside paid any mind to the noises. It was the Red Light District anyway, you reassured yourself.

No words needed to be said as you clutched each other and set a steady pace that stole the breath from your lungs. The friction had you panting and whimpering in his ear until the build-up of pressure in your lower abdomen forced you to help him bounce on his dick.

You felt so full. Moaning, you stuttered out, “‘m gonna cum soon.”

Both of your thrusts turned erratic at the oncoming orgasms. “Just a bit more,” Draken panted in your ear. The sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine, and your nails dug into his shoulders as the pressure dropped. You held onto him as your entire body tensed and your eyes rolled into the back of your head, air unable to enter your lungs.

His continued fast thrusts had you shaking from the overstimulation, and the both of you mumbled out each other’s names until Draken abruptly pulled out to shoot his cum on your stomach with a deep groan.

Your pants filled the air while you both came down from your high, feeling a sense of reality re-establishing around you.

Draken leaned back to grin cheekily down at you and thumbed your cheek.

“We should do that again.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi!! do you mind making a george karim x reader fic? maybe like reader is sick as fuck and george takes care of them,, he gives them tea, medicine food and etc while their staying in bed ><

‘Thank you Georgie, your a life saver, truly.’ Your throat scratched irritably when you spoke; causing you to wince as you took the mug from George’s hands before indulging yourself on the therapeutic honey-lemon liquid inside.

“I wouldn’t have to play nurse for you, had you not decided to take a dive. Imagine all the research I could be doing right now.” George said dryly but despite this, his actions would always contradict them. For if he truly did hate being your nurse as he put it, then why did he always make sure you took your medicine in duration that the doctor prescribed, make you food, make you tea and even allowed you his comics for a source of entertainment whilst you were bed bound.

You’d have half a mind then to bring up all the aforementioned examples to him in a joking manner without it coming across as you taking the piss out of his kindness; which would only further George’s resolve in restricting from showing his concern in the future. No one likes their generosity taken for granted and you knew George wouldn’t either.

Instead you allowed George to take care of you without so much as a fuss. After all he’s had a lot on his plate from not only tending to you but also doing research for cases. So you decided that it’d be best for both of you if you were to be cooperative.

“Well I’m sorry for trying to save your arse, I’ll try not to next time.” You muttered against your mug, setting it aside after you were finished drinking, and burying yourself beneath the blankets when you started to feel cold chills running through your body. “Will you quit being dramatic,” George huffed, making sure that the blankets were tightly tucked against your form, “besides no one told you to save me, I would’ve been fine -had I not been wearing heavier clothing and it not been so cold out- but still You should’ve focused on saving yourself instead.” He finished.

George then took a step back to admire his work before considering it adequate enough, he reached for the empty mug on your bedside and was about to make his exit when you made a disgruntled noise. “You alright? You need anything?” He asked, quickly turning to look at you over his shoulder. “Just a little cold, I’ll be fine, you’ve done well more enough for me Georgie.” You told him softly, not wanting to burden him any further then you have for one day but he’d be damned if you thought that he would leave you in a state of distress.

You often told George that his heart was bigger then his chest that withheld it but it was never meant to be taken in a bad way, for it just meant that he cared more but hide so behind a passive aggressive wall of defence. So when he caught wind that you had gotten disastrously sick from the last case, George decided to take it upon himself to aid you back to health given the fact that he was inside a lot more then Lucy and Lockwood; Only if heading down to the British Archive to conduct some research wasn’t on the itinerary. If it was then he would leave a note that of which read:

How to take care of y/n; a guide for incompetent knobheads.

Yes, he thought that was hilarious.

“Stay put.” He told you but just as he was out the door, he heard you say ‘not like I have that much choice in the matter but sure, I’ll stay put.’ Which cracked a smile across his face. George returned soon after with a hoodie tucked under his arm -which was obviously drawn from his own wardrobe- as his hands were occupied with a glass of water and your medicine. Both of which he placed on your bedside table and tossing you the hoodie. “Here, put this on then take your medicine and go to sleep, I can start to see eye bags forming.”

“Ha ha ha, you’re so funny George.” You said sarcastically but wasted no time in pulling the hoodie over your head, immediately feeling a lot warmer thanks to the fleece that lightly lined the inside of the hoodie that was made to endure the cold, rainy weather that frequently occurred in England. “Better?” George asked, finding humour in how quick you were to cuddle yourself into his hoodie as soon as you slipped it on. “Much.” You replied before remembering to take your medicine and a swing of water to wash it down.

When sleep finally decided to pay you a visit, you began to bury yourself back into the covers again before George came over to make sure you were firmly tucked in and that your pillow was to your liking: once again showing you glimpse of the heart that laid beneath the layers he’s built and it was beautiful that you found yourself smiling softly at the tender moment. “What are you smiling about?” George’s soft voice broke you from your thoughts and you saw him look at you quizzically, his head tilted to the side which only made him look like an adorable puppy dog in your eyes.

“Nothing,” You told him, speaking equally as soft, “just thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

“Cheesy.” He replied but didn’t seem to think twice about resting his hands against your cheeks, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling away to run his thumbs against your skin. “And if I become sick tomorrow, I’m blaming you.” George adds as he pulls away from you completely, just about ready to get some shut eye himself.

“Consider it a token of my affection.” You joked, mind already half asleep while the other side pleaded for you to shut up and sleep.

“You’re something else you know that?” George fondly tells you.

You shrug, “is that such a bad thing?”

George thinks on this for a bit before replying, “I guess not. Especially for you it doesn’t, suits you well. Now get some sleep, breakfast will be waiting for you in the morning.” And with that George closes the door behind him and soon enough you were fast asleep.

[buckyownsmylife]

Crash & Burn - Chapter 2

The one where Bucky is your father best friend, and the man you want to take your virginity.

Bucky is losing everything: his wife, his business, his house. And when his best friend is too busy to offer him the support he needs, you offer him your ear and shoulder. He wouldn't find it too bad that getting closer to you made him see you with new eyes, if it wasn't for the one thing you asked in return: you want him to be the first man to ever fuck you.

For general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

Living in Frank’s place was an easier adjustment that I thought it would be.

Even though he was hardly ever around, I was never alone. From the second I got home after a day trying to work through the ridiculous mistake I’d made in my business, Y/N was there to help me get my mind off of anything even remotely serious.

It should be weird to be so happy spending time with someone almost half my age. But the truth of the matter was that it wasn’t. What difference did her age make when we were watching Tim Burton movies or playing charades? Sometimes, we didn’t even talk. She’d just sit next to me, working on her own papers while I typed away on my computer.

I’d never had this sort of company before. It made me feel like I wasn’t actually broken, and suddenly, I wasn’t so sad anymore.

How could I, when she was there for me, every step of the way? There were still things to be fixed, but my marriage wasn’t one of them. Where once my life seemed dull and unexciting, now I woke up everyday with a smile on my face, knowing I had a lot of work to do, but at the end of the day, would get to come home to some sort of home-cooked meal or my favorite take-out.

Sometimes, I’d even walk into the house to find an impromptu show waiting for me.

Well, that was a bit presumptuous of my part. It was clear she didn’t actually know I was there and didn’t expect me to be back so soon. And even though I was obviously invading her privacy, I was glad I left work earlier than I intended. She looked too adorable using the remote as her microphone, moving her hips to the beat of some music I could not identify.

The chuckle left my lips before I could reel it in at the sight of her shaking her hips, and that’s when she froze on her tracks. “Oh my God!” She exclaimed, hands over her mouth upon finding me there, resting against the wall as I watched her eagerly. “I’m so sorry,” she rushed to apologize and turn the volume down. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Frowning, I was about to reassure her there was nothing she needed to apologize for when I suddenly realized why the shirt she was wearing looked so familiar. Light blue, not even the folded sleeves could hide the fact that it was far too big to be hers - but of course, I knew that already.

I just hadn’t expected it to be my shirt.

My eyes took in every inch of her body hungrily, the surprise overruling any sort of logical thinking left in my brain. She looked good, with her legs all but exposed, the first few buttons of the shirt open to reveal even more of her soft skin for me to take in.

She looked… sexy. It was new.

“New outfit?” I opted to question, forgetting what I’d intended to say originally now that I knew she was wearing something of mine.

For the first time ever, my mind wandered off to dangerous territories, territories I had never once explored when it came to my best friend’s daughter, but before I could allow it to get too far, I shook myself out of it.

“Sorry,” she sheepishly smiled, adjusting the shirt under my heated gaze. “It was the first thing I found when I got out of the shower. I didn’t want to put on anything too restrictive.” I just nodded, eyes remaining on her as I swallowed around a dry throat and tried to understand what the fuck was happening to me.

“No, it’s okay,” I assured her, but it felt as if I was trying to assure myself of it, too. Everything was okay, wasn’t it? I’d just stared. That was all there was to it. There was nothing wrong about staring, and it’s not like I actually desired her.

I just needed to get off. It’d been way too fucking long.

“I don’t mind it. You can wear my clothes.” Clearing my throat, I averted my gaze and tried to focus it on something else in the room, anything. Deciding on the ceiling, I ignored the little chuckle she let out as she made her way towards me.

“Is that a promise?” She questioned, and I almost gasped in surprise when I felt her pull me by my tie. “Can I hold you accountable to it?” I felt my face burn up as her fingers deftly undid the knot around my throat, taking the constrictive item from me. It should have helped me relax - it should have made breathing easier, but as the first breath I drew brought her sweet perfume into my lungs, it only made me tenser.

It was quiet in the living room. I didn’t know what to say, but I wanted to know what she was thinking about as she played with the buttons of the shirt I was still wearing. Did she want this one too? She could have it. I didn’t mind.

“I’ve made you pasta,” she suddenly blurted out, surprising me from my inner monologue. “C’mon, I bet you’re hungry.” Releasing the white fabric, she reached for my fingers, and I let her tangle hers with mine and drag me towards the kitchen, all while I thought to myself - perhaps we shouldn’t be this close.

But I couldn’t get myself to step away.

After dinner, we snuggled on the couch while watching a movie. It was something we did almost every night, so there was nothing out of the ordinary about it - except for the way my heart pumped against my chest like I’d just finished a race, or as if I was about to face a fucking lion or tiger.

She looked up at me from under her eyelashes in the middle of a scene and suddenly… I want to kiss her, the thought materialized just for me to shake it away the second it tried to settle on my brain.

What the hell was going on with me?

“Any plans for Friday night?” I asked, dragging my eyes back to the television, trying to distract myself from her and the weird calling that had never really been there before. She seemed to consider my question for a few seconds before finally answering.

“A friend invited me to a party, but I’m not sure I’m going to go.”

“You should.” The words left my lips before I’d even processed it, and with the way she furrowed her eyebrows, it was clear that she was as confused as I was - but it made sense, once I stopped to consider it. She was young and she had so much to experience, so much she should be doing instead of staying in this house and babysitting me. “You should make an effort to leave the house from time to time. I haven’t seen you go to a single gathering since I moved in.”

She didn’t immediately answer me, and I forced myself not to look at her to check on her expression, see if she’d somehow realized why I was saying what I was saying. Rationally, I knew it was almost impossible, but as my heartbeat struggled to go back to a regular pace the longer we sat next to each other, her sweet perfume making my head swirl with every inhale, it was more of a matter of necessity than anything else, really.

“If you think so…” She pondered, relaxing back against the couch and allowing me to take a deep breath again as she did so. “I might go, then.”

“Good.” I nodded, determined to ignore the pang in my chest at the idea of her spending her Friday night in a loud, busy environment, surrounded by fuckboys who wouldn’t know how to treat her right.

It was the way it should be, though - I reminded myself of it. That’s what she should be experiencing, and as her father’s best friend, I should do my best to push her to create new memories while there was still time for her to do so.

Hell, as her own friend, that’s what I should be doing, too.

But it didn’t stop me from feeling this weird, emptiness deep in my chest, as I realized her finding someone to date at the party could very well mean the end of nights spent like this one - side by side, sharing a blanket, watching a movie together.

Sighing, I reached for the popcorn. Better make the most of it while it lasted.

[moongurl95]

Chapter 9 – Secrets of the Restricted Section

It was a sunny day that afternoon in early September, though the breeze coming through the Black Lake made the air cool and the gentle waves that could be heard lapping at the nearby Boathouse almost managed to lull Beatrice into a nice nap following her rather eventful morning and the hearty lunch she just had from the Great Hall—

“Enjoying ourselves, aren’t we?” Came the teasing tone from her companion, to which Beatrice could only hum in acknowledgement as she let her eyes close a moment too long before she could respond, “I quite like this view, Sebastian, thank you.” It reminded her of days back in the convent when she’d sneak down the cliffs to swim by the sea…

“I’m curious though…” Sebastian’s voice had her blinking past her drowsiness as she leaned back onto the gazebo’s railings, tucking her legs beneath her on the stone bench where they sat, the open book on her lap failing to hold her attention for much longer.

“About…?” She’d rested her chin on her hand in an attempt to stifle a yawn, finding amusement instead in having had observed how Sebastian scribbled away at his Charms homework, the tip of his tongue peeking out in concentration just moments ago. There was something charming about him, truly. Beatrice just didn’t know what to make of the Slytherin as this was, by far, the longest time she’d spent in the company of any boy her age. Mother Superior would have surely scolded her ear off had she seen her now, unchaperoned, no less.

“You mentioned your… Nana, being the one who raised you to be aware of Magic— does that mean she was in Ravenclaw too?” Sebastian’s question seemingly chased away any thought of rest from her sleep-addled mind as Beatrice weighed her next words.

“I— assumed she was… She— never really talked much about herself before marrying my grandfather. I actually only have this to go by…” Beatrice then slowly pulled out a simple bronze locket, the eagle intricately engraved on its face seemed to be enough evidence to her claim. She never dared to wear it before though, only kept it close to her person in fear that any of the Sisters might catch a glimpse of the enchanted moving photographs inside…

“May I?” Sebastian had asked, clearly intrigued as he held a hopeful hand out. Why not? She supposed there was no real reason now to hide any magical object in a Wizarding school, after all. In fact, the only thing she had to keep from doing right now was giggling at Sebastian’s poorly concealed attempt to try and find any similarities she shared with the only photos she had of her Nana and mother.

She remembered her Nana having a sternness to her features, while fair for her age at the time the photo was taken, was held back by her hair always kept in a tight bun. A sharp nose only accentuating what Beatrice would recall to be a mostly solemn pair of blue eyes, that looked out from the monochrome photo— no trace of a smile but just tilting her face towards the camera.

Beatrice had sometimes caught a far-away look cast upon her Nana’s face, though she was never privy to her past in the Wizarding World, she doubted the older witch was anymore aware of such a thing called Ancient Magic... Her mother however was a curious case.

A young lady, no older than Beatrice, smiled gently back from the photograph, Roséline Hayes had a calmly face which was softly framed by pale wavy locks of hair— Beatrice had nothing to go by other than this photo, but she found her mother to be quite pretty. Nana had also once remarked with a wistful smile, how her mother took mostly after her grandfather, and seeing how Beatrice didn’t seem to have inherited the fairer features from her maternal side of the family, this only cemented the fact that she might have taken more after her faceless sire, only adding to her Nana’s additional grief.

“Have you tried asking your mentor about her? They may have been contemporaries during their time at Hogwarts?” Sebastian had asked further, turning the locket over as if he’d find any more than what only the pictures offered.

“Professor Fig doesn’t recall of an Aileen who looks like my Nana. Although admittedly a first name is not much to go by if I have no idea of the maiden name she used to carry before then…” She trailed of as if in afterthought, “But enough about me, what about your parents? Was any one of them sorted into Slytherin?” Beatrice hastily chose to change the topic then, reaching for the locket in Sebastian’s hands as she carefully pocketed it.

Her companion thankfully let the matter focus on him instead, almost bashfully rubbing at the nape of his neck before he responded, “Only my uncle actually. My father was a Gryffindor and mother was a Ravenclaw, wasn’t the least bit surprised when the Sorting Hat gave us options.” He paused then, as if hesitating what to say next, “But like I said, Anne made the decision for both of us when she decided to befriend Ominis and I followed suit. I garner it’s the same for your case?”

“Likewise. Though what you said about the Sorting Hat giving you options, had it also mentioned anything about Hufflepuff?” Beatrice did wonder about the fourth house decked in vibrant yellow.

“Ah, our friends who are loyal to a fault, with patience being their virtue. The Sorting Hat may have also mentioned something along those lines to me before…” Sebastian had chuckled as if in remembrance before casting her a teasing look, “But the way I see it, ironically goes against what we’re planning later tonight…”

Beatrice awoke to the insistent chuffs from Hermes as he pulled at the strands of her hair, she had to quietly wave him away as she blearily tried to make sense of how much time had passed when she looked towards the hourglass by her roommates’ side of shelves— thankful that it was a quieter way to track time as she mostly heard Constance’s and Samantha’s soft snores of sleep.

Stroking the heart shaped down that lined Hermes’ feathered face, Beatrice gave him his treat for dutifully waking her up as she had instructed him to, before she quietly pushed open her bedside window to let the barn owl fly off into the night. Casting one last look at the journal entry she’d made about the day, Beatrice silently slipped on her school robe as she carefully made her way out of their dorm room…

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Keeping her footfalls light as she made her way up the wooden stairs and into the Common Room, Beatrice had only just passed by the armory guarding the staircase to the girls’ dorms when she’d then heard footsteps coming down from the stairs behind her. Thinking to back away further into the adjoined room by the fireplace, Beatrice held back a gasp as a hand came out to cover her mouth from behind, gently guiding her to crouch by a wooden trophy case beside the entryway curtain.

It wasn’t until the dim lighting had shown who it was did Beatrice try to even out her breathing, nodding as the other had raised a finger to his lips, motioning her to keep quiet before he’d let go of her as he stood straight and acted like he was just about to round the corner meeting the approaching footsteps, “Larson, all clear here?” Beatrice now recognized the haughty voice that spoke up first.

“Yes, and I’d also checked outside for anyone who couldn’t answer the riddle before curfew.” She saw Andrew reply lightly from her vantage point, not risking to confirm the identity of the other boy he was talking to.

“Can’t have the moonminds costing us more House points, after all.” A scoff, before the other had continued, “That gives me an excuse to use the Floo Flames then, you’re sure you aren’t coming to the Prefects’ Bath tonight? I heard some ladies were actually expecting you.” Beatrice couldn’t help but raise her brows in intrigue upon hearing the last part being said.

“I’d rather not, Fawley. Someone needs to wait for our Housemates to get back from their Astronomy class.”

“Suit yourself. Got the pick of the crop yet you’d rather be the nice lad that finishes last.” Their upperclassman left with a taunting laugh before the whoosh of the Flames had signaled Fawley’s departure.

Beatrice had watched Andrew’s tense posture slowly relax before she’d slowly straightened from her hiding spot and moved closer to him, “So… Popular with the ladies, I hear.” She’d tried for a lighter approach, but Andrew only frowned further as he shook his head, “It’s like an initiation for the new Prefects for the year actually, not quite the type of crowd I’d find myself fond of, really.”

It was his turn then to raise his brows, “But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook too easily.” Crossing his arms, Andrew now regarded her fully, “Please tell me you aren’t off to another Hidden Corridor or whatnot for the sake of another’s trivial sense of worth.”

“I see you’ve also heard about that then…” Beatrice may have caught wind as to what happened after she’d given Duncan his “proof of courage”, though the bespectacled boy had been wise enough to steer clear of her after making such comments about Blood statuses of all things.

“Turned him into a right prat, that he did— all bark and now would probably bite too. Will most likely have to intervene these days once Everett decides to snatch that damn leaf out of Hobhouse’s pillow.” Andrew rubbed at his temple, clearly looking troubled with the situation that Beatrice now felt quite remorseful, she had unwittingly caused it after all.

“I’d have to apologize Andrew, but I really need to go tonight, it’s… actually for myself this time— I promise to make it up to you in some way… Please?”

“I see, well...” He gave her a look as if in utter concentration before sighing, “Would it trouble you to grace me with your time this weekend on a trip to Hogsmeade then?”

That made her blink, she had already made plans to go there with Sebastian this weekend, so it definitely wouldn’t hurt to bring another friend along, “Of course, I’d be happy to.”

“Great! Then might I suggest using the Floo on your way out?” She watched as he gave a quick glance to the nearby grandfather clock before decisively saying, “Drop by at the one near the Divination Classroom and carefully make your way down the spiral staircase once there, it’d be a safer way to get to the Central Hall from here.”

“What—?” Before Beatrice could question how exactly Andrew would know where she was planning to meet Sebastian for the night, the blond was already quickly guiding her towards Ignatia Wildsmith’s bust, his last words of advice only intriguing her more before the Flames had engulfed her.

“And Beatrice, try to put your trust in people more, alright?

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Trust. Sebastian had really found it surprising that Professor Weasley had entrusted him with escorting his new classmate only yesterday, but then again, wasn’t it Beatrice herself that requested his company? And here he was again, having been the one she first thought of to ask in accompanying her in this curious search… He wondered what it really was she’d be looking for down there in those dusty shelves of books— most of which Sebastian himself had scoured over in his search of a possible cure for Anne’s curse.

It was obvious Beatrice was keeping something big from him— no matter how confused she was on casting that powerful blast of magic yesterday, Sebastian was sure it somehow related to why that goblin had Rookwood chasing after them in The Three Broomsticks. He’d risk assuming that Beatrice saw him as someone reliable at this point, but he needed to give her a reason to trust him with her secrets…

Sebastian thought this through silently as he just about relaxed his arms on the balustrade behind him when a flutter of robes caught his eye and there, silently making her way down towards him, was the subject of his current dilemma— the dim light silhouetting her form seemed to give her an even more enigmatic approach to which he’d felt his heart skip a beat, again. Sebastian tried to brush it off by smiling teasingly her way as he raised a finger to his lips, motioning for Beatrice to quietly come over to where he stood, “See there? That’s the door that we need to reach.” He nodded towards the Library’s left entryway, “And those annoying prefects would love nothing more than to rat on us to Scribner, so don’t let them see us— understood?”

“I can be sneaky. Let’s go.” She’d responded with such contained enthusiasm that Sebastian had to hold back a chuckle.

“Hold on now. There’s a spell you should know— the Disillusionment Charm. Good for getting places you’re not supposed to be. Cast it, and you’ll appear as little more than a trick of the light. Just as long as you keep your distance and stay quiet.”

“You mean I’ll actually be able to turn invisible?” Her eyes seemed to gleam like emeralds now as Sebastian watched her excitement form.

“Something like that. It’s not as foolproof as a cloak, but those are expensive. And spells— spells are free. Give it a try.” He wasn’t sure if this was one of the spells Fig had at least taught Beatrice over the summer, but Sebastian made sure to slowly show her the proper wand movement before he’d cast the Disillusionment on himself.

And while Sebastian wasn’t surprised at her getting it at the first cast, he had raised an eyebrow— or two— at observing how easily Beatrice even incorporated the use of Basic Cast to distract the prefects away from their respective posts. She really is good at being sneaky… He’d thought in amusement though remained quiet as a Jobberknoll following after her down the stairs leading into the Library.

It wasn’t until they entered though that Sebastian kept himself from bumping into Beatrice, “Blast. The librarian’s still here. Quick, behind the bookcase.” He’d grabbed at what he assumed to be part of her sleeve but was momentarily shocked to be met with the warmth of her hand, but he instinctively held onto her tighter as he pulled her into hiding before they’d cast off their Disillusionment.

“Damn.” Sebastian couldn’t help but curse quietly as he looked past the bookcase’s corner.

“You told me the librarian would be gone by now.” Beatrice hissed anxiously at him.

“I said ‘usually’, but it’ll still be all right. Do you see her desk behind me?” At seeing her terse nod in response, Sebastian had calmly continued instructing, “The key is in the drawer of that desk. Now, here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll create a distraction to draw her away, while you focus on getting the key. I’ll meet you outside the Restricted Section.” He’d finished, nodding over to the fenced-off area of the Library.

“Wait, why do we need a key? Isn’t there a spell for this?”

Sebastian met Beatrice’s obvious question with an almost sheepish look before answering, “Alohamora? That’s how I always used to get in, but the librarian twigged that I knew the spell and cast an Anti-Alohamora charm on the lock. So now it’s just this key.” Shrugging as he met Beatrice’s troubled look, he quickly tried to alleviate her worries, “But don’t worry. I said I’d get you in, and I always keep my word. Trust me.”

He felt her hand squeeze his back in understanding after he’d assured her, only now noticing that he’d been holding her hand all this while, “You distract; I get the key. Understood.” The way she’d gazed back into his eyes had him quickly pulling his hand away from her, hoping he’d cast his Disillusionment fast enough that she hadn’t noticed the way his face seemingly burned up. Sebastian attributed his racing heart to adrenaline as he quickly searched for a way to lure Scribner away from her desk, focusing on a chair as he quietly murmured Confringo to blow it up into smithereens.

“Is someone there? Is that you, Peeves?”

Now sure to have caught Scribner’s attention, Sebastian hastily drew away from the mess he’d made and anxiously waited for Beatrice by the locked entryway to the Restricted Section, hoping she really was as sneaky as he first observed her to be— “That wasn’t so difficult after all.” He relaxed somewhat upon glimpsing Beatrice’s shimmering silhouette cast in Disillusionment, quickly but quietly unlocking the gate, “Now, to find that book.”

Upon entering, Sebastian curiously observed as Beatrice’s silhouette quickly pilfered through a chest by the corner of the staircase after she’d murmured Revelio, only stopping her when she’d tried to reach for a book on their way down, “That one’s charmed to look more useful than it is. It’s fooled me twice. Never judge a tome by its cover, I say.”

“A tome had floated out of Scribner’s desk when I was getting the key. Thought for a moment it’d scream bloody murder when I saw my name on its page.”

“Ah, that would be the Book of Records, keeps every borrowed book in check— even the Restricted ones. Did you ask it for the title you’re looking for?”

“I actually don’t—"

Sebastian had to interrupt Beatrice as he quickly pulled her back towards him before they rounded the corner on the next floor down, “Ghost. Don’t let her see you.” He’d whispered, only then inadvertently realizing he’d grabbed her by the waist as he tried to get his mind to focus on making a distraction, but Beatrice beat him to it by casting at an armor across the room. He didn’t have time to wince at the noise that might even attract Scribner’s attention from upstairs, because Beatrice had now grabbed him by his hand and was swiftly leading them past the ghosts.

“Should be in the clear now. No need for us to be skulking about.” He’d huffed out a breath as they descended, casting off his Disillusionment before Beatrice followed suit, a dazzling flush evident on her cheeks as she smiled at him with barely contained excitement from their shared rush of adrenaline.

“So… What is it you’ve been looking for?” She’d asked in a hesitant tone as they continued their way down the stairs, seemingly not wanting to prod, but Sebastian had by now expected her to ask him that at one point. He thought on his response though, not wanting to see the usual look of sympathy being cast his way, especially from her who he felt the need to impress…

Waiting after she’d murmured a Revelio upon the section they’d just entered, Sebastian settled on giving her a vague but truthful answer, “I’m looking for a cure to help my twin sister, Anne— so that she can return to Hogwarts. Because Merlin knows everyone else has given up.” He’d waited then to see how she’d respond, dreading she’d only look back at him with pity evident in her green gaze, but instead she’d looked up from her Field Guide to cast him a look of confusion.

“Why do you think you’ll find a cure in the Restricted Section? Does the Hogwarts matron have nothing that can help Anne?” This was a start. She hadn’t dismissed his plight with baseless words of comfort, in fact, she even sounded like she’d taken his words in disbelief as she continued to search the area they were in.

“No. We’ve tried everyone from Nurse Blainey to St. Mungo’s.” He tried to explain, watching with a hint of curiosity as she’d pulled out a jangling pouch of what looked like Galleons from a chest she’d opened, “But I can research on my own. No need to concern yourself with that right now. Let’s focus on what you’re after. Which is what, precisely?” Sebastian pushed the pouch of coins back towards her as she tried to offer it to him in full.

“I’ll know it when I see it.” She’d countered just as vaguely, counting the pouch’s contents before she seemed to pocket a portion of it then insistently pushed the rest into Sebastian’s hands.

“You’re being awfully cryptic.” He’d caved, not wanting to push back but equally just as frustrated, despite having accepted the pouch of coins she’d offered.

All Sebastian could do for now was silently watch over Beatrice as she gleaned pass books, skimming through titles and tapping on the ones he’d assumed might have caught her interest— the latest causing him to raise an eyebrow, “Secrets of the Darkest Arts? I’m impressed.”

He caught himself from saying more though as he carefully eyed Beatrice’s reaction to his comment— half expecting a disapproving look from her— yet she only stared at the tome a second longer, expression unreadable, before moving away. Interesting was one thing, but now Sebastian had to wonder just how open Beatrice was to learning a few darker spells— something told him she’d need it…

Entering a door in the backmost part of the room, Sebastian kept his eyes about, he always thought this area to be just a place of storage for the whole Library, he’d doubt Beatrice would find anything worthwhile here. Though he began to second guess himself after she’d cast another Revelio upon the room, before heading towards what looked to be a chest just inconspicuously placed on a tabletop.

More miniature than the previous ones he’d seen her pilfer through, Sebastian couldn’t help the look of disbelief on his face upon seeing the wand handle Beatrice had pulled out— there illuminated by the nearby desk lamp was a handle that looked to be exactly like his own! “Would you look at that… might just as well be the original piece, don’t you think?” He’d murmured, still not quite sure himself.

“I didn’t think I would take you seriously the first time you mentioned these wand handles back in Hogsmeade, but this is my 4th find, so what are 38 more? Might as well make space for this collection, won’t you agree?” Beatrice’s lighthearted tone only left Sebastian more flabbergasted.

“I’m sorry, did you say 4th? Wherever did you find the previous ones, if I may so ask?”

“I found my 2nd one in a similar chest much like this in Professor Fig’s classroom, though the other two were given more as thanks from Cressida Blume and Zenobia Noke after I’d— well, assisted them in recovering some personal belongings of theirs…” She’d replied almost sheepishly.

Before Sebastian could ask her more about it though, he was quick to pull Beatrice behind him as a nearby hanging armor came crashing beside them. The thunderous clashing of metals was enough to make them hold their breaths as Sebastian waited to expect the worst, their shaky exhales the only thing that could be heard between them. He waited seconds before deciding to cast Reparo but was all too suddenly interrupted by a malignant entity popping through the bookshelf right across from them.

“Who have we here? Sebastian Sallow and his new little friend, out exploring where they shouldn’t be!” Came the shrill voice, mocking them by even waving a finger in front of their faces, “Naughty naughty, you’ll get caughty!”

“Peeves, don’t you—” Sebastian’s voice was merely cut off by the nasty poltergeist’s incessant yammering whilst floating away, “I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell!”

“Blasted Peeves. I’ve got to stop him, or at least get to the librarian with a good excuse for all of this.” He grumbled, pulling away from his hold on Beatrice as he was about to hunt down the annoying fiend, when he felt a firm tug on his robe sleeve.

“Wait. I— don’t want you getting into trouble for me.” She’d look at him then, a troubled expression clear on her face as she gazed up at him, seeming unsure. Did she doubt he’d be able to handle this predicament or maybe she was wary that he’ll blame this all on her?

“I have a way with the faculty when it comes to disciplinary matters. Besides— I like having friends who are in my debt.” Sebastian chose to teasingly assuage her on both accounts, “Now, go. Good luck with your search.” He offered her an encouraging smile before turning away, off on a search of his own as he couldn’t help but grumble, “Now, where has that damned poltergeist got to?”

If his memory served him well, Sebastian did hear Peeves boisterously chanting about being trapped and confined in a jar once, and while he might be tempted to do just about that to the poltergeist, Sebastian dreaded the thought that he’d ultimately get expelled from Hogwarts after the chaos it’d most likely cause. He doubted even Ominis could save his hair after that— and although he had an inkling his friend knew where Sebastian was off to again, the sightless blond had absolutely no idea that Sebastian would not be going alone tonight on another trip to the Restricted Section.

Having found it already suspicious that even the couple of screeching ghosts were now gone from their posts on his way up, Sebastian thought it wise to keep himself under his Disillusionment as he maintained a peripheral view of the Library from the upper floor. Choosing to position himself away from The Old Librarian’s portrait, Sebastian crouched by the balustrades’ edge as he mulled over the most effective Silencing Charm he could use on Peeves— he had doubts if Oscausi would work on making an incorporeal being’s mouth disappear, but perhaps a simple Silencio might work—

“Guess who’s in the Restricted Section, asking for another round of detention? Of course, it’s none other than Sebastian Sallow, but can you guess the other fellow?”

Damn. Sebastian watched with growing dread as he saw Peeves finally come out of hiding, trying to catch Scribner’s attention, though since the garishly dressed ghoul was more known for his penchant for causing mischief and mayhem, the old witch hadn’t paid Peeves much mind at first. Thinking fast, Sebastian cast at the nearest object between the Library’s shelves on the lower floor where the poltergeist was weaving through— he needed to stall Peeves there long enough to shut him up.

Swiftly but silently taking the spiral stairs down, Sebastian kept a mocking interval of casting on random objects to make it sound like Peeves was the one causing all the ruckus, while also keeping the poltergeist distracted enough away from Scribner.

“What mess are you causing again now, Peeves?!” Scribner’s shriek sounded close enough that it jolted his focus from his Disillusionment and caused Sebastian to miss casting the Silencing Charm on the poltergeist by a mere good millimeter, which only resulted with Peeves weaving around him mockingly before—

“Sneaking in the Restricted Section— again!” Scribner now shrieked from behind Sebastian as he turned to face her, “I had thought we were through with this mischief. Clearly detentions are insufficient. I’m afraid I must take this to the Headmaster.”

Sebastian felt his blood chill then, about to make her see reason, “But—”

“That being said, Peeves informs me that you didn’t come alone tonight.” Scribner interrupted him, not wanting to hear any more excuses as she set a piercing look on her weathered face, “If someone has coerced you, I would have you tell me.”

For a moment, Sebastian glared at Peeves’ gloating smile before trying to meet the Madam’s stare, though he quickly had to look down in fear that she might notice his worried expression wasn’t exactly for himself but for someone else’s safety…

“You’re a bright boy. Don’t waste this.”

He remembered Beatrice’s almost searching gaze as she looked up at him, unsure, before they’d parted ways. Sebastian just realized what had crossed her mind then, but he now knew how he was going to answer if he was planning to win Beatrice’s trust. “There was nobody else. I came alone.” He’d met Scribner’s gaze then, straightening his shoulders as his voice answered with clear certainty.

“Oh, Sebastian.” The expected look of disappointed on her face came as no surprise to Sebastian as she tutted at him, “What will your uncle say?” The mention of his uncle as Scribner walked away made dread settle in the pit of his stomach, enough to not even care as Peeves blew a raspberry to his face.

Just as he was about to follow the librarian out to be escorted by the Prefects back to his Common Room though, Sebastian spotted the telltale flutter of cobalt blue robes moving away from a lower bookcase. He was glad to know Beatrice would get out of here safe, especially is she used the Library’s Floo Flame back to her tower, Sebastian just hoped she didn’t get into more trouble after this…

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