#muse ; siri

[literallyjusttoa]

For two people that broke up almost 2000 years ago, they sure do have the vibe of that insanely toxic couple on your college campus that you keep getting second-hand embarrassment from as you pass by. Idk what the modern equivalent of drowning your ex in a bathtub would be tho.

[b1uedcollar]

＃     FRYCOOK    ARC     !     ( in a perfect world, cody would be content cookin   /   busboy’n at his grandmother’s homestyle cajun restaurant. )    ..    in this one, however, he’s just on the hooters payroll.

[mayxthexforce]

Yoda’s eyes narrowed farther. “Heed your reminder, Obi-Wan, he did not.”

Obi-Wan felt his heart thud. Yoda knew. His desperate argument with Anakin in the gunship as they pursued Dooku to their doom. Anakin’s wild insistence on abandoning duty to save Padmé. Yoda knew.

“While Anakin sleeps, to Senator Amidala you will go,” Yoda continued. “Ended his relationship with her must be, before more trouble it causes. Know this better than most do you, Obi-Wan.”

Siri. Old pain, swiftly pulsing, thrust swiftly aside. Another life. Another Obi-Wan. Yoda was right. Anakin’s attachment to Padmé could not continue. It had already proven itself a dangerous distraction.

I survived the loss. Anakin will survive it, too.

Yoda, when I catch you Yoda

[multistan-247]

hear me out: Zeus Toji, Poseidon Gojo, Hades Geto, Hecate Shoko, Apollo Nanami. Maybe even Hermes Yuta, Maki Athena, Inumaki Hephaestus (?).

I'm thinking of writing a Hades! geto × Persephone! reader fic. I'm about to. istg, it's them exams. my creativity is booming atp.

[tachiisms]

.

[calledher]

@interxstitial liked for a starter!

"I need a vocal demo -- my voice doesn't fit the song anymore," Nari said simply, shrugging a bit as she fingered the unlit cigarette in her grasp. It had been frustrating, recording and re-recording her new song only to realize that the reason it wasn't hitting right was the fact your ex-boyfriend wasn't singing it. (Yoongi would do male vocals for her demos if she need it - after a good amount of pleading and kisses.) Now, she was on her own. And without a male vocalist.

The unlit cigarette got tucked back behind her ear as she raised her gaze up to meet his. "I heard you are good vocal demo." Nari tempted, one side of her small mouth quirking into a smirk.

[dutybcrne]

On one hand I need to get my shit together and start shootin some messages to start more interactions. On the other I have been staring at my followers list and dash like O-O for the past 15mins

[gravesung]

It’s midnight, and Keon is still in the music room. He plinks away at the piano keys in a steady, mournful melody, but his thoughts are far away from the instrument. 

When a knock sounds at the door, he doesn’t stop playing. He pretends he doesn’t hear it. Everyone who lives here knows that when Keon is in the music room, he is not to be bothered, and if it were an emergency, he knows his housemates would simply barge in or call his name. They’ve all established their boundaries well enough by now, thank goodness, and he has no intention of conversing with anyone until the melancholy has left him. He is the patriarch of this found family — they cannot see him weak.

The knock comes again. It isn’t insistent; it isn’t loud. Keon’s hands lift from the keys, an irritated vein twitching in his temple, as someone walks in without any invitation at all. Even before he steps into the room, Keon knows who he is by the smell alone: brine, sea wind, gravedirt. 

Peter Lukas stands by the door and gives Keon a smile that holds very little depth. A customer service smile. A distant smile, like a lighthouse so far in the distance you can barely make it out through the mist. Keon avoids shooting back a glare. Lukas was one of the few members of the company board that stuck with him after his father died, rather than jumping ship in anticipation of stocks crashing. His assistance, unfortunately, has been invaluable, and he has never once been unpleasant, in all of Keon’s years working with his father and the company.

That being said, he never got a key to the house. Somehow, that doesn’t matter to Keon in the moment. 

“Mr. Lukas,” he says, standing from his seat. Lukas waves a dismissing hand, gives him a chuckle. 

“Peter, please, Keon. It’s been some time. How have you been? Bad, I assume.”

“Bad,” echoes Keon, dryly. “Well, somethings never change. You certainly know how to cut to the chase.”

“I think you know as well as I do that pleasantries are all well and good, until you don’t need them anymore.” His chipper London-accented voice does nothing to cut through the silence. Paradoxically, Lukas being in the room with him makes him feel more isolated than being alone. The voices from downstairs have completely vanished; a wisp of fog rolls under the music room door.

Perhaps everyone is out together. Keon looks down at his hands where they hover over the keys. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Lukas? Everything alright with the company?”

“Everything’s fine. Personal call, I’m afraid.”

“Really. What could possibly —“

“You know you’re hurting them?” No downturn in his upbeat, matter-of-fact tone, like he’s recommending a nice bar for after-work drinks. 

Keon starts. His eyes fly up to meet Lukas’s, then immediately turn away, because the man’s gaze is iceberg blue, and looking into them puts Keon in the open ocean with no land in sight. He tries to shake off the chill, but it clings to his arms, clings in gray wisps and misty tendrils. Fog around his feet, around the piano, pooling over the marble floor. 

The strangeness of the situation does not occur to him. What does, immediately, is the answer to the question. “Yes,” he murmurs. 

“I assume you plan on doing something about it. You’ve always been one to act, haven’t you, Keon?”

“I—“ His words catch. Keon lowers the piano lid. 

“Your family is gone. You’ve created quite the gaggle of a new one, though. And then, one by one, they started to get hurt. The common denominator really isn’t hard to figure out.”

Naya’s screams, echoing through the portal, finding him in his half-dreamstate as she writhed from a burn by his hand. Fahey’s screams, too, as a virus burned them from the inside out. Casimir, cowering and alone in the basement, because of his father, because of him. The ritual: every injury Naya and the others suffered, every mote of agony they’ve endured because of him, because of him. Because they cared. 

“Yes,” Peter says. “It’s rather too late to fix any of that, I’m afraid. But you can easily prevent any more of it.”

“They need me.“ He responds too fast. His voice is desperate, even to his own ears.

“Do they?”

“We’ve come so far —“

“To do what, Keon?” Peter’s voice remains calm, steady. Just friendly enough. “Now, I’m only viewing the facts of the situation and guiding you toward a rational judgement. I know you appreciate that. Here — a visual, if it helps.” 

There’s a hand on his shoulder, cold, firm. It isn’t the hand of another person. Keon closes his eyes and sees Baz and Naya sitting in the library, laughing over a book that amuses them. He sees Fahey lope in and drape their arms over the back of Naya’s chair, Brekker stretch out his bad knee by the fire. He sees Pashar, perusing the shelves, chatting idly with the others. He isn’t there, and it’s better. The scene dissolves. A yawning cavern in the catacombs builds itself around him, the faceless members of Vox Obscura surrounding Keon with knives and magic and guns. He stands alone, but he knows he can fight them — or, at least, he can give it a good try. The scene dissolves again. Keon is back in the music room now, and he hears faint voices echoing very, very far away, as if the house is three times as big and his friends are on the other end. “It’s easy,” Lukas says, removing his hand from Keon’s shoulder, “in a house this massive. Keeping them safe shouldn’t be much of an issue, now, should it? You did it for two years. All you need to do is remember yourself, pick up the slack. Follow the fog, if it helps. Should provide some assistance.”

Keon turns his head downwards, only slightly, so that the sliver of his cheekbone is visible to Lukas. “You… whatever you are, Lukas. Can you promise me it will help them?”

The old man shrugs. Muffled sunlight catches his stark-white beard. “Is a promise really going to change your mind one way or another? I can promise to make it a bit easier to keep it up, if they get a bit too inquisitive. If that’s any help.”

Keon says nothing, his eyes trailing to the corner that the Collector disrupted during their last visit: Kimber’s things, covered in dust, her crayons and her drawings. The remnants of a girl whose memory he can’t erase. “She’s gone, Keon,” the captain says. For the first time, there seems to be a facsimile of sympathy in his soft voice. It only makes him feel more hollow. “Her and your mother both. But you have their memory, no? You can’t exactly harm the dead by caring for them.” He’s right. Keon knows he’s right. “I … should have separated myself long ago,” he murmurs. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

“What should —“

“You know what to do.” Lukas taps his hat with a finger. “As I said. You did it for two years. And don’t worry. It won’t be nearly so difficult once you get used to being alone.”

He wants to ask more questions. He wants to, but he knows, deep down, that the only reason to do so would be to keep Lukas in the room, and. Well. That would be antithetical to what the man is proposing. “What if they need me?” he asks, but his voice is weak and small. 

“I think you know as well as I do the answer to that, Keon.” Calm, steady. Factual. They don’t. He looks up from the keys, but Lukas is gone. All that remains is the room, the crayons, the dust, the fog — and the hollow thing in his chest that aches and aches and aches.

[wretchedstraystars]

tag dump;;

🚬;; homeless mage for hire: Siris, 🚬;; you selling something? I don’t want it: asks, 🚬;; giving up or just accepting the inevitable?: musings, 🚬;; a chance to get some booze: threads, 🚬;; who has time for aesthetics anymore?: aesthetics, 🚬;; we all want what we can’t have: relationships, 🚬;; spilled from loose lips: headcanons, 🚬;; I failed you-I miss you: Lionell, 🚬;; ....who?: Hugo

🔪;; savage criminal with a playboy’s face: Lionell, 🔪;; nobody decides how my story ends but me!: musings, 🔪;; who are you going to be to me?: relationships, 🔪;; almost as hot as his temper: aesthetics, 🔪;; behind porcelain facades: headcanons, 🔪;; who will I be to you?: threads, 🔪;; make it quick and not asinine: asks, 🔪;; it hurts how much I miss you: Siris, 🔪;; dragged you down with me: Hugo

🌹;; the perfect victim: Hugo, 🌹;; be soft but be ready: musings, 🌹;; pieces of my heart: relationships, 🌹;; every rose has its thorns: headcanons, 🌹;; bullet casings and budding vines: aesthetics, 🌹;; can I help you with something?: asks, 🌹;; remake myself once again: threads, 🌹;; ...who?: Siris, 🌹;; celui qui s'est enfui: Lionell

[crowshoots]

update to the pinned post btw!

[favorskill]

also the fun thing about shipping with me is that we will somehow make it so that our characters have a dynamic that transcend universes because i do so love multiuniverse shit. take siri and i, for example, who will probably be killing both of our muses at least once and they interact in two separate universes

[ellecdc]

can i request a reader x poly!marauders where the reader finds a stray kitten and she hides in her robes so she can feed it in morning and just carries it around school.

it’s the boys vs a kitten for reader’s attention, especially sirius sometimes he’s talking smack to the kitten who’s a asleep and then reader catches him and scolds him for it

loolllll poor Siri. Thanks for your request!

Sirius' Arch Nemesis

poly!marauders x fem!reader

CW: brief mention of Sirius' crappy childhood but very brief and it's only for dramatic effect (it's from Sirius' POV, obviously)

Some may deem this dramatic, but Sirius was very sure that this was quite possibly one of the worst things to have ever happened to him.

“Now, that’s a little dramatic, Pads.” Peter chided, watching you coo at a little bundle hidden beneath your robes as you fed it pieces of chicken at dinner.

“She used to feed me chicken like that.” Sirius pouted, causing Remus to snort.

“She’s never once fed you like that, Pads.”

“Awe, poor Siri.” James cooed, sounding awfully sympathetic to his musings; at least Sirius had one ally here. “Would you like me to feed you chicken like that?”

Sirius gave James his best kicked puppy impression (which was very easy seeing as he was a giant puppy and had spent his entire life training for it) and nodded. “Yes please, Jamie.”

James cooed again and pressed a kiss to Sirius’ cheek before dutifully stabbing a piece of chicken and bringing it to Sirius’ mouth.

“Merlin you guys are embarrassing.” Remus muttered as he turned back to watch you dote over the runty little kitten that you’d found in Hogsmeade last weekend all on its lonesome. 

“You should leave it here, dovey. His mama may be looking for him.” Remus tried, though he couldn’t deny that the kitten did look particularly pathetic. The tiny thing was shaking, crying, and looked sort of wet or dirty - Remus may not know much but he was quite certain no kitty mama would let their little one walk around in such a state.

Remus nearly whimpered when you turned your face up to the three boys standing over you with tears in your eyes, your face overflowing with empathy. “Can we wait here then? To see if the mama comes back for him?”

Remus ignored the petulant whining’s from Sirius as he sat himself down beside you in camaraderie with nothing more than a sigh. How could he say no to such a reasonable albeit emotional request?

“Jamie?” You murmured, and Remus wasn’t sure how much of the pout was honest and how much of it was to gain sympathy for your cause, but James was quickly at your side.

“Yes, angel?”

“Do you think you could ask Madame Rosmerta for some water? Maybe tuna if she has some?”

James looked like he really didn’t want to do that but also felt he was in no position to deny you.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He conceded, pressing a kiss to your hair and causing Sirius to grumble.

“Why don’t you come with me, Pads? Once we bring it back we can head to Zonko's whist these two wait.” James offered, causing Sirius to brighten up considerably.

Needless to say, the mama cat never did show up and the kitten let out a number of pathetic little sneezes from its curled-up place in your lap.

“It’s getting dark, dove. Curfew is soon.” Remus reminded you gently.

“I can’t leave it here, Rem.” You moaned, still never raising your eyes from the kitten as it kneaded biscuits into your robes.

And Remus really hated to admit it, but he didn’t think you could leave it here either.

So, thanks to your bleeding heart and Remus’ lack of self-restraint when it came to anything you ever wanted, Sirius was effectively being replaced by a tiny little devil.

“I don’t know why you’re so wound up about this Black.” Marlene taunted from her place in her girlfriend’s lap as said girlfriend massaged her scalp on the couch of the Gryffindor common room. “It’s just a tiny kitten.”

“'Just a tiny kitten'.” Sirius sneered back at his best friend. “Right, so tell me, Miss. ‘My-Girlfriend-Is-Currently-Snuggling-And-Petting-Me-Right-At-This-Very-Moment’, what do you see my girlfriend doing right now?”

Marlene barely maneuvered her head from Dorcas’ lap to see you curled up near the fire with a book in your hand and that stupid kitten in your lap. 

“She’s reading to her cat?” Dorcas responded bemusedly, clearly not seeing what the big deal is.

“Exactly!” Sirius huffed. “That should be me.”

“Oh, my gods.” Marlene grumbled as she stood from her place, grabbing Dorcas’ hand to pull her up too. “Can we go snuggle in the snake pit? I can’t handle Sirius’ level of dramatics tonight.”

“Some friend you are!” Sirius shouted at Marlene’s retreating form as the portrait hole closed behind them.

James and Remus were currently at a prefect’s meeting with James being head-boy and Remus as (the head-boy’s favourite) prefect. 

Usually, you and Sirius would spend this time together just the two of you, which was hard to come by sometimes in such a relationship as yours. One-time you guys went and used the bath in the prefect’s bathroom knowing that all the prefects would be busy for the next hour and having gained the password from your boyfriends’. Another time, you two fashioned your own prank without the help of the other Marauder’s and even got away with it!

But right now, Sirius just wanted to cuddle.

But that was fine! If it was animals you wanted to cuddle with, Sirius was more than happy to oblige.

With a quick glance to ensure that the common room was empty, Sirius quickly shifted into Padfoot and made his way over to you.

Padfoot was feeling pretty confident in his plan, that is until he heard a nasty little sound emanating from your lap.

“Sirius!” You scolded, picking up the now very spiky and angry looking kitten from your lap. “You’re scaring him, Pads!” You cooed, tucking the kitten into the collar of your jumper.

The portrait hole opened at this and James and Remus entered the room hand-in-hand, laughing about something before turning to take in the scene.

“Uh oh...” James started, making his way over to the two three of you currently sitting near the fire. “Did Padfoot try to eat the kitten?”

Padfoot harumphed the best he could in his current doggy form. Is good dog, he thought, would not eat...only maim.

“The kitten is frightened.” You pouted, looking to James for sympathy. James looked like he was considering giving it to you, but Remus spoke up as he scratched placatingly behind Padfoot’s ears.

“Perhaps you should bring him upstairs, dovey. Give him some quiet time.”

You readily agreed, much to Padfoot’s chagrin, and left the common room. Now you’d be all the way up there and he’d definitely not get any cuddles.

“Okay, is anyone else sort of jealous of the cat?” James finally muttered plainly once he knew you were out of ear shot.

Yes, Padfoot thought as he quickly shifted back to Sirius. “Yes! It’s like she’s replacing us!”

Remus scoffed at that. “No one is being replaced, boys. Just relax.”

Sirius levelled his boyfriend with a glare. “Yeah? When’s the last time she read to you by the fire, Moons?”

Remus paused and seemed to think on that for a moment before his eyes darted back to Sirius. “I still think you’re being dramatic.”

“It’s been since the kitten, hasn’t it Remus?” Sirius argued, not willing to let it go.

“Sirius, she’s allowed to love things other than us.”

Both Sirius and James scoffed at that. “I think bloody not!” James retorted. 

“I can concede if she likes other things, but she cannot love anything more than me! She needs to love me the most!” Sirius insisted, causing both of his boyfriends to look at him funny.

“Oh?” James asked with a bemused frown.

“Is that how it is, really? You think she loves you the most out of all of us?” Remus continued.

Sirius levelled them with a look he hoped portrayed a “yeah, duh”. 

“Is that how this relationship works for you Sirius? Which of us do you love the most?” James demanded, crossing his arms in that way Sirius loves because it makes his muscles bulge. 

“Me, obviously.” He answered simply.

“You’re your own favourite?” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah, I’m awesome.”

“You’re not supposed to have favourites!” James whined.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been like ‘oh merlin, right now Moony is my favourite’?” Sirius asked him.

James scoffed indignantly. “Right now, he very well might be!”

Instead of having the effect he hoped that comment would on Sirius, Sirius nodded in agreement. “See? Favourites.”

“You’re an idiot.” Remus grumbled as he stood and made his way upstairs.

“Do you really have favourites?” James asked quietly once Remus had left, his voice giving way to a vulnerability that made Sirius melt.

“Not a chance, bubs.” Sirius insisted, placing a kiss to James’ temple as he pulled the spectacled boy into his side. “I just like arguing with Moony; he makes it so easy to take the piss.”

James chuckled and allowed some tension to leave his body. 

“No, but seriously, what are we going to do about that kitten?” James piped up and pulled away so he could look into Sirius’ face.

“I suppose my current plan of feeding it to the Hippogriffs is a no?” Sirius asked. He was answered by an unamused glare from James.

“Fine. Fine. Hopefully the novelty will wear off soon.” Sirius conceded. For as much shit as he gave you, he did sort of love how much you loved anything and everything that might be in need of some; himself included.

James and Sirius watched the flames dance in the fireplace for some time, just enjoying the quiet company that the two of them very rarely shared together.

“Why don't we go see what those two are up to, hm?” James asked eventually, helping Sirius up from his position on the floor and heading up the stairs towards the boy's dorm.

The room was quiet as they entered and when Sirius turned after closing the door to survey the room, he let out a horrified gasp.

“How in the buggering hell did he manage that!?” He whisper shouted, pointing to Remus laying on his bed with you pulled into his side, nuzzled into the crook of his arm.

As James moved to survey the two of you from another side, his face morphed into a pained grimace. “Pads, maybe it’s best we-”

But it was too late, Sirius had seen all he needed to see.

“You bloody traitor!” He nearly shrieked, albeit not loud enough to stir you nor the stupid fucking kitten currently curled up in a very content ball on Remus’ chest from your respective slumber’s.

If Remus had been pretending to sleep, his ruse was given away by a smug smirk gracing his face.

“Better luck next time, Sirius.” He goaded, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your arm as you burrowed further into the werewolf’s side. 

Sirius had been beaten, crucio’d, starved, disowned and homeless in his eighteen years of life. But this right here was without a doubt the worst thing to have ever happened to him.

[buckets-and-trees]

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for quite a while. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond anything you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your above, over, and below the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, andI've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

[writtenbymoonflower]

evening!!! i was wondering if you could write something for polymarauders w autistic reader? lavayou 💗💗💗🧁

thank you for requesting, lovely! sorry it took so long :(

cw: description of sensory overload/sensory issues. mentions of masking

465 words

Your shoulders slumped the minute you shut the door, held down from the weight of everything around you. The waist of your pants dug uncomfortably into your middle, discomfort increased by the scratch of your sweater. The buzzing from the fluorescent lights at work still rang in your ears like a sickening symphony. 

“Is that you, babydoll?” You winced at the sharp sting that wracked your body, every nerve ending firing unpleasantly. It’s not that you don’t love Sirius (or all the boys) voice, but on days like these, every new sensation can be too much. Especially when you’ve been keeping your pain hidden all day. Despite this, you made sure to put on your practiced expression, and walked to the kitchen. 

“It’s me.” You said quietly, hoping your low volume would catch on. Remus turned around from the stove, eyeing you inquisitively. 

“How was work, sweetness?” James questioned. You stifled another grimace. You had to get out of these constricting clothes, that would help. 

“It was okay. Long.” You were too exhausted to successfully add levity to your tone.

“Yeah?” Now Sirius was inspecting you. You squirmed under his gaze. You just nodded. James seemed to also catch on. You hated admitting when you felt like this, burnt out from daily life. No matter how sweet or understanding the boys were, you still saw your struggles as an inconvenience to others, more than yourself. 

“Anything we can do to help, angel?” James looked terribly sympathetic. A denial started on your tongue, but you were cut off. 

“Fair warning, we are going to try to help no matter what you say. Might as well help by telling us what would be best.” Remus mused in his tone that leaves no room for argument. You sighed, fully relaxing your face into its natural expression. 

“I don’t know. Everything’s just a lot I guess.” You fiddled with your hands. 

“That’s okay, why don’t we try to make things a bit less?” James flicked the lights off, leaving just the gentle light from the window streaming it. That immediately eased some of the tension in your head. 

“Thank you. Siri, do you think you could get my comfy clothes for me? They’re on the desk chair.” 

“Course, baby.” You noticed he didn’t touch you as you left, knowing it would likely be too much. You kicked off your shoes as Remus handed you a bowl of cereal. 

“Here you go, dovey. ‘S your favorite.” He smiled sweetly at you, honey eyes searching for discomfort. Sirius returned with your clothes. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled. “Jamie, could you turn my show on please?” You made puppy eyes at him. 

“Already on it.” He grinned at you. You smiled unashamedly. 

“Alright, dollface.” Sirius drawled. “Let me help you with these clothes.” 

[calledher]

@mndstom liked for a starter!

"Come with me to this party!" Siri pleaded, her hand going to grasp the other's. Giving their hand a squeeze, she raised her eyebrows temptingly. "It'll be super fun; I know the guy who is hosting - he is super chill!"

[cherryslyce]

Familial Impasses | Regulus Black

Synopsis: Pressure arises as a familiar face becomes embroiled in political trouble and moral ambivalence. Alternatively: As James Potter’s younger sibling, you fight for Regulus.

Pairing: Regulus Black x (Adopted) Potter!Reader

Notes + WC: 5.4k , James and Sirius are so chaotic.

The Potter household has long been a foundational pillar of love and ease for you. Plumes of cotton clouds were perpetually suspended above the sumptuous manor, and you distinctly remember the day you arrived in front of the regal front yard, donning new robes and the Potter surname. 

Even amidst the gloomiest of days, Potter Manor remained unblemished by the sheen of greys and drops of heavy rain. Your parents were tenderhearted folk, often unable to properly reign in the boisterous force that was your brother. James was the apple of your eye when you first arrived in the lived-in home at the ripe age of eight. 

Under the near-yellow lights of the entryway, he took you under his wing the second his eyes befell on yours. 

Yet, your reminiscing did little to quell the fiery frustration that singed at your patience. After so many years of tumultuous adventures and shared laughter, you felt everything drown away as the forefront of your mind became consumed by the imperious demands he was layering onto you. 

“James. You are being absolutely ridiculous right now, do you know that?” You huff out, arms crossed as you stare hotly ahead. 

Sirius is settled beside your brother, eyebrows drawn together as an uncharacteristically firm frown decorates his face. James clicks his tongue and pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to catch your eyes, “Y/N, we’re being serious here. Siri and I are graduating soon and we won’t be able to look out for you when we’re gone.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” You mused stubbornly, fixating your gaze on the sprigs of tulips peeking at you from the polished coffee table. “Besides, what the hell are you even protecting me from? Regulus? He would never harm me.” 

“You don’t know that.” Sirius interjects, hands rubbing together as James shoots you an admonishing look. 

Astonished by the field of conversation, you shake your head as you finally face the two boys, “Sirius, this is your brother we’re talking about! Merlin, if anyone said anything like this about me, you’d both have their head, would you not?” Your narrowed eyes dart towards Sirius as he sighs, placing his hand up to placate you. 

“It’s different, Y/N. Regulus is going to take up my father’s mantle soon, and there’s no doubt that he’s already been brainwashed into following the Dark Lord.” Sirius mumbles, face now looking weary as he gazes out of the window behind you. 

You bite the inside of your cheek at the mention of the Dark Lord, aware that Regulus had been researching the man for a few months now. Internally, you found solid reason to believe in what your brother was advocating, but your longstanding friendship with Regulus turned you away from the decision to abandon him. 

���I’m not going to stop being friends with him.” You announce, eyebrow slanting up as Sirius made an effort to protest your proclamation. “But, if it eases your worries, we’ll strictly talk about school work.” 

James and Sirius share a long look of consideration before your brother turns to you and sighs, “Fine, but we won’t like it.” His acquiesce fills you with tepid relief, but you could count it as a temporary victory. 

In the stirring waves of your mind, you were completely aware that you’d make little effort to actually change your dynamic with the younger Black brother, knowing that the boy was much more capable of independent thinking than given credit for. 

The remainder of your Yule Break is spent buried in swaths of parchments and tomes with the occasional migraine from James’ antics. A cavernous pit materialized in your chest as you seemed to gradually wither away from stress, mind carouseling around the plethora of O.W.L. exams you needed to study for. 

On the penultimate day before you, James, and Sirius were due to return to Hogwarts, a familiar black-banded owl came fluttering to your bedroom window. Clambering around the strewn leaflets of paper and open textbooks on your floor, you gaily greet the owl with a wide grin, gently grasping at the letter between its beak. 

“It’s always nice to see you, Belenus.” You coo at the perceptive bird. 

Cracking your window open further, you muffle an amused huff as the owl teeters through, resting straightly on your windowsill as it examines the disarray of your room.

“Er, it’s been a long day.” You wave in elaboration, not perturbed by the near judgemental look that flashes across the bird’s eyes. “Did Reggie ask you to wait for my reply? The lack of patience in that boy, I swear.” 

Sitting down at your dimly-lit desk, you carefully unfurl the letter with trembling hands, heart skipping at the sight of the boy’s penmanship.  

Dear Y/N, 

I hope that everything is well for you. It is a shame that we are not able to convene before the end of break, however, I will give you your gift when we get back to the castle. I hope that Sirius is not giving you too much trouble, mother and father were never able to control his rambunctious behavior. However, he strangely settles after a cup of peppermint tea (his favorite brand is Lady Bramble’s).  

I know you are brimming with anxiety from our last conversation, and for that, I deeply apologize. You will be pleased to know that I have given it much thought as per my promise to you, and I think we should talk more about it when we get back. I have not yet made any permanent decisions. 

I have much to tell you after break. I miss you dearly.  

R.A.B

You suppress a smile at the last few words, head feeling light with unadulterated joy. Threading together inklings of composure, you sit up straight and begin to draft your response, fingers unsteady with shreds of nervousness. 

Reggie, 

The week has been long and difficult without you, I must admit. I hope you are faring better than me with your homework (I fear that I may not make it). James and Sirius pulled me aside a few days ago to advise me against remaining friends with you. It is growing dire, Reg. I don’t want to sour this exchange by rehashing our last conversation, but I want you to know that even though my love and loyalty for you runs deep, I am unwavering in my stance against You-Know-Who. 

If you are giving me my gift in person, I suppose I will do the same. As for the tea, thank you for the idea. Perhaps, I can test it on James to see if their uncanny likeness extends to calming agents as well. 

Delighted to hear from you, I miss you so much. 

Y/N

Once you reread the passage with attentive eyes, you nod once to yourself and prepare your wax seal. Weaving around the flush of work on your rug, you carefully give Belenus your letter. 

“Give him my regards, will you?” You whisper, running your index finger along the owl’s head. The creature tilts its head before shuffling through your window again, taking flight in the blink of an eye. 

Just as you begin to fall into a peaceful lull, elbows propped against your windowsill, a thunderous knock against your door has you nearly falling into the pane of glass. 

“Y/N! Come outside with us!” Sirius’ shouts bleed through the thick wood as if it were made of thin air, and you roll your eyes sky high, grateful that your mother was out shopping and not napping. 

“Hold your horses!” You yell back, scurrying over to fling your door open, heart still stuttering in its beats at the clamorous interruption. 

As you crack open your door with an unimpressed look, you’re met with Sirius’ shit-eating grin and a highly entertained James holding a pile of plastic-wrapped goodies. Your brother juggles the crinkling jumble before he balances one in his hand, flashing it around as he practically vibrates on the spot. 

“What’s that saying again, patience is virtue?” You mumble sarcastically. 

Sirius shakes his head and waves you off, “Being virtuous is boring.” 

“Right. Where did you get all of these from anyway?” You question breathlessly, reaching forward to snag one of the items from James’ arms.

Plecky’s Triple Ruby Ice Cream. The bulky square is icy to the touch, the packaging’s lurid colors buzzing against your eyes as Sirius begins to impatiently tug you down the hallway. 

“No time to explain, we have to eat all of these before mum and dad get home.” James offhandedly hums, marching behind you and Sirius as you pace down the stairs. 

“I hate you both, do you guys not have to study for your N.E.W.T exams?” You huff, batting at Sirius when he squeezes your shoulders. 

James lets out a hearty chuckle at your words and Sirius clicks his tongue goodheartedly before whispering to you, “Nope! Moony and Lils are going to help us after break.” 

You sigh into the air, hands limply flying up as you mutter lightly, “I don’t understand how they put up with you both, honestly.” 

James bounds forwards past you both, flinging himself through the open door and into the pool of sunlight as he calls back, “We’re both extremely loveable. Now, I bet I can eat more of these than you!” 

The next time you feel any semblance of peace is the day you return to Hogwarts, school work long forgotten about when you hurry to meet with Regulus in the astronomy tower. You had practically inhaled your dinner, leg bouncing with uninhibited anticipation the moment you locked eyes with your devastatingly pretty friend. 

Once you’re situated atop the staircase, you quickly survey the open room for the boy, eyes dancing across the atrium when you find that you’re alone. The stars begin to peek through the canvas of the sky, thinning streams of clouds drifting away as the mottles of luminous spheres grow in number. 

The wind whistles sharply as it bats against the aged stones of the castle walls, providing a steady white noise as you wait patiently against one of the many iron railings. Only a few moments after you grow comfortable in your spot, you hear the faint padding of footsteps ascending towards you. 

Regulus’ eyes widen imperceptibly when they land on your lax figure, his body jolting to hurriedly close in on yours, “You got here early. Are you not cold?” 

The boy reaches for your hand, humming when he finds your fingertips cold to the touch. Shaking your head, you deftly wrap your arms around him as you mumble into his ear, “It’s so good to see you, Reggie.” 

Regulus’ arms find themselves around your waist as he reciprocates your hug, nuzzling against your neck as he lets out a low hum. Your relationship was not clearly defined by any title, nor was it barred by any conventional lines, and for the most part, you wouldn’t exactly say it was platonic in nature. 

However, affection was limited to hugs and handholding, the situation between your families and the state of the political sphere too convoluted for anything beyond that. 

“How was your break, love?” He asks with a soft voice, fingers ghosting against your hips as his arms loosen so he can crane back to look at you. 

You smile and drop your head onto his shoulder, “It was good. Though, Sirius got a bit ill yesterday.”

“Oh?” Regulus’ voice edges on concern, but he can decipher the amused hint in your tone to know it isn’t worthy of unease. 

“We ate a load of ice cream the day before, and Sirius is weak to bets.” You answer, not missing the light chuckle that Regulus releases. 

A few beats of peaceful silence ensues before Regulus detangles himself from you, eyes searching your face as conflict flickers through his eyes. A heavy burden seems to weigh against his shoulders as he huffs out a sigh too considerable for someone so young. 

“What’s on your mind, Reg?” You mumble, hands dancing up to rest upon his taut shoulders. 

Regulus frowns minutely before he throws his head to the side and indulges, “I won’t last much longer.” 

“Pardon? Helga, are you alright?” Your eyes are blown wide as you try to catch the boy’s eyes. “Regulus, don’t dance around this, tell me what the hell you’re saying.” 

Regulus’ shoulders give a shake as he swallows a dry laugh, facing you again with serious eyes, “Sirius had the right idea from the start, and I was too blind to see that I should have packed and ran for the hills, too.” 

Shock blisters across your mind as you reel back to process the information, mouth drawn into a small gape as you assess the boy’s expression. “What’s with the sudden change? I mean not that I hate it, frankly, I quite like this, but you were still uncertain just days ago.” 

Regulus mulls over your question for a few moments, hands moving to encircle your arms as he muses, “I’ve been corresponding with my Uncle Alphie since the start of break, and he was able to give me a rather impartial crash course of everything. From then, I just had to pick up the pieces stripped away and build on the bare bones…” His words taper off as his mouth furls into a small frown. 

“Love, you’re going to give me a hernia from all this roundabout talking.” You jokingly reprimand, eyebrows raising as Regulus nervously cracks his neck. 

“My parents are not good people, and I’ve seen those that Bellatrix surrounds herself with–” the word death eaters was notably eschewed, “and, well, it all seems like drivel now. Besides, I don’t want to fight on any side of any battle if I have to lose you. Your letter was a pretty jarring wake up call.” He finishes, his hands now unconsciously moving you closer to him. 

“Well, fuck.” You whisper into the air, mouth curling into a content smile as Regulus relaxes. “I didn’t want to lose you either, and I’m glad that I don’t have to. We’ll figure something out, but I won’t ever let you step foot back in that house ever again.” You promise with a firm voice. 

Regulus nods and his eyes shine with conviction, the promise quelling the storms of doubt in his bones, and erasing the wedge between you both. 

“Can I do something?” Regulus whispers, eyes capturing yours with an entrancing glimmer. 

“As long as it's not throwing me over this railing, then yes.” You whisper back coyly. 

Regulus chuckles, face now inches away from yours as he shakes his head, “Never.” 

As the little promise escapes into the air, Regulus tugs you into him, lips finding your own as he pours every inkling of passion and love coursing through his veins into his ministrations. Your hand tangles in his curls as he continues to heatedly kiss you, the silent push-and-pull between you both now long forgotten. 

Humming against his lips, you give a small tug to his hair before you pull back with a shaky breath, “There’s no going back, Reg.” 

“Good.” His words are hushed as he places his forehead on yours, “You’re my only constant. Not a bloody thing in this world I’d rather do than be with you.” 

“Is this the gift you were talking about?” You mumble, suppressing the tsunami of heat threatening to dissolve your self-restraint as you peer at the breathless boy.

“No, but forget about it for now.” He hums, “I hope you don’t have anywhere to be, I intend on keeping you here until curfew, love.” 

You laugh lightly and run your thumb across his cheek, “Bloody troublesome, you are. I can see the resemblance between you and Sirius now.” 

“Please don’t bring my brother up while I’m trying to love you.” Regulus huffs, swallowing your next retort with his lips as he dives back in to claim your undivided attention again. 

Luckily, you both made it back to your dorms before curfew came to nip at your tangled figures in a slew of detention slips and reprimands. The shift in your relationship was noticeable, but it did little to hinder your day-to-day routine, the both of you still trembling under the weight of your studies. 

It was the Friday of your first week back when James and Sirius bounded towards your hunched figure, your hands littered with inky streaks and eyes squinting painfully at your textbooks. The library upheld a faint degree of chatter, and you were itching to track down Regulus (the boy was likely off at Quidditch practice). 

“Heya, kiddo!” Sirius beams, slinking his way over with a respectable amount of carelessness as a few students side-eye him. James is beside him, hands in pocket, sporting a pitiful frown. 

“What’s up? And what’s with the frown?” You muse, stretching your back as they both pull out the chairs across from you. 

Sirius snickers and leans over to obnoxiously whisper to you, “Lily gave him a good scolding earlier.” 

“Sorry to miss it. What’d you do? We all know it was your fault.” You perk an eyebrow up at your brother, refusing to back down even as he throws his hands up with a flabbergasted look. 

“Well–er…” Sirius trails off, mouth agape as you could practically see his brain stuttering in its hollow glory. 

James sends a resounding kick to the boy, and shakes his head as he turns to you, “Nothing, just a disagreement about a certain Slytherin.” 

“Severus?” You inquire, lips tugging into a frown at the thought of your (reluctant) Potions tutor. 

Sirius huffs at the mention of the boy and clicks his tongue, “No, not Sniv–” 

“Finish that remark and I will maim you, dear boy.” You narrow your eyes, quill pointed threateningly in his direction. 

Sirius throws his hands up in surrender and opts to shuffle one of your open books over to him, eyes running along the words with vague interest. James’ eyebrows furrow and he seems to be debating on saying something when you continue your prodding, “So not Severus. Don’t tell me… Were you both arguing about Reggie?” 

“What? No!” James refutes, head shaking furiously as irritation stews in your gut. 

“Don’t lie to me, you don’t care about any Slytherins other than Reggie and Severus. But why the hell were you talking about my social life, again?” You huff, arms crossing as you see Sirius tensely peek up from his reading. 

James sputters for a moment before he breathes in deeply, a stern expression overtaking his face as he straightens his posture, “Lily agrees that I should be more… open minded about your friendship with him–”

You perk up and throw your hands into the air, “See!” 

James puts a hand up and shoots you a small look, “However, I am your brother, and it’s in your best interest to distance yourself from him.” 

“My best interest, or yours?” You ask with narrowed eyes, beginning to pack up your supplies. “James, we can’t keep having this conversation. Why don’t you try sitting the both of us down and having a completely reasonable, civil conversation with us for once?” 

“Well–” He begins, a frown pressing down on his features. 

You shake your head and huff, “No more excuses. Either you put on your big boy pants and try to understand where I’m coming from, or you can continue to mope, but if you choose the latter, don’t even think about approaching me until graduation.”

Without another word, you sling your bag over your shoulder and march away, ignoring Sirius’ calls after you, your textbook still in his hands. As you storm through the winding corridors, evading the swaths of students milling around, you set your sights on the Quidditch Pitch. 

The sun escapes into the stacks of pillowy clouds as you round the field, giving you an opportunity to peer up into the skies and track down Regulus, a pleased hum escaping your throat as you see the team begin to descend from the air. 

Shifting your weight from leg-to-leg, you wait patiently as Regulus hurries to break away from the circle of Slytherin players, nodding distractedly at Rosier. A few moments later, Regulus strides over to you with a flickering grin, eyes alight with lingering endorphins and excitement. 

“Love, what are you doing here?” He breathes out, dropping a small kiss to your cheek as he maneuvers his broom to his left hand, leaving his right hand to brush his curls away from his face. 

Beaming at the boy, you hum, “Just wanted to see you. And perhaps talk to you about something.” 

Regulus tilts his head and nods agreeably, “What’s on your mind?” 

“I’m thinking about telling my parents about us, and maybe you can ask your Uncle Alphard about y’know… leaving your house?” You mutter, fingers twitching with nervousness as a look of consideration passes through Regulus’ eyes. 

“Well, I don’t mind your parents knowing, but I also don’t mind them not knowing. I don’t want you to get into any trouble,” He confesses, rolling his arm back to stretch his sore shoulders. “As for my situation, I think my uncle would be willing to help me get emancipated. I don’t want to intrude in his home though, my mother would probably blow it up if I stayed there.” 

“So don’t.” You hurriedly say. 

He rubs your arm as he hums, “Don’t?” 

“Don’t go to your Uncle’s. Stay with us.” You mumble, eyes pleading with him. 

“Love–” He starts, eyebrows drawn together. 

A resounding voice echoes from across the pitch before he can finish, diverting both of your attention away from one another, “Hey, Black! Don’t dawdle! Avery said he wants you here for strategy!” 

“Go ahead.” You whisper, patting Regulus’ arm with a reassuring smile as you begin to back away. 

“Hey,” He whispers back, stepping forward to grab your hand with a fatigued frown, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, we’ll talk later, yeah?” You muse, lips furling upward as you squeeze his hand in farewell. 

You linger ankle-deep in the damp grass for a few more moments, watching as Regulus disappears into the distance with one last glance over his shoulder. 

Almost like a robot being rewound, you spin on your heel and march back to the castle, mind racing with threads of words to send to your parents. 

Once in your dorm, you immediately launch yourself on your bed, head craning down for indistinguishable reels of minutes, occasionally stopping mid-sentence to ponder on your next thoughts. When you lift your quill up from the parchment with finality, your eyes dart from the paper to your window, squinting with a light bristle as painful clouds of blue mull in your vision, the lighting in the room now too dim for comfortable writing and reading. 

As the sky grows gloomier, the wisps of lingering clouds withdraw into invisibility and you’re left to race against time as you fold up the finished letter to your parents. 

Dear Mum & Dad, 

I hope that you are both well! Please be sure to get lots of rest! Also, may we stock up on Lady Bramble’s peppermint tea? 

Rest assured, I am studying well. James and Sirius are as well (surprisingly). 

I was wondering if I could ask for a very large favor that would require the utmost discretion… 

To be direct, Regulus and I are together, and he needs to find sanctuary away from his parents. His uncle is willing to aid him with the legal processes of the matter, but he has nowhere to turn to for the summer breaks. 

I know this is a lot to ask, and I also know it isn’t ideal (for a multitude of reasons), but I will be forever grateful for even the slightest bit of deliberation. Please get back to me as soon as you can. Also, please don’t tell James. 

Your favorite child, 

Y/N 

The spiral of waiting threatened to tip you over the verge of complete impulsivity, one that would lead to you exposing your relationship prematurely and the subsequent Regulus-hunting that would ensue on your brother’s part. 

It had only been a couple of days since you sent off the letter to your parents, and at first you had been suspicious that your brother had somehow found out. After your disagreement with him in the library, he had been strangely distant, only occasionally giving you long, indistinguishable looks. 

Your sudden withdrawal from your brother and his circle spurred deep concern from your friends, and especially from Regulus, who managed to subtly bring up the development during every conversation you had with him. 

“Are you nervous?” You ask with a small frown, watching Regulus fiddle with his pot of ink. 

The boy shakes his head and flicks the ebony glass, “Not really. Rosier has been keeping an eye out on their new strategies and formations.” Regulus finally looks up and leans across the table toward you, “You’re coming to watch, right?” 

Rolling your eyes playfully, you hum lightly, “When have I ever missed one of your games?” 

“Right… and you’ll cheer for us?” His eyes run along your face as you furrow your eyebrows. 

“Yes… like I always do. Are we playing twenty questions now, love?” You huff out with a breathy laugh, intrigue only swelling higher when Regulus says nothing and gives you a small, uneasy grin. “Okay, what’s up? You’re looking at me the way I look at Severus when I accidentally mince my cowbane instead of chopping it.” 

“Poor Severus.” Regulus hums, eyes retracting into a sheen glaze as he reminisces on your ineptitude in Potions. “Anyway, it’s just… we’re playing Gryffindor.” He continues, mouth parting slightly when you squint at him. 

“Yes, Regulus, I know. Are you alright, dear?” You enunciate with blatant concern, head tilting to survey the boy’s uncharacteristic apprehension.

He clears his throat softly and shrugs, “I’m alright, I just don’t want you to be put in a weird place because your brother is also playing.” 

“Merlin, Regulus. So this is what you’re getting at.” You click your tongue with a small smile, reaching over to pat his hand, “Don’t stress yourself out, I always cheer for you.” 

“Uh? Ouch.” A familiar voice echoes from your right, tearing through the little bubble of comfort you’ve established with Regulus.

Swiveling your head over to the interruption, you narrow your eyes at the perpetrator and huff a small Hello, James. 

“Yeah, hi.” He blinks emphatically, “Please tell me you’re joking.” 

Regulus flips his hand over and threads his fingers with yours as you direct your full attention to James, “About cheering for Regulus? Well, I’m not.” 

James holds up a hand and sighs, “Okay, that’s a whole different discussion to be had. But I’m not here to argue. Sirius and I,” James leans to the side and gestures, but when he meets nothing but dusty air, he chokes on his spit and fully turns around, “Sirius?” 

You and Regulus exchange a concerned glance as James continues to talk to one of the bookshelves, “Sirius, what are you doing?” 

A fragile silence collects in the air as the three of you seem to share a collective perplexion, all waiting with bated breath. Regulus runs a hand through his hair as he frowns at James, likely questioning the boy’s sanity. 

Finally, Sirius’ broad figure emerges from behind a bookshelf, eyes wide with sheepishness as he makes eye contact with you and Regulus. “Hey, guys.” 

“Sirius.” Regulus greets with a stiff nod, fingers tightening against yours. 

“Why were you behind a bookshelf?” You hum, wrestling down an amused smile as James presses Sirius with a similar questioning look. 

Sirius chuckles dryly and walks over to your table, sitting on the edge as he slides a book toward you, “I was waiting. I honestly thought you’d hex Prongs to next Yule.” 

“Smart. What’s this?” You pick up the tome, exhaling loudly once you see it’s the book that you left in Sirius’ possession after you stormed away days prior. 

Sirius taps his fingers against the table and gives an exaggerated nod to James, throwing his arm towards an empty chair as your brother shuffles awkwardly on the sidelines. 

“Right.” James muses, hurrying to take a seat as Sirius slides over to make room. “We’re here because we wanted to talk to you.” He chews on his bottom lip and glances at Regulus, “The both of you.” 

Regulus nods and looks to you for confirmation before sitting up, “We’re listening.” 

“Well, it’s just that… you can’t be that bad.” James says, rubbing his shoulder as he nods at Regulus. 

Regulus rubs his thumb along your hand as he coughs out a laugh, “Uh, thanks. You too?” 

“And if it’s true that you’re… changing, then Sirius and I are very happy at the end of the day.” James finishes, now more confident as Sirius reaffirms his statement with his own light hum. Sirius rubs a hand down his mouth as he seems to debate on what to say to his brother, eyes flickering between Regulus and the far wall. 

“Well, I’m glad then.” Regulus adds, shooting you a relieved smile. 

Sirius clears his throat and paces towards Regulus, clapping his hand on the boy’s shoulder as his voice thickens with emotion, “I’m really relieved, Reggie.” 

“Yeah, me too. It will be different now.” Regulus promises with a whisper, smiling up at his brother with resolution. 

As Regulus and Sirius have their little moment, James knocks his shoe against yours to grab your attention. “Here. This came with my mail today. Don’t worry, I didn’t peek or anything.”

Quirking an eyebrow up, you slowly reach forward as James extends an envelope to you, eyes brimming with curiosity as he surveys you. “From Mum and Dad?” You murmur rhetorically, getting an affirming grunt from James in return. 

Ripping open the thick paper, you deftly extract the folded letter with coiled anxiety, head beginning to feel heavy as you anticipate the letter’s contents. Unfurling the crisp pages, your eyes run over the passage of ink, sinking into concentration as everything fades into the backdrop of your mind. 

Y/N, 

You should finish the rest of your other teas first, however, I bought a few tins of the peppermint tea as they were on sale.  

I cannot say I am surprised by the development of your relationship with Regulus, you and James were always attached to the Black brothers since youth. We are not able to house the boy comfortably for the sake of safety, it is entirely too unpredictable to have both runaway heirs under one roof. However, your father and I discussed the matter and we have decided that Regulus may be safe at Godric’s Hollow for the summer. The plot is untraceable and not widely known about outside of our family. We will send along a portkey for him to take near the end of the school year. 

Your father is expecting an explanation when we see you next. 

Please look out for your brother. 

Your father and I love you lots, dear. 

With love, 

Mum

A cold pin of disbelief rocks through you for a few moments before blind elation envelopes it and has you sighing into the air. Dropping the letter down, you smile widely and practically fly over the table, grabbing at Regulus’ tie. The boy darts his eyes to you in alarm before his eyes light up at the joy written across your expression, “Love?” 

“You’re going away for the summer.” You whisper enigmatically, a grin stretching at your lips when Regulus’ eyes widen further. 

“I am?” 

Nodding, you lean forward and press your lips against his, “My parents gave the okay.” 

Regulus laughs brightly and pushes up from his seat, cupping your face as he reciprocates your kiss. You both continue to exchange affection as Sirius and James drift off to the side, disgruntled and looking anywhere but at you both. 

Amidst running your hands into Regulus’ curls, you vaguely hear James muttering under his breath. 

“Sirius, you better go wrench your brother away before I make you an only child.” 

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