#just a short drabble for this one

[kittykalliarts]

For decades, the blank vision that Iudex Neuvillette wears near his heart has been subject to much discussion in Fontaine. Nobody remembers who it had once belonged to or why the ancient dragon protected it so jealously. It is said that if the Chief Justice would to stare at it for a long while, it would be sure to rain right after. Oh, how beloved that person must've been.

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “PRETTY BOY.”

— expect the worst when whitney has a stupidly, dumb puppy love crush on his upperclassman that happens to be you and even more so, when you predictably take notice of it. but, remember— he asked for it first, didn’t he? 3.5k w.

— warnings? yeah, mildly dub-con, handjob in broad fucking daylight, somewhat exhibitionism although no one gets to see the stupid, pretty boy squirm and upperclassman male reader who’s sort of.. a bitch. y’know the drill by now, plus a younger whitney (still an adult, no worries. I’m not into that sorta shit.)

Like a clueless moth instinctually drawn towards a burning flame, he’s no goddamn different than the clingy idiots who can’t seem to automatically take a hint when given so in their direction— y’know, the ones he’d audibly snicker and scoff at due to the sheer embarrassment, disgustingly obvious puppy love streaked along their flushed faces as they mindlessly follow the other’s every move. Innocently peer up in search of their crush’s approval like some sort of brain dead dog whose sole purpose is to joyfully please their master. Hell, it’s gross, and the blonde doesn’t make it any more difficult to showcase his wrongly placed dislike for it— yeah, by the repeated gagging noises spilling forth from his open maw.

“It’s nauseating to watch, stinks up the whole room with those big, puppy, doe eyes”— he’d openly say with an absent shrug of his broad shoulders, glinting, barely visible glimpse of the metallic barbell freshly pierced upon his curved tongue proving his judgemental statements to be otherwise.. fuckin’ hypocritical, no? ‘Cuz, isn’t that same piercing found in his mouth done due to one, single, stray comment you aimlessly made by chance?

Not like your liking of things plays a grand role in whatever he does, trouble he’s immediately roped into, fuck— no, definitely not! It’s a stupid, damn coincidence is what it is, nothing more and nothing less either. No need to uselessly pry any further in the meaning of his baseless actions. Just.. happened to have it done on the same consequential day you confidently expressed your idea that he’d get one because— y’a said it’d look good on him, didn’t you? And, look here, he fuckin’ did it like some cheap mutt. Obediently parted his rosy lips for your viewing pleasure to willingly prove to your pretty eyes that he truly went along with your absently made suggestion, for real. Gleefully hung upon your every important word like his life depended on it— god, it isn’t like that, okay?

An upperclassman he’s briefly looked up to is all you are, all you’ve ever been for that matter, and he’ll punch the shitty, fuckin’ lights out of any big mouthed idiot who dares to say so otherwise. Right in the guts for spouting out complete, nonsensical bullshit, alright?

Or is it time to reluctantly admit it with a bashful blush apparent upon his contorted features— accompanied by gritting teeth stubbornly grinding together in a futile refusal of his shoddy, unwanted sentiments burrowed deep within his stuttering heart? As if he’d ever would in your presence, which he possibly can’t help himself, to childishly imitate your gestures in the withering hopes that’d you scarcely notice his thinly veiled efforts, acts filled with meaning.

Well, well.. Whitney, the supposedly cold and untouchable bully here isn’t so unique nor different from those idiotic dumbasses he’d routinely poke fun at, huh? Time to face the embarrassingly evident reality set before him, whether his gaze dares to instinctively stray away or not from the unsettling truth— ah, good thing you’re here to seamlessly guide him on the right path, ain’t that right?

As for the so-called, morally ethical path he’s hopelessly talking about.. Perhaps, that’s a plain, ol’ lie he’ll repeatedly tell himself of so considering your shared reputations at hand. More likely than not, often referred to — as much as the nickname itself has the tip of his ears prickling scarlet, noisily yelling at the fuckers who cheekily name him that — your little, dumb puppy. Fuck, he’s not! The day he, himself, Whitney of all people, wordlessly bows down to the height of someone’s heel frustratingly grinding atop of his head, is the day one can loudly claim with unbridled conviction, that he’s officially lost his goddammit mind, that’s what.

Listen, you’re the one who faithfully promised and guaranteed your unwavering protection if he stuck to your sides like some fuzzy pet, so he did the obvious choice. Specially when met with the shitty conditions this rundown town, definitely shady for that matter, is. Rather be silently stamped as the ‘sly follower’ who went along with the smartest choice presented to ‘em— your offer, by the way — than some nobody seamlessly forgotten on the dirtied streets. Least, that’s what likely replays on and on in his mind like some cheap, broken record to dumbly convince his unmoving mind of what this annoyingly persistent feeling is deep within the pit of his quivering tummy. Annoying, ain’t it?

Speakin’ of tummy, you sure are touchy-feeling with him, aren’t ya? Not that he necessarily minds nor will outwardly admit the slightest shivers that comes to grace the entirety of his figure when met with the briefest grazes of your fingertips flush against his bare skin. Likes the physical contact intimately shared between you two? Fuck no— just keeping himself on your good side in case you were to suddenly discard him like you habitually do with your other.. nameless toys, which he doesn’t possess enough fucks to bother learning their names. As long as your flickering gaze doesn’t happen to stray too far from his, he’s actually, pretty content.

‘Course, it did progressively start off with the sorta things you’d absentmindedly do with your numerous friends. Brush of his golden strands glimmering against the gleaming sunlight— shit, even acted out like some cheesy rom-com at the way his face instantly heated up, glimpse of vulnerability you seem to so easily catch on with him and fuck, does he detests it— truly does like no other. Still, lets y’a carelessly stroke your fingers throughout the mess of a hairstyle the delinquent wears, even fucking.. tenderly pushed a single, stray strand of hair behind his burning ear. Shoulders instinctively drawn up in sheer defence at the tension residing within him because, really, how do y’a expect him to relax and ease up when it’s with you?

“What? What is it? Do I have shit in my hair or somethin’?” Oh yeah, nice goin’ on that fuckin’ stupid question of his, huh? Flush adorning the length of his face— god, even down towards his neck too— immediately deepening at the crude choice of words. Might casually speak so with anyone, but when it comes to you, he’s got this instinctual urge to not come off as some try-hard desperately trying to butter you up in hopes of your returned approval of him.

“Hm? It’s nothing, I just think you’d look cute if you grew out your hair a little bit. Don’t you think?” Ah, and there you go— with your surprising compliments spoken out of the blue like that.

“Cute?? Are you seriously tryna fuck with me right now?” Defensive mechanism or whatever to draw up that blank conclusion since this is just about the first time any sort of adjective resembling that of ‘adorable’ by the way, could’ve been made to plainly describe a rowdy, unrelenting boy such as Whitney.

“What? You don’t think so? I think you’re cute as shit, Ney-ney.” That fuckin’ nickname again, god. Quit it, will ya? And, don’t try to tentatively lean closer in his personal space when calmly making that stupid remark too! Your goddamn— ah, hot breath effortlessly heating up the shell of his ear, curled lips almost, insistently pressed against his cheek. “Real fucking cute, actually. Definitely cuter than the average boy that’s for sure— prettier too, but you’ve got too much of a stick up your ass to admit that, don’t you?”

At this point, you’re practically taunting him, and he would’ve unabashedly swung his fist if it weren’t for that said person being you. Grin cracking upon your lips at the doe, wide-eyed look he’s greeting you with, seemingly unable to utter so much as a word to that uncharacteristically depraved statement, or is that your idea of a damn compliment to another guy? Shit, that’s right! Both guys is what you two are— so, his cock hidden underneath the fabric of his ripped jeans, languish legs lazily stretched out along the creaking, wooden bench, shouldn’t be stirring up with peeked interest at the mind numbing prospect of endlessly being called ‘pretty’ by you. Nor profusely encouraging the alarming amount of translucent pre-cum dizzyingly forming at the swollen tip of his cock head, crudely staining the material sheer. Give the blonde a supportive head pat while you’re at it, too. Ah.. should be saying somethin’ right about now lest he wants to appear as some bashful fool.

“I don’t—“

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t swing that way, I know. I’m not hitting on you, I’m just telling the truth as it is. Got any idea how many guys would line up just to fuck your dirty mouth? Maybe your tits too, if they’re into that sorta stuff— shit, I think they’d go for the ass too, definitely. I could make a goddamn fortune just whoring out your pretty, slutty body to the old fucks at the pub, y’know that, Whit?” Endless chattering on and on, explicit details of how some grubby old men could be here, disgustingly groping his flesh instead. Yet, that lingering glimmer within your gaze, noticeably darkening in return at the mere idea of it as your thumb comes forth to idly tap at his blazing cheek.

“But, you know.. I don’t. I won’t. Not cuz’ I’m a nice guy or anything— hah, truthfully, I’m no better than them for wanting to ruin a pretty face like yours.” You’re.. god, he can’t keep up with whatever shit you’re nonchalantly spouting, gracing solely his ears to be the one to silently listen to this.. crap, can’t really say it— fluttering in his tensed stomach from your bold admission, depraved wants just as much as he does late at nights— wanting to fuck him too.

“Honestly, do you know why I don’t use your sorry fuckin’ ass, Whitney?”

If he’s meant to attentively keep up with your words by now, then his brain has happily shut off due to the dizzying amount of semi-insults, degration and somewhat praise shot in his way. Like he’d fucking know, shit!

“See, it’s cuz’ it’s real funny to watch you trotting ‘round my side like some dumb, fucking puppy begging for its owner’s attention. I give you just a bit of praise, and your doggy tail would start wagging if you even had one. You look so goddamn stupid that it’d hurt my conscience to sell you out like this. And, I don’t like it when other fucks touch what’s mine either. I’m not running some gracious charity, am I?” To be truthful, if you tirelessly keep up with that incessant spouting, he’s bound to boil over like some screeching, burning kettle considering.. the obscene amount of scorching heat riddled across his features currently, adorning his cheeks so stupidly — and prettily too, huh— crimson red for your unwavering gaze solely. Seems like you’re liking the rare show in front of you quite a bit, aren’t you?

Stunned would’ve been one of the few lacking words remaining in the thick, daunting dictionary to scarcely describe the absolutely idiotic expression he’s nicely sporting right about now.

“Shut up.. I’m not—“ Fuck, fuck, fuck!! And, how the simple concept of verbal speech dutifully fails the bully at a time like this. Great going there, fuckin’ dumbass! Visibly seething would’ve been the most reasonable reaction in face of this, but— but— fuck! Entirety of this crap is all too quick for his sluggish mind to steadily keep up with your unpredictable actions, pathetically keening with a drawled out curse— no, more like a high-pitched whine is what it truly sounds like, once your calloused palm gingerly strips him free from his relatively loose jeans in one fell swoop.

“What the fuck’re you doin’—?? Mmph, fuck.. don’t—“ Dumb question to be asking when the self-evident answer is plainly in front of him.

Weeping cock, flushed in the cooling, outside air, naturally springing forth out of its constricting confines to audibly slap against his bare rigid tummy. Aw, now ain’t that real pretty to witness? Timid, twitching cock profusely leaking out sticky pre to messily smear along the curve of the blonde’s stomach, which you promptly do the honours for him, unabashedly too.

Always been pretty confident in your audacity to joyfully serve people, haven’t you? By god, he’s half-hated ya for meddling with others private businesses to begin with, although his throbbing cock being so smoothly tended to can say otherwise, idly disagree with his withering logic. Shakily sighing, puffing out heated huffs of air as your so— fuck.. annoyingly warm and soft hand loosely tucks ‘round his fat cock, teasingly squeezes him down at the base. Meanly drawing out more pearly globs of his dribbling pre-cum with a resounding, wet squelch!, undeniable proof of his shared arousal at the newfound situation he’s unfortunately finding himself in.

‘Unfortunately’— one says, funny that you see right through that by the mocking nature of your barking laughter, sharply ringing within his ears.

“My, who’s the exact fucking pervert here, Whit? Y’seem pretty hard to me. Actually, you’re dripping wet down there, y’know that?” No fucking shit. Ready to single-handily cum from a single, measly stroke of your fist snugly wrapped around the veiny girth of his quivering length— fucking hell. Head instinctively thrown back to which you soon wistfully take advantage of, ‘course you would, wouldn’t you? Lazily pressing hot, heated kisses along the sharp edges of his jawline that soon has the same bully, known to be so very resistant, stifling wanton moans, firmly clasping a palm over his gaping mouth in a heedless effort to remain discreet as possible. Slithering, pink tongue laving and tracing over the heated shell of his ear, ushered snickering coupled by bouts of utter filth being so brazenly whispered towards him. And your canines— ah, are not helping at all either. Grazing the bobbing curve of his throat, delicately sucking a bruising mark upon the tanned skin to pridefully admire over later. “Nnh— no, fu— ah, uuckk! N-Not there, you bastard!!”

“Not here? What’s the matter, Ney-Ney? Can’t fucking speak properly when your pretty, pink cock is being stroked off like this?” Would’ve scornfully refuted you, barked out the meanest curses that would’ve had an elderly woman shockingly clutch her pearls if given the chance, but stealing a discreet glance down to humiliatingly witness how sticky and wet his tip has gotten, messily stained your palm in a string of creamy, white pre is not.. Possessing way too much pride to do so. “Y’see, you like this— hah, fuck— you like it when I actually take what I fucking want from you and ruin you down to this cute, little, slutty mess, yeah?”

“I-It’s not like that—“ Uncharacteristically meek protest on his part. Cat got his tongue, ‘s that it?

“No? Pretty boy. Use your words, will you?” Oh, fuuuuckkin’ god. Seeing sheer darkness as his eyes reflexively roll backwards to his skull from casually being called ‘pretty’ by your lulling voice.

Have any idea the way your hushed words dizzyingly affects his fuzzy brain? Renders him alarmingly stiff like a stoned statue, wobbling knees surely bound to buckle beneath the weight of your relentless taunting, all the while being boldly jerked off in broad, fucking daylight — hidden amongst the rustling bushes of the park, mind you — still, very much in an open space where one can be so easily seen by oncoming passerbys. And even then, the absolute control you possess over him, sneakily snaking your arm ‘round his middle, relishing in the little, heated gasps hurriedly rushed out of this dirty, fucking perverted bitch of a blonde’s mouth is too way goddamn much for him to precariously withstand another tortuously long second of this shit.

Yeah, one more minute? He’s fucking busting by then.

“What’s the matter? Can’t keep up? Gon’ shoot your filthy load soon, ‘s that it?” Mild disinterest lacing your very tone with a slight hint of, what’s that..? Actual anticipation? Hah, as if he can barely discern between the mind buzzing layer of reality set upon him when coupled by your soft— so fucking warm, shit.. hand relentlessly fisting him dry, milking every thick droplet steadily trickling forth. Uncaring for the accumulated mess below you both as his hips instinctually roll forward against the rewarding palm of your curled fist, sickeningly jolts at a noticeably harsh press of your padded thumb atop his oozing tip. “Well, then.. Go ahead, I’m not stopping you, am I?”

“Cmon, pretty. Paint my hand all sticky and nice for me, yeah?”

Predictably so, as the uttered rumours had notably confirmed— how downright desperate Whitney’s always apparently been for you to the damn point that he’s automatically cumming on command like a dog patiently withholding for its owner’s words and oh, was it fucking worth the extensive wait. Stifled whimper weakly slipping out, fingers immediately latching onto the comforting feel of your forearm lazily slung around his quivering figure for proper support. No use in making a fool out of himself by clumsily buckling down to his slacked knees— not that he hasn’t already, though too late to be thinking about it twice, huh? Thick, sticky strings of his hot seed directly shot out of his pulsing cock and into the air to, as expected, pervertedly dirty your open hand in a mess of his load which is kinda.. hot, no? Fuckin’ get ahold of yourself, shit! Minus the rest having uncontrollably splattered downwards onto the ground, pitifully traced in a puddled mess of droplets.

And somehow, the barely discernible hint of a relieved breath tumbling from between his parted lips. The natural conclusion that this is it, oncoming closure bound to take its place yet still— still, damn it; Always managed to keep the dirtied blonde on the edge of his toes, haven’t you?

So, truly, it shouldn’t have came off as an unexpected shock then, how you so brazenly mumble a stuttered curse beneath your puffed sighs at the melting sight. “Ah, fuck.” Swiftly freeing your fat— well, admittedly hefty cock for his following eyes to shamelessly gawk at in turn because, y’know.. fuck, he won’t outright voice it, but the sinful glimmer in his wide gaze says it all. Innate itch, unadulterated need— god, to merely sling down to his knees, sloppily drool all over your tasty-looking cock and coat it all shiny and wet with his spit. Although, too busy admiring the rare glimpse of your contorted features strained with pure, unrestrained concentration to bother paying much attention to the repeated, distinct fapping! noises of your cock being so hurriedly stroked raw, as if in a hurry, almost.

Furrowed brows deepening, lashes fluttering in their wake as your rosy lips that he’s known time and time again to be nonchalantly formed into a grin— now, so prettily stained crimson by the harsh press of your teeth against your puffy, bottom lip. “Don’t— ugh, fucking look at me like that.” You audibly groan out in the mix of a huffed chuckle. Slightest flush delicately dusting your cheeks a pink hue, so damn pretty too. “Hah, it makes things kinda awkward, y’know?” Ah, takes less than a stretched minute for his brain to acutely process what’s hit him before given the proper chance.

Something hot— and sticky too, actually it’s pretty evident what it should’ve been if he wasn’t so goddamn brain dead within this bleary moment. Splattering amongst the already present mess you’ve both collectively made of yourself, thick ropes of sweet cum landing right upon his rumpled uniform you’ve taken a gleeful joy of permanently ruining. Judging by the cackling laughter soon drawing forth outta ya thanks to the sheer, dizzying sight of the cum-stained mess he’s forced to pitifully endure for the time being.

Look what you’ve done, god— even if you manage to be one step ahead of him, as always, in such a predicament as the delinquent merely receives a thrown jacket straight in the face. “Sorry for ruining your nice shirt of yours, I couldn’t really help myself when you looked so dumb like that. Take it as an apology, alright?” Exhaling out shakily in the chilling air suddenly alarmingly cold without your warm weight shifted against his own, too deliriously fucked out of his mind to muster up a rightful remark to your cheaply made one. Dumb, little ol’ puppy is what he is to you, no?

And perhaps then, it’s the idiotic absurdity of your actions, swiftly turning away like the encounter itself hadn’t even taken place right at this very spot. Footsteps progressively fading amongst the rhythmic crunches of fallen leaves fluttering down from the withering trees, gaze tentatively flicking downwards to where your stupidly soft, discarded jacket rests within his arms. Meaningless gesture is what it should’ve been notably perceived as, though that doesn’t really help the gradual thump! of his swaying heart noisily beating against his chest nonetheless.

That’s not— oh.

Oh.

“..Fuck.”

Yeah, being wholly swallowed by the ground beneath his feet doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?

[m3talmunson]

It started with babes. Babes is completely platonic right? Nothing out of the ordinary there. Eddie was known for being over dramatic, why would nicknames -or in this case, pet names- be any different?

Babes wasn't even that over the top, so why was Steve blushing like a school girl after it was said in passing?

Steve definitely knew why, although, he was going to pretend he didn't. But he knew, about himself, about Eddie. A couple months after spring break '86 Steve had a very enlightening talk with Robin about his feelings. Towards Munson. Those completely and totally platonic feelings.

And a couple weeks later, as though Eddie was so in tune with Steve's discovery, Eddie came out to Steve at a campfire with Robin and Nance. Those two had wandered off, Eddie made some comment about "Good for Robs," before realizing his mistake. That was, until Steve said "Yeah, good for Robs," and Eddie just had to ask.

"You know about her? Y'know..."

"What? Eddie? Of course! She's my best friend."

"And you're ok with it?" Eddie was kind of shocked. Great 'King' Steve wasn't going to sick the dogs on Hawkins Local Lesbian? And it seemed like he had known longer than Eddie?

"Yeah, when you survive hell and back enough it's pretty hard to hate anyone for being gay." Steve left off the part where he was also into guys. He knew Eddie was ok with that, clearly ok with Robin, but Eddie might not be ok with being the guy Steve was into.

"Oh. Well," Eddie didn't know if it was the couple beers he had downed, or his newfound safety with this big ol' group of misfits, but he was comfortable asking Steve, "What if I was like Robin too?"

"Are you?" Steve asked. He wasn't going to get his hopes up over hypotheticals, but he could admit he had feelings for the older boy. He wasn't sure what feelings to be honest,but he was figuring that out as he went. He just knew they were more than platonic.

"Well, technically I'm the opposite of Robin, y'know. Not attracted to women. But yeah, I am." Eddie stared into the camp fire, torn between hoping that it would eat him alive, or that it would simply stare back.

"Okay, thanks for trusting me." Steve responded, plain as day.

He had asked Robin, if someone were to come out to him (granted they were not just drugged by Russians), what would she have wanted to hear. And he finally got the chance to use it, seeing the way Eddie's shoulders dropped in relief.

"So you're like actually ok with it?"

"Like I said, been to hell and back with you, who you love doesn't mean a thing over that."

" Yeah," Eddie said,"But most straight guys don't like it when gay guys flirt relentlessly with them."

"We'll keep that one between us then, won't we?" Steve wasn't entirely ready to correct Eddie on the straight thing, so he just didn't acknowledge that part. He chose to ignore the blush rise on his face, blaming it internally on the heat of the fire.

He also tried to ignore that at that point, the nicknames picked up.

It started with babes. Then baby, which made Steve's brain flutter. Then sweetheart. Eddie only used that one when he wanted something, and yet Steve still loved it. Stevie was one of the fan favorites. Not really a pet name, but used just as lovingly as one. Sometimes Eddie held out the end, in a sing-song voice. Made Steve weak in the knees. Eddie knew what he was doing.

It was babe that made Steve do something about it. Eddie used sweetheart, baby, Stevie, around everyone. In front of the kids, on his various trips to Family Video (whether to buy or annoy, who knew). But babe. Babe was just for Steve and Steve alone.

So of course, the only logical order of events was for Steve to start using them back.

It started with babe, the obvious choice. Fight fire with fire, or whatever. The meaningless pet names ended with babes too.

Because after Eddie kissed Steve to shut him up, they suddenly had meaning.

[sleepyjuice]

jj is 100% a dog person. he was laying in the hammock outside the chateau one day, beer in his hand and his hat resting low on his face, covering his eyes as he was enjoying the calm weather that had come the day after a pretty nasty storm hit the island when he heard movement nearby, causing him to sit up and pull his hat back up properly on his head.

“hey who-“ he called out, looking towards the direction of the sound, expecting human company, but was met with a timid looking dog slowly making its way towards him.

“ohhh, hey… hey little guy. c’mere, it’s okay.” he stood up slowly, his voice soft as he gently kneeled down to the dogs level as it fully approached him. the dog was apprehensive but eventually stopped once it was stood in front of jj, the two at eye level now.

“what happened to you, huh? where’s your owner?” he looked over the dog, which he now knew to be a boy, eyes scanning his neck as he searched for a collar, but there was none. he moved his head to fully inspect him, looking for any signs of injuries. the dog didn’t look injured though, just scared. he must have ran away or gotten loose during the storm somehow.

after a while, the dog realized he wasn’t in immediate danger around the tall man he had found, even letting jj pet his neck softly. so he followed jj inside when he ushered him in to get him a bowl of water and search for any kind of food that would be suitable for a dog.

he ended up finding a few slices of cheese and some deli meat, which he deemed good enough for the time being. the dog was quick to eat it all up and finish the bowl of water jj had gotten him, soft curious eyes full of gratitude and adoration looking up at the kind man who had just fed him.

“ahh fuck, what am i gonna do with you?”

[yayakoishii]

sanji with a very flirtatious and physically affectionate reader 🤩

Flirt | Sanji x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader

Word Count: 800+ words

Genre: Fluffy drabble~! A little bit silly!

A/n: I originally wasn't sure if I could write this because I don't know how to flirt. So I wasn't sure how to write a flirty reader but this one came out by itself when I started writing. It's a silly little thing to be honest >///<. Thank you for the ask anon, I hope you enjoy this! <3

also available on ao3!

Familiar hands wrapped around Sanji's midriff, catching him off guard. It wasn't enough to upset the pan he was cooking on, but the momentary fear of spilling the hot food on you by mistake made his heart jump.

"Saaanjiii," you mumbled into his back, and the chef had to stop himself from fainting at the way he could feel your chest touching his back, along with your lips mouthing words that were tickling him. "I'm hungryyy~!"

"R- Right away, (y/n)-chan!" Sanji stammered, dying internally from the adorable lisp in your voice from having just woken up. You did this every morning, waking up before the rest of the crew. You would slip into the kitchen unnoticed and hug him from behind. The first time it happened, he had nearly upended the egg mixture. Even though he wasn't as surprised anymore, it still drove him insane when your tiny, soft fingers would hold him gently, like he was fragile, but also firmly, like if given the choice, you would never let go.

"The smell of your food always wakes me up," you mumbled, rubbing your face into his back. The chef flushed at the action, beating down the urge to wrap you up in his arms. You were too adorable, and he wasn't sure if you knew how your actions affected him. "I'll freshen up, keep my plate ready?"

"Of course, my sweet," he managed out, telling himself to breathe through his nose. He felt you detach then watched you leave the room before he let his shoulders slump. You were not good for his heart, with your physically affectionate ways and sweet and sometimes suggestive words. But you always said them so innocently that he didn't think you were doing it on purpose.

When you came back, you were more awake and gave him a small squeeze on his hand as a thank you for the food. Sanji sat down opposite to you, watching you eat and talk, answering and giving his inputs wherever he could. Sometime in the middle of the conversation, your foot had swung over to his and it was now trailing up and down his leg in a ticklish way. Sanji saw your lips twitching at the end when he tried to remove his leg and oh.

You were totally doing it on purpose.

So he indulged you, not moving his leg and just letting you feel him up– even though he was blushing hard by the time you were done eating. When you finally removed your leg to stand up, he let out a small sigh or relief and just watched you bounce up to the sink and place your plate. You washed your hands and took a towel to dry them, knowing that Sanji was watching you. With your hands finally dried, you made your way back to where he was sitting and this time, you decided that it was time to be obvious. Clearly, Sanji wasn't getting the hint.

"Back up a bit, Sanji," you tilted your head as you spoke. He didn't question it and immediately put some distance between the chair and the table, eyes still on you. Carefully, you manoeuvred into the gap and plopped down on his lap, startling the chef. Sanji automatically wrapped his arms around your waist so that you wouldn't fall and the pupils in his wide eyes dilated at the proximity.

"(Y-/n)-chan?" He stammered a bit breathlessly. You were in his lap, in his arms, smelling like your citrus soap and it was too much for him and his poor little heart. "W- What are you doing?"

You hummed, picking up his tie and pulling it a little; not enough to get him to move or even feel choked, but just enough for him to feel the pull. "I like it here."

"H- Huh?" Sanji couldn't believe his ears.

"I like you like this," you murmured, letting your right ear press up against his chest, curling up in his arms. "I love that you can flirt with all these girls but the moment I flirt back, you're redder than a tomato. I love how when I touch you, you go a little breathless and stammer unlike your usual cool self. I love that I have this effect on you, but Sanji."

The said man was stiff under you, not even breathing.

"You never get serious," you pouted, taking your head off his chest to look at him. Sanji looked like he was in hell and heaven at the same time. "Do you not like me like I like you?"

You tilted your head at the question and that was it. Blood spurted out of Sanji's nose and he fainted, head dropping back. You blinked for a second before realising what happened.

"Sanji? Sanji?! Oh my god, CHOPPER WAKE UP, SANJI ISN'T RESPONDING!!!"

°•❀•°

[cherry-pop-elf]

Drink With Me

George Weasley x Reader

AN: For poor @im-trying-my-best-yall who needs some needed fluff

Sum: George has been acting pretty weird around you recently. He keeps trying to say something to you, but whenever he does he seems to switch topics right before he says it. You figured he’s just stressed about planning for WWW after school ends, but it’s getting annoying now. So you confront him

Warning: Short and Sweet

“Georgie! Hey, I gotta ask you something!”

There you hurried after him, to cut him off from heading to his next class. The rare times he and Fred weren’t glued to the hip. George took up new class that just wasn’t Fred’s speed. Was something about Baking if you recall correctly. Fred prepared to cook. Had to take the chance, while he’s alone, so no one could intercept you both.

“Hey shortie, what’s up?” He would ruffle at your hair, as you quickly fixed it. Those Weasleys and their string bean genes. Made him tower over you. Always left with a hurt neck if you talked to him too long. Hopefully this will be short.

“You’ve been trying to ask me something for the past few days, and I figured now that I caught you that you can tell me. So what’s up?” You asked him. Asking seemed to be what he feared the most out of you.

His wand was soon rubbing his neck, his freckles cheeks flushing, and his doe eyes darting. He just seemed to instantly clammer up. Just not seeming to be the confident ladies man he normally is. He is just a wet hand mess. What was going on?

“Oh yeah….That. Yeah uh….Um.”

Oh how his eyes were darting around. He was trying so hard to find an excuse to not Ben in this situation right now. To find something to make him shut up. To escape this pin. But no one was around. No one anywhere, not even Peeves to give mercy to the bastard in the Gryffindor Robes. He needed to face this head on.

“Was um. Just wondering if you wanted to hit up the Three Broomsticks together. That’s all.” He tried his best to act casual, and shrug. Made you all the more confused.

Why is this making him so flustered?

“Ok…..Werido. That sounds nice. We could hit it up sometime after class. Fred and Angelina should be-“

“Without them…..”

Oh…..Oh.

Just the two of you. No brother, no other friends. Just the two of you. Like a date. Like a normal date that normal couples do. Normal normal normal little dating. Just a date between two people. A date date.

“……I uh. Yeah, I think I can do that.” You swallowed, as this was starting to really register now. He wanted to ask you out on a date. Still, why was he so flustered over it? He’s asked out plenty of guys and gals before. Never sweat this much. Even Fred straight up called Angelina across the table to the Yule Ball, and that was the end of that. What made you different?

“You weren’t dared to do this, were you?”

He stared down at you with the most offended expression possible. As if you called him a blood traitor. Some kind of slur that would make Molly faint. He looked ready to smack you, but of course he wouldn’t. He never would lay a hand on you. Unless you asked.

“What?! The hell you mean ‘was this a dare-‘ bullshit? No! This isn’t some dare. What gave you an idea like that? Fred and I have standards. Pranks like that are not only overly simplistic, but there is no joke at the end of it. Who’s laughing? No one. Give me some respect-!”

He gave you a hip bump, and it made you laugh. Helped you feel a little better over the whole situation. Maybe you were different for other reasons. Maybe he was bashful because you two had been friends for so long. It is pretty awkward to ask a friend out. If they say no, well….You can’t really take back what you said.

“Ok ok, I’m sorry Mr. Weasley. I shall never question your pranking methods again. Now hurry to class, before you get detention. If you get detention we can’t grab butter beers. Go on and get-!” You hip bumped him right back, and he gave that cute crooked smile. One that showed there was no worries to ever hold. That he’s all laughter.

“Alright I’m gone! All gone! Poof!” And down the hallway he went. Vanishing around the corner, as you now were dancing a squealing. Flapping away at your robes in total utter glee.

George Weasley asked you out.

Had you stimming like crazy, unaware that a certain red head had his own stimming session all the same. Flapping his hands to try and calm down. So damn happy you said yes.

[whump-queen]

Silver

tags: forced intox, manhandling, "servant" whump but lets be honest he's basically a pet

-----------

Seven could smell the sharp sting of tequilia on Wes’ breath before he even saw the bottle.  

“Open up, servant.” Wes smiled and leaned in, forcing the stench further into Seven’s face, making him nearly gag at what he knew was coming. God he could already taste it. 

Seven tried to pull away, but a heavy hand found the back of his neck and harshly gripped his hair, holding him fast while the other hand messily shoved the bottle of silver upward and forced it past Seven’s lips. 

Seven knew not to struggle. He how to close his nose without plugging it by now. He’d hold his breath. He’d hold his—fuck. It burned in his empty stomach instantly. 

Considering all the occasions Wes had forced his servant to drink, Seven should’ve been an expert at this. But experience didn’t mean his nights went without mishap, and just because he knew how to drink it down for a few sips, it didn’t mean Wes would let up this time, forcing him to take gulp after excruciating fiery gulp until his mind was screaming for oxygen and for the poison to stop. Just stop. 

He could feel hot tears running down his face. He needed to breathe. It took everything in him to swallow and not fucking wretch as soon as Wes yanked the bottle away. Oxygen hit his lungs and he gasped for breath until he felt lightheaded.

“Can’t waste it all on a fucking servant,” Wes sneered, releasing his fingers from Seven’s hair, roughly tousling it instead. The force of his hand made the room spin and Seven could already feel it hitting him. Burning away deep his stomach and making his face feel hot and tingly. 

Wes turned away and Seven instantly grasped the wall, taking a few agonizing deep breaths, just trying so hard not to throw up. 

He’d done that before. On a night much like this one, and Wes had made him clean it all up while still nearly blacked out, promising that the next time, he’d clean it with his tongue. 

So Seven braced himself against the wall and tried to focus on his breath. He inhaled. God fuck. He exhaled. Fuck. He was going to gag.

Water.

He needed water.

This was going to be a long night. 

.

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series masterlist

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Curious Sight

What is this?! Two Drabbles?! @spotaus It is more likely than you think.

Mostly because i was REAL impressed you guys managed to keep it equal. like how? Also because i really wanted to do both so here you go! both!

This one is a lot shorter though hihi

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

*--------------------*

Just his luck.

Why did he have to have a favourite pie in a whole other universe?

The Toriel looks very apologetic “I am very sorry. They just sold out very quickly this time. I will have new ones tomorrow morning!”

Blue smiles as he pushes down the disappointment “It is okay! I can always try again later.”

Toriel smiles before motioning towards the other goods she has for sale “Anything else? The cupcakes are amazing today.” she smiles.

Blue shakes his skull “No that is alright. Thank you so much for checking!” he waves and leaves the small bakery.

He sighs as he stands outside.

Damnit.

His luck sucks today. He had hoped he could cheer himself up with some nice pie but it seems like they are out after all. Ugh. Then again, maybe it is his own fault for liking things outside his own universe so much.

Blue looks from side to side. Maybe he can look around a bit? See if there is another bakery. He doubts it because the town, and well this very universe, is very small and he hadn’t seen it when he visited this place with the Stars all that time ago.

But well. He doesn’t really have anything planned today.

He looks left and right and decides to go right for now. He wanders down the street and waves at people along the way.

Okay. So he can’t get the cherry hazelnut pie he wanted. Which is a shame. But he can do something else to cheer him up!

It had just been rough in his underground. Alphys had been very distrusting of the human this time around and it had been exhausting to get her to at least try to get to know them. That is not even the multiverse mess.

At least people don’t demand his help at every turn anymore. Sure he loves helping others but before it got so bad. Back when Dream was still doing the positive guardian thing. People had also demanded help of Blue. And Blue loves to help! But there had been the fear that if he said no it would reflect badly on Dream and Ink.

There is a reason he hardly travelled the multiverse alone before. It was just easier to give himself rest that way.

But now with Dream officially having a new god goal and Ink still being MIA it means people stopped bothering Blue all the time!

Blue tries to ignore the hurt that thinking about Ink brings. He had done so much to help Ink and had thought they had been friends! That Blue meant something to the other! Apparently not. Seeing as Ink hasn’t even shown his face anywhere yet, aside from meetings but Blue doesn’t really count that. They don’t even hang out afterwards. Ink just leaves again.

Blue shakes his skull and keeps walking. It is fine. Ink is also a god and probably busy with god stuff. Reaper was going to talk with Error and Ink about their godhood after all. Ink is probably just busy.

Blue just… he hopes Ink didn’t just… forget him…

Blue shakes his skull and pats his own cheeks twice. Come on Blue! Snap out of it! You got this! No need to dwell on the negatives. Especially if you don’t know what Ink’s reason is! There is no reason to worry or feel sad about things you don’t even know yet!

Blue sighs as he grabs his phone. His phalange hovering over Dream’s icon. No. Dream is dealing with enough. And asking him to track down Ink just so Blue can ask him why he doesn’t want to hang out anymore is just… a lot.

Blue scrolls through his contacts and pauses when he sees Red’s name. Huh. It has been a while since he hang out with Red. Maybe the two of them can go to some motorcross universe and drive a set of bikes around? Just go fast and have fun with a friend? He taps a message and sends it.

Blue grins at his phone as he waits. Oh this is going to be great. Just him and a friend having fun and talking about motorcycles!

A ping and Blue grins before it falls. Red says he can’t at the moment. Bad run going on in his universe and that his brother is very stressed. Apparently the last reset had gone very badly and Red had died and apparently Edge had gotten somekind of memory or dream about it and is hovering a lot more than usual.

Blue sighs but types back that he gets it and if he needs help just to let him know. Red answers with a thumbs up and a thanks.

Blue sighs and just looks up. Huh. He recognises these streets but can’t quite remember where from. Maybe all these areas just look alike? Blue shrugs and looks back at his phone.

Maybe he can ask Sans, or whatever everyone decides to call him. Sans is a bit… strange. No one is quite sure why, Sans least of all. It is just weird how everyone just decided that no nickname really fit him. They tried Comic and Classic. But in the end everyone just ends up referring to him with Sans.

Which is weird as fuck with all of them originally being Sans. Yet Sans is the most Sans.

It is hard to explain.

He finds the number and grins as he is typing a message.

A moment later he answers that he is down to hang out.

Blue grins as he starts typing, not really paying attention to where he is going. He texts his friend about maybe going to Outertale to just hang out at the café. Or even to try and find a new universe.

Sans says he is down and asks if he wants to meet wherever he is now to travel together or to meet at Outertale and search for each other there.

Blue thinks and is about to type for Sans to come to him as he looks up for a reference for Sans to teleport to. Only to freeze.

That is the Cuddly Cat.

More importantly.

That is the back of Killer’s jacket leaving around the side of the building.

Blue doesn’t even answer the text as he runs towards the other road.

He gets there just in time to see the portal melt shut. Blue searches for the right app on his phone and holds it near the slowly fully closing rift. Praying he was fast enough to manage and get there in time.

It takes a moment and the signal the app is picking up disappears. But it is still loading and Blue stares at the program as it slowly slowly loads.

Then it pops up with coordinates to an universe!

Blue stares in shock before seeing another message of Sans appear at the top. He quickly texts him that he is very sorry but that he just spotted the gang out and about.

Sans’s reply is mostly confused. Asking why it matters as Sans thought that was all already solved? So why try and track their movement?

Blue is thorn. Does he share that Dream doesn’t actually know if Nightmare is dead? That Dream is actually looking for Nightmare?

Blue ends up typing that Dream still wants to personally apologise for the gang and Sans says he gets it and just let him know when he got time to hang.

Blue sighs as he opens the right chat window and starts to type. But then removes the message as he tries to type one again.

Over and over as he struggles over what to exactly say before he settles on a message.

“I saw the gang. I know to which universe they went. We got a lead if you want to check it out?”

And he waits.

His phone pings.

“Please.”

Seems like he got plans after all.

*--------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[ragzonacamrencruise]

For the first sentence of a fic ask

Katara’s choking sound filled the room which gained the attention of her friends until Katara stopped and turned to face Azula with a shocked face.

hello bestie!

this is too funny . . .

okay so hear meowt-

***

THE PROPOSAL

Katara’s choking sound filles the room, which gaines the attention of her friends until Katara stops and turns to face Azula with a shocked face.

Azula, sitting closest to Katara in the enormous dining hall, is half way down slurping her noodles when she notices the racket. Her own eyes grow wide as she witnesses Katara holding her throat and gasping for air, but not getting any.

Now, for the people who've been following Azula around in the palace since she was a little kid, they know it's common knowledge that Azula, would quite normally, enjoy watching the person choke themselves into oblivion instead of rushing to help them.

And in this case, Katara being the one who's the traditional healer of the group, no one else knew what to do in this situation. They could only sit and watch their friend choke helplessly. The waterbender's eyes begin to water as she looks all around frantically.

So, it's safe to say that it comes as a surprise when Azula calmly places her chopsticks near her almost empty bowl, stands up, walks behind the now standing Katara and envelops the choking waterbender in a hug from behind.

Everyone's too shocked to speak as Azula places a fist right under Katara's now matured chest and pushes it into the waterbender forcefully. Katara jumps up high in her arms at the impact. But Azula simply does it again.

And again.

And again.

Until Katara coughs something out of her mouth and it comes flying out to hit Sokka on the head, who's sitting exactly opposite to Katara. The waterbender gasps in a lung full of air and then lets out a string of coughs, her hands desperately holding on to Azula's strong arms wrapped around her stomach, keeping her from collapsing.

Azula flattens one of her palms over Katara's back and rubs soothing circles. "There, there, peasant. We don't want you dying on us now, do we?"

Katara wipes around her mouth with the back of her palm, trying to calm down from the sudden adrenaline rush of almost dying. Sokka, being the naturally curious person that he is, bends down under the table to pick up whatever the hell hit him on his head. When he brings it out to the light, he gasps out loud.

"It's a Water Tribe betrothal pendant!!"

Katara looks at the round, blue, glimmering, piece of jewellery in Sokka's fingers. She immediately extends her hand to take it from him.

"It's not stone!" Katara exclaims, running her eyes all over the pendant. "It's some kind of . . ."

"Copper." Azula states as she removes herself away from Katara's person and takes back her seat, picking up her chopsticks non-chalantly to gobble down the rest of her noodles.

Katara turns to her immediately. "What?"

"It's Copper." Azula says with a roll of her eyes. "Clearly you peasants have no knowledge about this metal's existence. It's crystalized Copper. And very difficult to carve, by the way. I spent literally hours trying to get that thing carved."

The waterbender blinks, not believing what she's hearing. "Y- You made this?!"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"For you, of course." Azula shrugs, filling her mouth with noodles.

Katara could only let her jaw hang.

"You're giving my sister a betrothal necklace?!" Sokka's voice is a high-pitched shriek.

Azula looks confused. "What are y'all yapping so much about? Isn't it traditional to betroth a girl when she's 16 in the Water Tribe? I know I'm an year late, but it still counts, right?"

"You're asking me to marry you?!" Now Katara's voice is an octave higher.

"Wow, you filths really are dense in the head." Azula wipes around her mouth with a napkin kept at the table like the proper royalty that she is.

"No!" Katara exclaims.

Azula looks at her with her brows furrowed together. "No, what?"

"No, I will not be marrying you! Are you crazy?!"

The princess stands up, having done with her meal. "I was three years ago. But not anymore." She says with a smirk, before bowing curtly and leaving a hall full of dumbstruck people.

....

Katara flips the pendant in her hand, deep in thought. She looks down at it, tracing the intricate carvings that adorn it with a finger. She's lying on her stomach, on the bed inside her room in the Fire Nation Palace, having had an eventful supper. She frowns when she notices something strange.

The carvings look exactly like her mother's betrothal necklace. Not even a single line out of place. She touches her mother's necklace and gasps softly.

Azula must have one hell of a brain if she can carve something out just from memory.

Then she thinks back to everything that conspired during their meal.

She must've slipped the pendant in my noodle soup when I wasn't looking, or something, to surprise me.

The pendant's beautiful. Too beautiful. She would've mistaken it for glass if it didn't radiate such a glossy blue glow, refracting candle light through it in a translucent haze. It's mesmerizing.

But the thing that nags her the most is, why would Azula of all people give her a betrothal necklace?! Does she like her, or something?!

Sure, Katara couldn't help but get lost in the princess's elegance from time to time, and blush like crazy whenever the firebender got even remotely close to her, thankful for her complexion hiding her flustered state, but that is beside the point.

Katara sits up. There's no way in hell she's going to sleep without talking something through with the very firebender that proposed to her. Determined, she gets up, wears her night robes and walks out of her room to the princess's chambers.

....

"Your highness?" Katara calls out softly, peeking inside a dimly lit, enormous room. Her eyes look all around before falling on the princess's frame by the table, sitting on a chair and reading a huge book by the candlelight hanging above her head.

The firebender takes a second longer to acknowledge Katara, her eyes hurriedly running over the last few lines on the page she's reading, before looking up. "I figured sooner or later you'll be here."

"Ha ha." Katara laughs humorlessly as she walks into the room and shuts the door behind her.

Azula places a peacock feather over the page she was reading and closes the heavy book. "State the purpose of your visit this late at night, peasant."

Katara scowls. But she's unable to hold it much longer when she spots the princess pulling out another chair by the table, gesturing her to take a seat.

The waterbender's bare feet make no noise when she walks up to the table, adjusting the chair a little bit, before sitting down, close to the firebender. It's the beginning of winter and nights, even in the Fire Nation, are getting pretty chilly.

When she finally settles down, with her knees almost touching the side of Azula's thigh, she looks up in contentment. The princess is still waiting for her answer, when Katara's eyes fall on her.

Katara takes in a deep breath. "I still haven't thanked you."

Azula frowns. "Whatever for?"

"For saving my life."

Azula clicks her tongue, in irritation. She turns back to the book before her. "Leave. I still need to complete this chapter and I need peace and quiet."

"No, I mean it. Thank you, your highness . . ."

Azula doesn't answer as she flips open the heavy book again.

"The remedy for choking is still not known by many." Katara says softly. "Where did you learn it?"

Azula's eyes find Katara, without ever turning away from the book. "I read about it somewhere." She explains before letting her eyes fall to the book before her again.

Katara hums. She unintentionally falls silent as her gaze finds itself helplessly drawn to the princess's perfectly crafted face. She traces curves and crevices sculpted in astonishing precision, even when the firebender is devoid of any make up. Her golden brown eyes shimmer in the candle light's flicker, and the sight puts Katara in a trance.

"You can stare all you want after you marry me." Azula says without turning away from her book, and that jolts Katara awake.

"Who says I'm marrying you?" The waterbender is quick to deny, her face getting heated rapidly. "I never said yes to your proposal, remember? If you can even consider that a proposal. You didn't even ask me properly!"

"Your father." Azula states.

"My father? What about him?"

"Yeah . . ." The princess looks up from the book. "He met with Zuzu to negotiate a stable course of action, considering the amount of overwhelming peasants from the Water Tribe opposing the idea of working together with the Fire Nation."

Katara's eyes are wide and attentive as she can almost predict where this is going.

"So," Azula continues. "They put their heads together and came up with this; a marriage alliance. And as Zuzu is already planning on marrying Mai . . . You're stuck with me. Personally, I think it's okay, considering how nothing really is satisfying you barbarians."

"Hey!" Katara exclaims. "If anyone's a barbarian, it's you people! You started the hundred year war and butchered an entire nation!"

Azula stares at her. "Out of all the things I said, that is what you choose to respond to?"

Katara pushes her chair back and jumps up, her knees bumping Azula's thigh. "Whatever! I'm gonna talk to my dad first thing in the morning to cancel this supposed 'marriage alliance'."

"Suit yourself." Azula says, turning back to her book as Katara storms out of her chamber in anger.

....

The next morning, Katara finds herself grumpily sitting in the dining hall for breakfast all alone, as all others have already had theirs. The meeting with her dad dragged on longer than she would've liked.

It's stupid, considering the fact that Katara never really entered her father's chambers to discuss the crisis at hand. She just paced outside his room, for a long time, contemplating what to say and how to say it. To be honest, she wasn't really that opposed to this marriage alliance anyway. She came here just out of spite. She was turning on her heels, already loosing her nerve and giving up, when her father came out, ready to head for breakfast. And it certainly did not help when she randomly blurted out 'I don't want to marry Azula' out of no where when he greeted her with a good morning.

Her father had just laughed it off stating it's just jitters and he's "seen the way you look at Azula".

Katara had then spent her whole morning contemplating living under a rock from embarrassment, but then her stomach growled and she dragged her feet to the dining hall reluctantly.

Her brooding comes to an end when she finds the object of her crisis walk into the hall, her hair up in a small topknot and the rest of it long and falling freely over her shoulders, her signature bangs still in place. Katara's eyes follow the princess as she takes a seat opposite to her, clad in a simple, light red, yukata with short sleeves.

The waterbender notices Azula's skin coated with a slim layer of sweat, making her glisten in the morning sunshine wafting in through the hall. She averts her gaze hastily.

She's not supposed to be feeling this way towards her! Even when she's supposed to marry her!

"Slept in?" The princess's mocking voice makes Katara look back up at her.

"Not really." The waterbender replies politely. Then she catches the drift of what Azula's implying. Didn't she tell her yesterday night that she was gonna call off the marriage alliance? It really is a slap in the face for Katara when she realizes that she never broke off the betrothal. And she's not ready to make peace with the fact that she doesn't really want to break it off.

Their breakfast arrives and Azula's upon it even before the servant places it on the table. Katara looks at her with amusement. "One would think you were starved for weeks." The waterbender teases at the way Azula gobbles up the food.

"Never go easy on breakfast." Azula swallows a mouthful as her manners of not talking while eating kicks in. "Especially after a good workout and training."

"Training?" Katara raises an eyebrow. That explains the sweat.

"Yeah. Every morning. You don't?"

"Not really." Katara chooses to say again, trying not to pay attention to the way the princess's arms flex when she's using them, fresh out of a workout.

They both fall silent, only opening their mouths to eat. When they're done, Katara wipes her hands and face in the hot napkin placed on the table and stands up to leave. So does Azula. The waterbender walks out of the hall, slowing down near the doorway to wait for Azula when she comes out.

But she never comes.

Instead, Katara hears someone speaking beyond the dining hall inside what she thinks is the kitchen. And because it's so quiet in the morning with only the chirping of birds to keep her company, she frowns softly as she follows through the kitchen to where the voices are coming from.

She hears Azula speak, so she braces herself against the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen, out of sight from anyone who might want to look outside.

". . . but the flavours were thick. Make sure you simmer down on the basil and lift up curry leaves. It would provide useful and time saving and, dare I say, delicious. And, Zata? We need to incorporate more from other nations if we're supposed to excel at anything we do. This goes to cuisine as well . . . And prepare stewed sea prunes for lunch, will you? I'm told it's the Water Tribe princess's favourite." The princess is saying.

"Yes, princess." Katara guesses it's Zata who agrees with the firebender.

"Keep up the work." Azula says finally.

Katara hurriedly makes herself scarce from the vicinity as she hears the princess's footsteps staring to echo out.

Katara's sure her blush is visible for miles when she makes her way to the royal gardens to cool off.

....

The lunch, as expected, fills the whole dining hall with the aroma of stewed sea prunes and Katara doesn't even have to look at the bowl before her to know it.

Azula's sat directly opposite to her and the waterbender can no way in hell meet the golden brown gaze annoyingly fixed on her. She struggles to make it through one spoonful of stew without blushing like a maniac.

This is so absurd! Get it together, Katara! It's not like she gave you the whole world! She just made you your favourite dish. It's not a big deal!

But . . . it's Azula we're talking about! When has she ever done something this nice to someone else?!

"Is it not to your liking?" She hears a voice in front of her and she has no other choice than to look into those scrutinising eyes.

Azula's eyebrows are merged together, deep in thought, watching Katara struggle to eat her lunch, unaware of the problem. The waterbender, however, is hyper-aware of it, the smell of the stew reminding her every second that it was because of Azula.

Katara offers her a small, nervous smile. "It's good, your highness."

Their friends are present in the dining hall, so Azula doesn't press the issue further. But her face remains thoughtful the entire duration of their lunch.

Katara is the first to leave the hall, having gulped down the hot stew directly from the bowl, in an attempt to get out of there soon. She can heal her burned tongue later. She just needs to . . . get out.

She hurries off to her chambers, plopping down heavily on the bed, shutting her eyes close.

....

The royal gardens, that evening, sees Katara watering the plants, temporarily trying to get a certain firebender out of her insistent thoughts. The setting sun casts a warm glow over the flowers and trees, beautiful and sophisticated. A cool breeze flows in the garden and the waterbender is grateful for it, given the way her body heat seems to rise up eveytime she thinks about the fire princess.

Katara bends the water from a nearby pond and lifts it up, gently letting it fall, spraying over the fire lilies. She smiles, feeling rejuvenated with such a simple act. When she's about to turn around to water the other part of the garden, something, or rather someone catches her eye as she looks up.

She almost has a heart attack when she realizes it's Azula, leaning against a courtyard pillar, watching the waterbender do her thing. Katara freezes, eyes locked on the fire princess helplessly.

Azula, realising her presence is no longer unnoticed, pushes herself away from the pillar and steps into the garden, her gaze never leaving the waterbender. She walks towards Katara, gaining distance by the second and the waterbender's no longer in control of her own breathing.

The setting sun hits the firebender's eyes, and Katara's put in yet another trace with the way it gleams, looking at her in a way that makes her stomach flutter.

When she finally does get close, close enough for Katara to feel her warmth, Azula lifts her hand up, gently moving a strand of hair away from the waterbender's shoulder to expose her neck. She eyes her mother's necklace already placed on Katara's delicate neck and shifts her gaze to the waterbender's sparkling blue ones again.

"Marry me, Katara." Azula says, ever so softly. It's a command, but it sounds so desperate and so loving, that the waterbender's heart starts raging against her ribs. Katara can only let her lips fall open in a silent gasp, dumbstruck with the way Azula's making her feel.

The firebender searches her eyes, waiting a second longer for her to answer, before letting out a soft, glum sigh of defeat, turning around and walking out of the garden as quick as her own lightning.

Katara finds it difficult to catch her breath, even after a few minutes of just standing there.

....

That night, Katara finds herself standing before the giant doors of Azula's chambers again. She thinks of knocking, but then decides to just screw it and opens the door.

She enters the room and shuts and locks the door behind her. When she turns around, she notices that Azula's sat in the same table over the same book. Her wide golden brown eyes fall on Katara as she watches her with a rare glimmer, completely uncharacteristic of her.

When Katara walks inside, Azula stands up to meet her halfway. The flicker of the candlelight hanging above right beside them, bounces off of something shimmering, catching the firebender's sharp eyes right away.

Azula lifts her hand to Katara's neck, an ecstatic expression filling her face. She touches the cool, smooth, carved, crystal Copper hanging from the necklace on the waterbender's neck, and lifts her gaze to the matching blue eyes looking at her with longing.

Their eyes stay locked for a moment longer, before Katara opens her mouth to gasp, "Yes."

Azula's hand immediately reaches out to grab the waterbender's waist, as she pulls her flush against her. Katara swears she can practically taste Azula's smile when she leans forward and kisses her, deep and long.

By the time they break apart for air, Katara's brain is stuck in one giant daze, blinking up at Azula, hanging onto her shoulders desperately, unable to form coherent words except, "Your highness..."

"Bed. Now." Azula's voice is deep, bathed in dark hunger, and the waterbender can do nothing but nod frantically.

Katara didn't know that almost dying would end her up with a fiancé, but she isn't complaining much now at all.

....

"You really didn't like the stew, huh?"

"No. I loved it."

***

butterflies. straight up butterflies when i wrote this.

this could've been longer. but i tried to make it simple 😭🖐🏻 its funny because i was already thinking of their dynamic in marriage proposals and BAM the perfect opportunity presents itself in the form of an ask inbox.

thank you for the ask bestie! @waterfire1848

[infamous-if]

Oh, damn. No 25 with MC trying to protect/take care of Seven in a dangerous situation sounds nice.

Hope you feel better soon, Amy! Take care!

Thank you! <3 Dangerous situation, you say?

Double whammy (the amount of seven asks...)

CW: blood

This is all your fault.

You shouldn't have said anything. You shouldn't have fought with the person at the bar. You should've left it alone.

You should've known that Seven wouldn't let it go. Even when they hate you.

You should've known Seven. Has it been that long that you forgot who they were? Once, they were as familiar to you as the very lines on your palm.

"Seven, please."

You're holding onto them as you two stumble out of the bar, moving like two drunkards though both of you are terribly sober. The warm sensation of Seven's blood on your shirt sends dull fear over you. You're spiraling. Breaking. You don't know what to do.

Seven lets you guide them outside, your arms wrapped closely around them as they keep a hand under their nose which spews blood like an open faucet. It sends another round of fear down your spine, but it's not their nose that has you so breathless you're dizzy.

Their stomach.

In the heat of the moment, the person Seven was fighting threw them on the table littered with glass cups and broken bottles. Seven claims to be fine, but the way blood makes an angry stain on the green fabric of their shirt and Seven limps like their body is failing them, you know they're anything but.

Seven loses their footing, tripping on the last step and making both you and them fumble to the wet, concrete ground.

Your body shakes when the cool water of the alleyway seeps into your jeans. Seven coughs, rolls on their back, and lets out a sigh.

Blood is smeared across their face, their eyes are hazy, the blooming flower of blood grows larger across their stomach.

Your hands flail in front of you when you get on your knees, fingers shaking, lips shuttering. You feel the burning sting of tears. "Seven, what do I do? My phone is dead. We need to call an ambulance."

Seven groans. Coughs. Their hair turns damp when it sinks into a puddle by their face. "Stop...yelling."

"How can I stop?!" you cry. "I need to see it-" You begin to lift up their shirt but Seven stops you.

"No."

Anger replaces your previous fear. "Seven-"

"I don't want you to."

That hurts. Hurts more than it should in this moment. Seven is hurt, bleeding, and even now they don't want you to touch them, to care for them. Has everything been for nothing? Have all the years you two spent together meant nothing?

"You fucking asshole."

"What?" They burst up and groan, hissing and laying back down.

"I need to help you." The fear returns anew when Seven's eyes glide towards you slowly, their lips parted. Not from pain, but from slight surprise. "Please. I know you hate me. I know you have no reason to trust me. But please... I'm asking you to anyway." You bite your lip to hide the way it shakes. "Please let me help you."

It takes them a moment. They stare at you so long you feel like you're being judged. Then, in a move that shocks you even now, Seven nods and looks away.

"Go ahead."

You clear your throat, slowly peeling the shirt that sticks to the blood on their skin. Seven winces, and you let out a small sound when you catch the piece of glass lodged to their rib.

"Not bad," you try, wincing, "just a tiny piece. You'll be fine."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

You look at them, ready to shoot them a glare, when you see a small, amused smirk on their face.

"Shut up," you mumble, turning back to their wound.

As you inspect more of their skin, slick with blood, you catch their stomach heave when a small laugh leaves them. You look at Seven, quirking a brow. "You called me an asshole." They look at you. The blood still smeared all across their lower face, they look at you and laugh. "I'm about to die and you call me an asshole."

"You're not about to die," you say strongly and then quieter: "and you are."

Seven hums. "Maybe. Maybe you just bring it out of me."

"That's not helping," you mumble.

You move to lift their shirt higher when you feel a wet hand on your wrist. Seven's blood leaks from their fingers to your skin, but you hardly notice it. Not when they're looking at you with a face so soft it disarms your every defense. "I don't hate you."

Your heart rate quickens. "...You don't?"

They shake their head slowly, stifling a small grown with the movement. "How could I?" they mumble, but don't elaborate.

A sigh leaves them and they glide their gaze to the sky. The sound of an ambulance rings in the distance; the bartender must've called the cops.

"I don't hate you either," you say.

Seven says nothing, but their face twists into a satisfied smile, their eyes closing.

I never did.

and then seven dies. JUST KIDDING

[stellarfoxian]

the one thing that she’d never do is make fun of your interests.

stelle has always been one to pay a lot of attention to you and the things that you like. she actually tries to make it her mission to find things related to your interest whenever she’s out and bring it back to you as a gift.

stelle would never make fun of you for something you like, in fact, she’s listening intently as you talk about it and tell her everything! while maybe she doesn’t understand fully, she’ll always be there to lend an ear.

she actively encourages you to tell her anything and everything, it would never annoy her. your voice when you’re excited brings her so much joy.

she likes seeing you happy. and if just listening will make you happy, then she will listen.

[soulidarity]

midnight talks

dialogue heavy / comfort / 274 words / rafayel x mc

being hunted by nightmares of the incident, mc visits the sea

"fancy seeing you here, miss bodyguard" the artist took a seat next to her on the rocks, looking ahead into the sea. "didnt think youd like late night swimming"

no response. his bodyguard was hugging her knees, eyes locked on the waves. he took a closer look and noticed how distraught her face looked.

"what's wrong?"

"it's nothing, i just wanted to see the sea. why are you here? inspiration?" she smiled

"dont switch the subject onto me, dont pretend to be okay. do you not trust me?"

"its not that at all! I just... it's dumb"

"no feeling is ever dumb" she sighed at his response, fingers reaching to the tide that had risen.

"i've been having nightmares again about... the accident..."

"with your grandma and caleb?"

"yeah... I just feel like, I couldve done something. I mean I saw the weird figure I shouldve-"

"put yourself in danger?"

"thats one way to put it"

"no, its the only way. things happen for a reason and you're still here with me for a reason. dont go doing anything dumb that could kill you, especially following weird figures without telling anyone."

she chuckled "i thought i was the bodyguard? here you are protecting me"

his face turned serious "if this job ever makes you prioritize my safety over yours, you oshould quit immediatley. you should be your own priority."

"i think my job description would beg to differ but i'll do my best to take care of myself" a yawn escaped her and she snuggled closer to her client, his arm wrapping around her.

"take a rest, i'll can take care of you now"

ive made a challenge to write one short story every day, or scene may be a better way to put it. when i used to write more in other fandoms i averaged 2k words but it's a bit hard now. anyhow, i wanted to thank everyone for the support pearly tears got, i was expecting 3 notes but it definetley went over that. ok now im rambling.

my ask box is open if you have a request or want to discuss smth!

[puppyeared]

Been LOVING your lil magician folks recently please continue they're beautiful and very cute and cool and also very well-designed!! 🥺❤️

thank you for the kind words !!! im not much of a writer, but i do have some sort of story in mind for them.. theyre bitter rivals who end up as roommates bc of their scatterbrained elderly landlord lol

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

This Wasn't in the Itinerary

Both of you work so hard, it's only right that you be treated to a vacation.

Character; Ruggie Bucchi

Content; fluff, gender-neutral reader, drabble

Word Count; 850+

AN; This is for a mutual of mine who brain rotted and I wanted to write a version of it. I hope you enjoy it!

“A vacation? That I get paid for,” Ruggie gave Leona a semi-shocked look. What's he playing at here?

Leona rolled his eyes, “Yeah, you’ve pulled your weight and then some, so yeah, you’ve earned it. Already booked you a room too, so don’t even try gettin’ out of it.” He tossed a key at Ruggie, who clamoured trying to catch it.

Ruggie’s brows were pinched, but he looked at the key; it looked fancy, way too fancy. “How much was this?” Did I really earn this? “I can’t-”

“Too late, room’s booked. They also got some fancy schmancy breakfast options too,” Leona handed him a card that had all of the information about the resort, all in pretty cursive. "So yeah, you can accept it."

Dear Ruggie Bucchi, Escape the stress of your life and come to The Canopy, a resort focusing on rewinding and letting your hair loose. Enjoy the fresh breakfast made by the best pastry chefs in the Sunset Savannah. Take a dip in one of the many pools on the grounds. Head out on a river cruise and look at the local wildlife. The Canopy is an all-inclusive resort, and we hope you enjoy your stay with us! Room Type & Number; Single bed with a minifridge, as well as a balcony with a hot tub. Room 183, East Wing.

This… this is real. “I-,” he took a deep breath and exhaled. “Thanks, Leona.”

“Don’t mention it,” Leona said nonchalantly He wouldn’t tell Ruggie, but he has been planning this vacation for him for weeks. “Just enjoy it. Ya earned it.”

. . .

When Ruggie arrived at his room there was already a small bag in the process of being put away, but it wasn't his. He double-checked the room number, yup, Room 183, East Wing. then why was there another bag in his room? But that scent smelled familiar-

“Ruggie?”

He turned around and saw you, standing in the doorway holding a brochure for some local shops. “Prefect?” He asked back, equally confused about the entire situation. “What are you doing here?”

You entered the room and went to your bags, looking over the card Professor Crewel left outside your doorstep. Or at least it said it was from the professor, but he hadn't said anything to you about it, but weren't complaining, you worked your butt off. Plus you didn't have to pay for any of this, so you weren't going to turn this down. “On a vacation. And you?”

“Same boat. Well, a forced one,” he also looked at your card. Room 183, East Wing. Had they double-booked the same room by accident? “Wanna talk to the front desk?”

You both looked at the bed; it looked nice, fluffy, and like it was made from the softest clouds. But it was a single, just big enough to hold one person. There was no way it could hold more without the two of you being crammed together. Ruggie could feel his ears heat up at even the idea of being in such cramped quarters with you.

You sighed and grabbed your bag, mentally preparing to talk to customer service. "Not really, but sure, why not?"

. . .

You both returned from the front desk to your room. Your shared room. And there were no other rooms available. Both you and Ruggie were stuck with each other, as the shuttle bus back to Night Raven College didn’t come back until tomorrow at noon at the earliest. So you would be stuck here for the night, sharing a single bed, together. But there were worse ways to spend your vacation, plus you like Ruggie.

“If you want I can take the floor, I don’t mind,” he offered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You placed a hand on his forearm, stopping him. “No, it’s okay,” you gave him a soft smile, “I don’t mind.” 

You got into bed a squished yourself to the edge so Ruggie could have the other half. Once he got comfy he looked up and then quickly looked away, and so did you. It was a tight squeeze, but like hell were you going to make him sleep on the floor. 

Huh, did he always have flecks of silver in his eyes? You shook your head, trying to shoo those thoughts away. When you looked back up though, Ruggie was already asleep, lightly snoring. Has he always been this pretty?

He shuffled over to you, slinging an arm across you. “Mmm, don’t leave,” he mumbled.

You stiffened but then relaxed, sighing. You carded your fingers through his hair and looked at him softly. “I won’t.” You sat there for a little bit before you too fell asleep, hiding your face next to his heart. A steady thump thump thump luring you deeper and deeper into a calm dream. 

. . .

“You did that on purpose didn’t you,” Jack asked, looking up at Leona.

Leona shrugged, “Eh, they don’t need to know that.”

Professor Crewel was not the one to gift you an all-expenses paid holiday, it was Leona. He had grown tired of the two of you not admitting anything and it was driving him up the wall, so he decided to speed things up. Hopefully, his plan turned out… the both of you deserved good things.

[euthymiya]

If I did a milestone event would ppl participate

[shady-tavern]

Deals and Revelry, Quin's Backstory

The lovely @fyrenwater requested some more pieces for Deals and Revelry and I started with Quin's backstory. Hopefully it's a fun read! With Quin there is of course a warning ahead for implied murder.

***

The temple was old and not in the broken, long abandoned kind of way, overgrown and damp and too dangerous to enter. Quin had seen plenty of old places, had walked through plenty of runes. He lived for the danger, made a living out of going where no one else wanted to thread.

The upper temple had looked like one would expect, half swallowed by the swamp, covered with plants and little pieces of walls and fallen pillars stuck out of the knee-deep water and morass. 

He had even found the remains of a statue's face, nearly whittled to be unrecognizable by time and the environment.

The place clearly had been looted to hell and back, but something had felt different. Something had compelled him to stay. So he had looked around, using every single ounce of his talent and bullheaded tenacity until he had found it three days later. A hidden entrance.

The temple that laid below the broken skeleton husk above ground was not destroyed or crumbling. It was perfectly preserved, even if water had clearly found its way in. Nothing had grown, however. There was no slick algae, no signs at all that nature and the elements had wriggled through the cracks.

A few roots dangled from the ceiling, but they were all dead, crumbling when he reached up to touch them.

The temple was old, old in a way that told Quin it had withstood the tooth of time without a single scar for centuries. Something was still alive in these halls, even as everything that touched it died.

For just a brief moment he felt like he inhaled something otherworldly, a strange kind of power permeating the air. Whatever was down here wasn't even hiding that it existed, even if its presence had barely made it above ground.

This was what he had felt, what had made him trudge through mud and water and get bitten relentlessly by mosquitos for days. 

His steps echoed as he walked, a heavy presence to the silence around him. The sort of presence that only came with something ancient that refused to disappear. That refused to die even after it had been forgotten.

Quin wasn't a fool, however. He took his time, carefully examining his surroundings, disarming traps and escaping the few he didn't notice in time by the skin of his teeth.

The first time his blood spilled he felt the entire temple around him sigh and tremble. As if a great beast had tried to move in its cage.

And this temple was a cage, he realized as he walked and considered the ancient writing on the walls, his rations dwindling by the day. But he couldn't leave, it was almost feverish how he kept looking and searching, being drawn ever deeper into the temple.

Or rather, the tomb. This was meant to be a final resting place for something too powerful and ancient to comprehend.

A part of him knew he was pulled along by whatever was entombed here, but he allowed it to happen. He wanted to know what was down here.

He found his answer in a comparatively small, circular room. Paintings glittered on the wall as through freshly finished, the paint still wet.

Plaques with text were left below the artworks, as well as big words pressed into the floor. A strange kind of metal had been used to form the letters of a civilization long gone.

The presence was strongest here and Quin set up his camp, studying the ancient texts. A warning was on one part of the wall, showing two giant beings battle it out. The next text was easier to guess, if only because of the depiction of one giant being slain and the people at its feet using its blood and bones to seal the other.

Just as his last crumb of food was devoured and his last sip of water swallowed, Quin figured out the ritual. He still didn't understand too much about what exactly was down here and what exactly had been done to it to put it there, but he knew how to at least...wriggle loose the bars of its prison a bit, so to speak.

He used his blood to write, each ancient letter precisely placed between the metal writing on the floor. The moment he finished, his blood glowed a dark and deep red and he heard a sigh in the very air itself.

The being's presence became cloying and overpowering and while he couldn't quite make out words or any kind of spoken language, he could make out intent. A pact. A promise of power and wealth and everything he could possibly ever want, so long as he carried it out into the world.

Quin didn't hesitate so much as he turned the offer over in his head. He knew the stories of deals made with devils, with sealed away entities and rumored demi-gods and of course with very human monsters. He knew they were always a bad idea.

One could not trick or out-deal creatures that lived and thrived on such things.

But this deal was the very thing he had been searching for when he had first started dungeon delving. Power. Purpose. To be more than he was now, to no longer walk with blunt teeth and hidden daggers.

He wanted to be sharp and dangerous and deadly and powerful.

So he reached out with all that he desired and the being accepted. His world turned dark and black as, in his mind, a maw massive enough to swallow the sky opened wide.

*.*.*

The thing was in his head now, kind of. Quin was not fond of this part, but he managed to figure out how to shield his thoughts as he traversed the ruin, collecting the treasure the thing was guiding him to. Wealth was a part of power after all and power was what he had wanted, first and foremost.

It was...exhilarating. He was no longer human, he knew that in the very marrow of his bones. He bled red still, he learned and his emotions and thoughts were the same as before. He hadn't lost his humanity, however much of it he had possessed in the first place.

But he was stronger, faster and sharper now. As dangerous as he had always wanted to be and he reveled in it.

His bags filled with gold and jewels he emerged from the tomb-temple and the world was just slightly sharper around him, his senses stronger. He knew he could actually track something down by scent alone if necessary and it made him grin.

He set out with a confident stride, tall and fierce in ways he hadn't been able to even emulate as a human. He was different now and as he traveled, he slowly got used to all the changes.

Of course, every pact came with its downsides. People who had spoken freely with him before or had been willing to share information or even secrets over a couple of drinks shied away from him now.

Quin found that no one dared to meet his gaze and he checked his small pocket mirror multiple times, but his eyes were still the same. Dark and soulful, as his mother had once said. Gods rest her soul, she had always encouraged him to do what he wanted. To take what he wanted.

Quin traveled on swiftly, outstaying his welcome at every new place within mere moments. The thing in his head wanted something, but communication was still iffy and frustrated the both of them.

Then Quin stumbled across a whip-thin young woman, left bleeding at the side of the road. She was dying, that was easy to see, but her eyes told a different story. She did not shy from him the way everyone else did, a defiance to her as though she believed him to be the reaper and she was going to cling to this life with all she had.

Quin wasn't her end. If anything, he was her knew beginning, as he produced a contract for her through his...what was the thing, a patron? It was no benign entity, that was for damn sure. It roiled with malice and bloodlust whenever he focused on it.

The woman took the contract and found herself healed and changed, much like Quin had. They traveled onward together and Quin realized that people avoided her as much as they avoided him.

"What are we?" the woman asked as they camped outside a village that had refused to house them.

Quin shrugged. "Better," was all he said with a smile he knew was too sharp, dangerous in a way human smiles weren't. "Eat up, we're having a long road ahead tomorrow."

Treasure weighed heavy and it soon brought the unsavory attention of bandits and robbers. Quin had never shied from bloodshed, from protecting what was his and this was no different.

The fight was almost too easy with all that he was capable of now. He and the woman stood over the dead once it was done and dealt with. He inhaled the smell of blood, sweet and coppery, iron and salt and smiled to himself.

"You are right," the woman said quietly as she helped him loot the bodies. "We are better now."

They continued on together, picking up a couple more people along the way. A man tossed out on his ear by his family for loving another man, twins who were rumored to be born with black magic, a couple that had fled from their wrathful noble families. A betrayed merchant left in rags.

They all accepted the contract Quin offered them and soon he called them his hunters. They were vicious when necessary, absolutely deadly and no longer quite human. They weren't as strong as he, the contract he could offer a diluted version of the pact he carried in his soul and mind.

They approached a city a couple of weeks later and the thing in the back of his head stirred, hungry and greedy, feeling all those souls within calling out. It pressed images into his mind, of deals and contracts, of all the ways he could feed it. Make it stronger. Help it break its cage in given time.

Quin did not like that he didn't have much of a choice in this matter. The thing would take back the pact if he didn't listen and that would kill him and his hunters. And curse him, but he had grown fond of this lot of lost souls that followed him like he was their shepherd. 

Maybe he was, in a way.

His treasure got him what his charm no longer could: people willing to listen. He found an empty, unexpectedly large tavern and settled in. It was nice to have a home, he had to admit, after traveling for so long.

He soon had to concede the business side to employees who had no deals with him. For if he or his hunters were behind the bar or walking around with serving trays, the few that had shown up left swiftly.

It took time and effort to build a bit of a reputation, but slowly he carved out a place for himself in this large city. Mostly he was known for his deals and his tavern for offering nice ale and food to acceptable prices.

As he sat in his usual booth, waiting for people to approach him for a piece of his patron's powers, he realized that this wasn't quite the life he had wanted for himself.

Sure, he had gotten quite a lot out of the pact, but mostly he had wanted to be free. To do whatever he wanted. To have all the different versions of power to be untouchable and uncontrollable. To be really, truly free.

He watched a man gather the courage to approach him, his arms gripping a clearly sick babe. He'd get the mildest contract Quin could create.

Quin would help the guy for free if his patron allowed such things, which it of course didn't. For all of Quin's occasional depravity and ease at murdering, he did not like to take advantage of the truly helpless.

Of the people his parents had once been.

'Well,' he thought to himself as he smiled as mildly as he could when the father walked towards him at last. 'If this is my lot in life, I better make it a damn fucking good one.'

So he remodeled the tavern, hired performers and grabbed his carefully hoarded treasure. He spent and invested the gold, bartered and made deals that had nothing to do with the coiling darkness connected to his mind and soul.

He set himself free in almost all aspects. The pact had given him many things while shackling him down and even if the shackle was something he had to live with until his dying day, there were still other chains to break.

Chains made by society and stupid rules even he had stuck in his head despite his best efforts.

So Quin set himself free as much as he could and built his reputation anew. He built the Revelry and it grew beyond the bounds of his tavern with every year, gold flowing back to him first in a small trickle and then in a big river and he took it and invested it into his business, his street. His life.

Within a couple of years he was as powerful and untouchable as he had always dreamed of being. He had the sort of reputation that made people avoid his gaze for more reasons than one. 

Some days he could delude himself into thinking that it was his bloody and dangerous reputation alone that made folks inch away from him, rather than what his patron had turned him into.

Sometimes it was a lonely life, sure, but he had a...yes, a family now. His hunters meant the world to him and he cared for his employees, making sure they had everything they needed to be happy.

In return, they were fiercely loyal, bringing him rumors and secrets and warning him of backhanded deals and impending betrayals by business partners. He grew untouchable in more ways than one thanks to them.

He kept his patron fed and content, made sure it had everything it could possibly want. He was careful, however, never quite feeding it as much as it really wanted.

He didn't want it to get out of its tomb and while he knew some day it would happen, he'd drag it out as long as he possibly could.

Quin made the Revelry and dedicated himself to it, gave it his heart and blood and most of the time it was enough. Most of the time he felt like his life was nearly perfect.

As long as his patron was quiet, he pretended as though every part of him, his everything, could be dedicated to what he had built. That all his choices were his own and could not be controlled by another.

This was a good life, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the greed for more within him. The greed to reach that extra little inch to true freedom, the shackle on his foot keeping him firmly grounded.

He had a rich, free, powerful life. The sort of life written about in stories and that he had dreamed about as a boy while helping his mother scrub pots and pans and his father with mending clothes. 

He almost wished they were still alive to see him now. Sometimes he poured a drink in their honor and hoped they were watching from whatever afterlife they were in now.

He hoped they were proud, that he had taken all their lessons and challenged the world. That he had come out the other side as the person he wanted to be.

He hunted and made pacts, terrified foolish nobles and bartered for information to get the city guard fully under his thumb. He already had a number of people on his payroll, but he really wanted to get his claws into the captain. Then the city really would be his at long last.

He had no idea how soon his wish would be fulfilled.

It was a night like many others, filled with joy and laughter, wild partying and people cutting loose in a way that fed his very soul and spirit. Quin was in a very good mood as he made a contract with a burly man who could scarcely stand to even glance in his direction.

"My right hand will take care of things," he said, gesturing lazily and his first hunter melted out of the shadows.

His oldest friend, sometimes pain in his ass and a stalwart, loyal companion. Quin knew, deep down, that he would have withered away emotionally without his hunters at his side.

The deal made and on its way to being fulfilled, he got up just as someone tripped, stumbling towards him. He caught that person just in time, casting a brief glare at the drunk woman that had decided shoving his guests was a good idea.

The woman hurriedly looked away and Quin plastered on his best smile, straightening up the one in his arms. "Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this."

And the first thing he noticed was that the stranger met his eyes, unafraid and unflinching, before listing a bit to the side. Ah, a drunkard.

Or not, he realized when, for the first time, someone refused to be parted from him. Cold fingers clung to his silk doublet and the feeling that something was wrong tingled in the back of his mind.

So he reached out, hooking his finger under an equally cold chin, not yet knowing that he was looking at the one who would change his life forever in all the best ways.

The one to set him free, truly free, at long last.

*.*.*

Tag List:

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