#Come at me smudged-red-ink

[the-ellia-west]

I have 2 mutuals, One is a good friend, the other I wish to be my greatest nemesis.

[smudged-red-ink]

Five minutes ago I decided would like a hobby that requires skill and my hands but also no computers then I realized it is December 1st so...

I will be drawing something every day of December(or at least until the end of finals) to try and revive my severely atrophied art capabilities.

I failed NaNo, so the confidence isn't high, but there will be an attempt.

Anyway, expect some bad art soon.

[aleskie]

SINCERELY, YOURS (ft. Max Verstappen)

SUMMARY: You come home to a heartwarming mess of papers, ink, and (worst of all) glitter. But the letters you get from it are worth the small headache.

The Xmas Album Masterlist

Warnings: full on domestic fluff with mr. max!!

“I’m home!” you call out, balancing bags of groceries as you shut the door behind you.

“Mama, you’re back!” A small voice chimes in, followed by the quick patter of footsteps on the hardwood floor. It’s your son, Felix Verstappen, all smiles and undeniably far from the clean state you left him in an hour ago.

Setting the groceries down, you crouch to give him a hug. “My baby, did you miss me?” you ask, your tone sweet and playful.

He nods earnestly. “You were gone forever.”

“Mhm.” You take his little hands in yours, instantly noting the sticky sensation of what you suspect is glue. A closer look reveals the true extent of his artistry: while his face is mercifully clean, his clothes are a canvas of marker streaks and, to your dismay, glitter—the absolute bane of your existence.

Before you can say anything, another set of footsteps enters the foyer.

“Oh, schatz, you’re home,” Max, your husband, greets you with a warm smile. He leans in for a quick kiss before swooping down to grab the groceries. “I’ll take these to the kitchen.”

“Thanks, hun.” You return his smile, but your gaze lingers on him for a moment. That’s when you notice it: various shades of marker ink smudged across his forearms and—yep, more glitter dusted across his shirt.

Turning back to your son, you scoop him up effortlessly, earning a delighted giggle. Getting picked up is his absolute favorite thing these days.

“Fox,” you say, giving him a pointed look. “Do you want to tell me why you and Daddy are such a mess?”

He turns his head toward the living room, his grin stretching even wider. “It’s a surprise!”

“Really?” you reply, raising a brow as curiosity creeps in. Balancing him on your hip, you make your way to the living room. “And who is this surprise for—”

Your words falter mid-sentence as your eyes land on the scene before you. The living room is a battlefield of creativity and chaos. Markers are scattered across the floor, joined by an explosion of colored paper and scraps. Felix’s prized sticker collection decorates every available flat surface—the coffee table, the windowsill, even the TV remote. Glitter sparkles from the cushions, as though the couch itself had decided to join in the festivities. And to your utter horror, you spy bold streaks of green and red marker on the arm of your beloved cream armchair.

“Okay, I promise we were going to clean up before you got home,” Max pipes up, appearing from the kitchen with a sheepish smile. In one hand he holds a half-empty jar of glitter and what looks like a glue stick in between his fingers.

You exhale, smirking as you tilt your head and raise a brow at your husband. “What a surprise, right, Maxie?”

“Well…” Max rubs the back of his neck, the universal gesture of a guilty party caught red-handed. “I admit it kind of…escalated. But look!” He gestures toward the coffee table, drawing your attention for the first time.

The scene before you is pure, endearing chaos. Scattered across the table is a vibrant collection of handmade Christmas cards, each one uniquely charming in its imperfections. Crayon-drawn Christmas trees overflow with ornaments, ranging from Santa’s sleigh to inexplicably random racecars. Snowflakes, lopsided but earnest, adorn other cards, which are further embellished with an eclectic mix of Spiderman and holiday-themed stickers. One particular card stands out—a reindeer crafted from Felix’s tiny handprint, smudged at the edges but adorable nonetheless.

And, of course, glitter. Glitter everywhere. It clings to the cards, the table, and even seems to hover in the air like festive dust motes. You think the glitter is a bit over the top, but it tugs at your heartstrings all the same.

Felix wiggles excitedly in your arms, his grin as big as the mess. “We’re making Christmas cards! For everyone!”

Your exasperation melts a little as your heart softens. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah!” he says, practically vibrating with pride. “I made one for you, too!”

“For me?” you ask, letting a smile break through as you feign surprise.

Felix nods furiously before wriggling out of your arms. He races to the table, careful not to trip over the glitter-sprinkled floor, and grabs one of the cards with sticky hands. He rushes back, holding it out for you as if it’s a treasure.

The card is a masterpiece of toddler creativity. Made with your favorite colors, it features a drawn angel perched atop a Christmas tree, both slightly lopsided but clearly crafted with care. Across the top, in Max’s slightly more legible handwriting, is the message: We love you, Mama! The glue is still tacky, and glitter flakes off onto your hands as you take it, but the love poured into it is undeniable.

You chuckle, any lingering annoyance dissolving completely in the face of their heartfelt effort. “It’s beautiful, Foxie. I absolutely love it.”

Felix claps his glue-smeared hands together in delight, his face glowing with pride.

Next to you, Max wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in close. His bright smile is as warm as the twinkling Christmas lights strung up around the room. “Totally worth it, right?”

You roll your eyes playfully but can’t hold back a laugh. “You’re so lucky it’s Christmas,” you tease, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Then, with mock seriousness, you ask, “Now, who haven’t you guys made cards for?”

Max chuckles and takes your hand, guiding you to the coffee table that has been transformed into a chaotic, glitter-filled crafting station. “We’ve got a list, don’t we, Felix?”

“Yes!” Felix chirps, his enthusiasm boundless.

He picks up a crumpled piece of paper from the table and hands it to you. The list is long, a mix of names from Max’s life as a driver—fellow racers, team members, and factory staff—along with Felix’s little friends and a sprawling number of family members.

You scan the list and raise an eyebrow. “This is a lot of work for just two people,” you say, smiling. “How do you want me to help?”

Felix’s face lights up, and he eagerly thrusts a jar of glitter into your hands. “Mama, you’re on glitter duty!”

You scrunch your nose, groaning in mock protest, which only sends Felix into a fit of giggles. Max grins as he reaches over to pinch your cheek. “Don’t act like you don’t want to join in on the fun,” he teases.

“Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes dramatically. Setting the glitter jar down with exaggerated reluctance, you roll up your sleeves. “But I swear, if I’m still finding glitter in my hair by March, I’m banning waffles from this household.”

Max gasps, feigning deep offense. “Not the waffles! You wouldn’t dare.”

“You know I would.”

The three of you settle into a whirlwind of crafting chaos. Felix chatters nonstop about his card designs, explaining every sticker and every crayon stroke in great detail. Max, always the silly goose, adds dad jokes and silly doodles to some of the cards, sneaking kisses to your cheek when Felix isn’t looking—and exaggerating them when Felix is watching, just to see him cover his eyes as he groans, “Ewww, you’re icky!”

The hours pass in a happy blur of laughter and mess. The coffee table becomes a scene of glue, glitter, and scraps of colorful paper, but the stack of cards grows, each one brimming with love and personality.

Eventually, Felix announces he’s “soooo tired” and toddles off to bed, barely making it down the hallway before Max scoops him up and carries him the rest of the way.

You’re tidying up the craft supplies, still battling the glitter that seems to have invaded every surface, mentally noting which furniture pieces might need professional help to remove the marker ink. 

As you gather stray scraps of paper, Max returns from tucking Felix into bed.

He joins you in the cleanup, and together you move around the room in a quiet rhythm, the calm of the evening settling over you both. Your hips occasionally bump into each other, and your fingers brush as you pick up stray bits of paper and reorganize the art supplies. It’s a small, unspoken dance of familiarity and comfort.

As Max turns his attention to the stack of finished cards, he pulls one out from under the pile and holds it out to you. It’s slightly neater than the others but still carries the charming imperfections of a heartfelt DIY project.

“For me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Of course,” he says with a playful smile, handing it to you. “Felix made you one, so obviously I had to show him who loved you first.”

You chuckle softly, taking the card from his hands. The front features a heart in your favorite colors, surrounded by stars and a glittery Christmas tree. In the center, there’s a simple drawing of two stick figures, unmistakably you and Max, hand in hand.

Inside, a short message in Max’s handwriting reads:

Merry Christmas! Thank you for all these years together—for loving me and making me a husband and a father. Here’s to more years and even more happiness. I love you.

Your chest fills with warmth as you look up at him, your eyes softening. “It’s perfect,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him gently. “You’re so perfect.”

He grins against your lips, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

Pulling back, you reach over to the side table and open a drawer. “I made something for you, too,” you say, pulling out a slightly uneven card.

Max’s eyes light up with curiosity as he takes it from your hands. The front features a hand-drawn racetrack looping around a tiny Christmas tree, with festive doodles scattered across the background and the iconic RedBull car zooming on the track..

Inside, you’ve written:

To my heart, my rock, my joy—my Maxie. Thank you for being everything I never knew I needed. You are the best thing to have ever happened to me. I love you to the moon and back.

Max reads it slowly, his expression softening as he finishes. He looks at you, a mixture of love and gratitude in his eyes. “I love it,” he says, his voice quieter now. “And I love you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, your hands entwined on the table amidst the glitter and glue. The mess of the evening fades into the background, eclipsed by the warmth and love filling the room.

“Merry Christmas, schatz,” Max whispers, his voice low and tender.

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, a soft smile gracing your lips.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as the glow of the Christmas tree bathes the room in a gentle light. For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. It’s just the two of you, standing together in the quiet magic of the season.

And in that peaceful, glitter-dusted silence, you know this is what the season—and your life together—is all about.

[lazysoulwriter]

It's never over. - Paul Mescal. ♡

tried to do based on lover, you should've come over by jeff buckley. hope u enjoy and please let me know. ♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎

——————————————————————————————————

The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. It fell in heavy sheets, cascading down the fogged-up windows of the small, cluttered apartment. Paul stood in the middle of the room, his hands trembling as he held the note you’d left on the kitchen table. The ink had smudged slightly, a testament to the tears he knew you’d cried while writing it. The words danced before his eyes, blurry and distant, but their meaning was sharp enough to carve through his chest.

I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.

The record player in the corner crackled to life, its needle catching the first mournful notes of Jeff Buckley’s Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It was your favorite song, one you’d played countless times while cooking dinner, while folding laundry, while lying on the floor together staring at the ceiling and dreaming aloud. Now, it felt like a cruel reminder of everything he hadn’t said, of all the times he’d let his silence speak louder than his love.

Paul sank onto the couch, the leather cold and unyielding beneath him. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, his shirt still clinging to him from when he’d run out into the storm, hoping to catch you before you disappeared. But you were gone. Your favorite coat was missing from the rack, and the scent of your perfume lingered like a ghost in the air.

He closed his eyes, the song wrapping around him like a shroud. Memories came in flashes: the way you’d laugh, throwing your head back without a care in the world; the way your hands always found his, even in a crowded room; the way you’d look at him, your eyes filled with a tenderness that made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

But he’d failed you. He’d held back, too afraid to give himself fully, too caught up in his own fears and insecurities. He’d thought he had time to figure it all out, to become the man he thought you deserved. He hadn’t realized that in his hesitance, he’d been pushing you away.

The chorus swelled, and Paul’s chest ached with every word. He stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. His eyes landed on the phone sitting on the coffee table. He hesitated, his hand hovering over it before snatching it up and dialing your number. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.

“It’s me,” he began, his voice cracking. “I… I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve been a coward. But please, come back. Let me make this right. I love you.”

The words hung in the air after he ended the call, a confession too late. He sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. Outside, the rain continued to fall, relentless and unforgiving.

Days passed. The apartment grew quieter, emptier with each hour. He barely ate, barely slept, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a stone. The record player sat silent now, the music too painful to bear. Yet, every time he closed his eyes, he could hear it—the refrain looping in his mind.

It’s never over.

And then, there was a knock at the door.

Paul froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He stood slowly, every step toward the door feeling like an eternity. When he opened it, there you were, soaked from the rain, your eyes red but filled with a flicker of hope.

“You called,” you said softly.

He nodded, his throat tight. “I… I’m sorry. For everything. For not saying what I should’ve said. For not showing up when you needed me most.”

You stepped inside, the warmth of the apartment enveloping you both. Paul reached for your hand, his touch tentative but desperate.

“Lover,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You should’ve come over sooner.”

You gave him a small, wry smile, the kind that had always undone him. “Maybe. But I’m here now.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you like you might disappear again. As the rain continued to fall outside, the words echoed between you both, a quiet vow neither would forget:

It’s never over.

[corysmiles]

Runes and Ruin Part 4

An Arcane G/T Fic

Notes: Here's my christmas gift to the gt people I hope you enjoy jayvik angst and hurt/comfort time featuring Jayce taking tiny viktor to a gala event >:]

—————————————

After the day of the apology, the one Viktor had thought would never come, Jayce had gotten far more touchy with Viktor. It had started with that afternoon, Viktor asleep against his chest with a large warm hand pressing into him like a weighted blanket, not moving until Jayce had to get up to cook. It was nice while it lasted, the touch Viktor had always craved but could never ask for, but he knew it was likely a one time thing…

But then it continued on into the next day…and the next day, until the moments where Jayce wasn’t touching him in one way or another started to become few and far between.

When they were together it was almost like Jayce was a magnet, constantly drawn to Viktor’s presence, the Earth in constant orbit of the Sun, his hands itching to touch him whenever he was close, like it hurt to not be in contact. He’d always been a touchy person, Viktor knew that- it was impossible to avoid when they had spent so many years in the lab together. But this was new…and Viktor was sure it was going to kill him.

They had been working for a few hours already, Viktor nestled against the side of Jayce’s neck so he could better see the work desk. They had tried so many rune combinations by that point, entire pages in Jayce’s notebook filled with possibilities that never came to fruition.

Jayce huffed, brows furrowed in equal parts curiosity and frustration as another plant turned to dust on the table in front of them with a shock of blue light.

“Alright, so not that one,” Jayce sighed, as he crossed out the rune combination in their notes, his hand pressing with just enough force to smudge the ink at the end.

“At this rate I’ll be stuck like this forever,” Viktor scoffed, raising his brows at Jayce even though he knew the man couldn’t actually see him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jayce responded, voice gruff and harsh, “If it can shrink you it has to be able to change you back, right?”

Viktor couldn’t help the frown that tugged at his lips, “I surely hope so.”

“It will.”

And really, who was Viktor to argue when he wanted it just as much…even if the consistent failures were starting to weigh down on him.

Before he could reply with some snarky comment, Jayce’s hand was on him, fingers wrapping around his body carefully, in a way that was becoming too practiced for Viktor’s liking. His whole world shifted as Jayce picked him up like he was nothing more than a tool, and it took everything in Viktor to not snap at the man for not giving him a warning first. But at the same time, the all-encompassing warmth of his forge-worn fingers felt nice, like a sweater on a cold day- although he’d never tell him that.

When he was finally placed down onto the desk, Jayce at least had half the mind to look apologetic.

“What?” Viktor snapped, face red as his head tilted up as far as it could to get a better look at Jayce.

“I…sorry,” Jayce’s eyes widened, “It’s almost six.”

At that, Viktor paused, he had almost forgotten about what Jayce had said that morning.

“There’s a gala tonight that I can’t get out of,” Jayce had said, head tilted back against the pillows with his thumb idly rubbing up and down against Viktor’s back, his tiny form resting snuggly on his chest.

Viktor had been half-asleep, body fighting to stay conscious under the warm weight of Jayce’s hand. The only response he could manage was a small tilt of his head.

“I was hoping maybe you’d come with me,” Jayce had said, voice tilting up hopefully.

And Viktor could remember his amusement- he knew Jayce wanted to keep him nearby while he was so small. He had asked before about coming to meetings, but Viktor’s response had always been a resounding no. It was almost endearing how Jayce kept asking, regardless of Viktor’s consistent and firm refusals.

The only problem was that Viktor couldn't remember saying no this time. Maybe it was the gentle warmth of Jayce’s touch or the promise that he’d get to spend more time close to the man he was weak for, but he was sure in the early hours of morning he hadn’t told Jayce no.

“Oh yes,” Viktor said, mouth running dry, “The gala.”

“Yeah. They wouldn’t believe I was sick again,” Jayce laughed, a soft deep sound that Viktor could practically feel in his chest, “But the new suit I got has a few pockets you should be okay in.”

And how could Viktor argue when Jayce looked at him with so much hope, his eyes wide and pleading for Viktor to stay with him.

“That should be fine,” Viktor shrugged, ignoring the way his heart pounded at the idea of being so close to Jayce for so long, “Just don’t intend to stay too long. I can’t promise I won’t start biting after an hour.”

“Only an hour?” Jayce laughed.

“Perhaps I can make it longer if we get to the lab early tomorrow,” Viktor sighed.

The grin he got from Jayce, wide and crooked and showing off the gap in his teeth, almost made the whole thing worth it.

“Deal.”

And that was how Viktor had gotten himself dragged to a gala- something he had never wanted to do even before the accident. The extravagant parties Piltover’s elite held were never his thing. He hated all the schmoozing and pointless talk that came of them, and while he knew they needed money, he was more than happy to let Jayce go alone. He always was the more charming of the two of them anyways.

Viktor was tucked securely in one of the side pockets of Jayce’s suit. The silky maroon fabric was warmed by Jayce’s body heat, making the small space feel nice and comforting, and like a cat, Viktor leaned into it. He couldn’t help how he instinctively pressed himself against the sturdy warmth of his partner. It was amusing to Viktor how even in the winter Jayce still ran hot, just like the forges his family was known for. And with how cold it was outside, Viktor was more than grateful for it.

While he couldn’t see out from his spot in Jayce’s pocket, he knew they had arrived at the gala when the silence of night in Piltover morphed into a loud cacophony of sound- voices and instruments and the shuffling of people- all overwhelmingly loud to his now extra sensitive ears.

Within seconds a heavy weight pressed against him almost like Jayce knew what he was thinking, and while he couldn’t respond (and he knew Jayce would push him back if he tried to look out) he was grateful for the touch. It grounded him, stopping his thoughts from wandering too far.

It didn’t take long at all before Jayce was swept away by possible investors; Viktor could feel his deep charming voice vibrating throughout his whole body. He could tell Jayce had had a few too many glasses of champagne when his steps became more uneven, jostling Viktor around in his pocket. Still, every few minutes a hand would press into him- a gentle reminder that Jayce still remembered he was there as he chatted with Piltover’s most elite.

“Jayce, it is very good to see you in attendance again,” Counselor Medarda’s voice boomed above him- the soft lilt of her voice all too familiar.

Even the soft touches did not help with the jealousy growing in Viktor’s gut, curling and venomous like a snake about to snap its jaws.

Viktor could practically feel his skin prickle.

“Mel,” Jayce said, voice soft and happier than he had heard it in a while, “It’s good to be back. I’m sorry I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

“Well I’m sure I speak for everybody when I say we’re glad to have you back in the spotlight,” Mel replied, and Viktor could practically feel how Jayce preened at her words. “It’s far less fun at these events without the golden boy.”

Jayce chuckled, small and tight, and that made the jealous part of Viktor beam. At least he could get real laughter out of Jayce.

“I’m sure,” Jayce replied, and Viktor could imagine the tight smile on his face, “Although I can’t say I miss watching Salo falling over himself after three drinks.”

In return, Mel laughed, the sound soft like bells, and Viktor retreated into the corner of Jayce’s pocket. Maybe if he could fall asleep he could ignore their conversation and in turn stop the bubbling jealousy in his chest. As petty as it was, he wanted nothing more than to pull Jayce away. He’d gotten so used to being the center of his attention that he had almost forgotten why they had drifted apart in the first place. He didn’t realize that Jayce hadn’t laid a hand on him in a while until someone came crashing into them.

Viktor huffed, body squishing against Jayce’s side as he heard a yelp and a muttered apology from someone likely a little too drunk. Over the sounds of the orchestra picking up, Viktor could just barely make out the conversation between Jayce and whoever had bumbled into him. Ever the gentleman, he heard Jayce asking if the man needed any help finding a seat.

Viktor didn’t have any more time to ponder the situation though before he realized that something was wrong- he felt cold.

Jayce had made sure Viktor would be comfortable in his pocket beforehand, and the silk fabric combined with the man’s body heat had been more than enough for Viktor to feel alright while at the gala. But then, right across from Viktor, he saw a gap where the threads of Jayce’s suit had been torn apart- likely ripped during the ordeal with the drunkard. The cool air from the gala blew in, making Viktor curl up further into the far side of the pocket, trying his best to stay far away from the ripped seam.

Above him Jayce’s voice boomed, and with every step Viktor was shook closer and closer to the hole. Frantically, Viktor tapped at Jayce’s side, hoping to get the man’s attention, but he received no response. All he could hear was the sound of laughter and the hushed conversation between Jayce and Mel. For the first time since the incident he truly felt small.

A moment later Jayce turned, just a bit too fast, and Viktor felt himself slip, the satin hard for him to get a good grip on. For a moment he was sure he was going to throw up.

“Jayce!” He yelled, hoping more than anything that Jayce would notice, but still there was no response- his pleas drowned out by the thrum of the gala.

Viktor barely processed Mel asking for a dance, his mind completely focused on holding on tight to the smooth fabric around him. But one more quick shift from Jayce as he took Mel’s hand was all it took.

Viktor yelped, arms covering his head as he slipped through the gap in the seams. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as his body met the cool air. Like a scared child he curled in on himself, but nothing could stop the quickly approaching tile of the gala hall. Seconds before hitting the ground he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that anyone, anything, would help him, but it was to no avail.

He hit the ground with nothing more than a soft thud to anyone listening. Pain shot through his leg, but the fire in his joints was nothing compared to the pure terror coursing through his veins. Adrenaline pumped through him as he stared up at the hundreds of people around him- all towering over him like mountain peaks- their voices loud and mangled together sounding like thunder to Viktor’s ears.

At the very least he could still see Jayce, although as one of his massive boots came down within steps of Viktor he felt his blood run cold. With each footstep, the massive people around him sent tremors into the ground making it difficult for Viktor to stay upright. Internally, he battled between wanting to stay close to Jayce- wanting nothing more than for the man to notice, pick him up, and take him back to his apartment where it was safe- and wanting to find somewhere hidden where no one would ever find him again.

But Viktor didn’t have much time to think before Mel’s shoe stamped down right next to him. The elegant wooden heel towered above him, and as she moved again he had to throw himself out of the way, rolling onto his side and causing more pain to shoot through his joints. Within moments, where he had been was covered by her shoe, and the thought of turning up on the bottom of it- nothing more than a smudge- made him feel sick.

He had to get away.

His blood pounded beneath his skin like a drum, the thump thump of his heart even louder than the musicians who were still playing regardless of the nightmare he was stuck in. It hurt, his leg felt like it was on fire from the fall, but he was alive and he planned on keeping it that way.

The familiar prick of tears stung his eyes as he took one last look up at Jayce, slightly wobbly from the alcohol and smiling wide as he talked with Mel. He wouldn’t cry though, he refused. Realistically, he knew this was happening whenever Jayce went to the galas, of course he did. He saw how the man looked at Mel. He knew he couldn’t compare even if the closeness of the past few weeks had started to convince him otherwise.

He had to go.

Viktor’s face scrunched up in pain as he trudged his way to the nearest sign of safety- the large gilded dining table near the center of the room. His eyes moved constantly darting back and forth between every single person in the room- calculating his chances of getting stomped on at any given moment. Luckily, he’d fallen where most people had decided to dance, meaning their movements were slow, predictable.

Even so, there were quite a few near misses, with him having to throw himself out of the way before finely polished boots smashed down on top of him like he was nothing more than a pest. By the time he got to the table, he was out of breath, his heart jackhammering in his chest. Even though he had really only covered what would have been a few steps at his normal size, his muscles seized like he had ran a marathon.

With a shaky breath he settled down against the leg of the table. From where he was he could still feel the tremors of every step as people passed by. The sight in and of itself was horrifying. He had gotten so used to being around Jayce that he had almost started to forget how terrifying it was to be so insignificantly small. In the first few moments, when Jayce had first found him after the incident, he’d felt horrified, and at that moment, sitting still under the table, praying that no one would notice him, he felt that same all-encompassing terror.

——————————————————————— Jayce was sure he was going to throw up, and he told Mel as such right before darting to the edge of the room. His hands checked his pockets for the tenth - hundredth - thousandth time, hoping that maybe he’d just missed him somehow, that maybe Viktor was still there. But it was to no avail, and to his own growing horror he only found a small gap in his pocket, the seams ripped apart.

Frantically, he checked his shoes to make sure nothing (or more correctly, no one) was stuck to the bottom, and even though he was sure he was getting some odd looks from the other attendees his mind could only think of one thing. He had to find Viktor.

He’d realized something was wrong after agreeing to dance with Mel. He’d felt awful for not attending a gala in so long since he knew she looked forward to him being there. Really, a dance was the least he could offer. But afterwards, when he’d reached down again to reassure Viktor that he still remembered he was there, he felt nothing, no bump in the fabric, no movement, nothing.

The horror must have been clear on his face considering how Mel immediately asked if he was alright, her concern clear from the softening of her face. But how could he be when his partner was somewhere in the gala hall on his own, small enough to be squished by one wrong step. Gods, Jayce was going to be sick.

He was sure he looked crazed to anyone passing by, eyes wide and panicked as they scanned the floor, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He could make it up to any possible investors once he was sure Viktor was safe, which he was, he had to be.

Once he was absolutely sure nothing on his shoes was his partner he took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. He recalled one night years prior when he and Viktor were working on their initial proposal for the Hexgates, only a few days before their deadline. At the time Jayce had been panicking, and the calculations he was working on were filled with mistakes. He remembered how Viktor took one look at the scrawled numbers before forcing him to sit and talk it through with him. He had told him then that nothing good came of such stress; that Jayce always worked better with a clear mind.

He struggled to keep a clear mind now.

But still, Jayce persisted. With his one goal in mind he marched back out into the thrall of people, his eyes glued to the floor for any sign of his partner. A few of the partygoers tried to stop him, to talk about Hextech or whatever new policies they wanted from the council, but with dry lips and weak words, Jayce excused himself every time. He didn’t miss how their eyes would flash with disappointment, but he could worry about that later. When he arrived back at the center of the room his search truly started. He was sure that he was around there when he’d last checked on Viktor.

“Jayce, are you sure you’re alright?”

His head whipped towards the source of the question, only to be met by Mel, her face scrutinizing and worried.

“Yes I…” Jayce struggled to find his words through his panic- his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, “I dropped something.”

“Oh,” Mel tilted her head, amusement clear in her eyes, “Well, do you want help looking for it?”

The response he wanted to give was a yes; his immediate knee-jerk reaction was to spill everything to her. He trusted her- she could help. But the thought of what Viktor’s reaction would be to finding out someone else knew…Jayce couldn’t do it. He knew he’d been walking a thin line with Viktor for months, maybe even years, and they’d only just started to grow close again. He couldn’t risk his trust.

And that wasn’t even to mention the trouble they’d get into if anyone found out about what the Hexcore was capable of. Hextech was his connection to Viktor, he couldn’t risk that.

“No, I…I can find it,” Jayce muttered, his mouth a tight line as he waved off her offer, “Thank you.”

Mel’s brows furrowed, her eyes studying Jayce for a few moments before she gave in. He could tell she wanted to say more, to pry further, but within seconds she was being pulled away by another partygoer off into some other conversation.

Yet, as minutes passed and there was still no sign of Viktor, Jayce started to regret not taking her offer, even if Viktor would never forgive him for telling someone else about his situation. Every second without Viktor made his heart sink in his chest like lead. Time felt like a blur as he searched, frantic as he scanned the ground.

It wasn’t long before another feeling, heavy and all consuming filled his chest- guilt. Viktor hadn’t even wanted to join him at the gala; he knew that. He’d given Viktor the choice, but still, he knew Viktor only came because of him. And now Viktor was in danger…or worse…because of it.

His thoughts muddled together until they only consisted of one thing- find Viktor, find Viktor, please find Viktor.

Most attendees had already left before he finally spotted him, and the moment he did, he swore his heart stopped beating, his blood frozen in his veins. His partner’s tiny form was curled up against one of the legs of the dining table. He was still- too still for Jayce’s liking- but he was thankfully whole.

He didn’t think twice before leaning down and snatching him up in his hands. Immediately, Viktor thrashed against his hold; he’d likely been asleep, but Jayce couldn’t bring himself to feel bad when he was so simply overjoyed that Viktor was alive.

Jayce didn’t say his goodbyes before rushing to the building’s exit. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Mel watching him like a hawk, but he would worry about that later. The cold winter air hit him like a brick the moment he got outside, but the discomfort of it was barely a whisper in the back of his mind. His eyes darted around to make sure no one was nearby before he opened up his hands to really look at Viktor for the first time since he found him.

“Vik, shit, are you okay?”

In his hands, Viktor looked stunned, eyes wide and body stiff as he stared up at Jayce. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish out of water before his whole face tightened- his expression guarded.

“I… I just want to go home Jayce,” Viktor exhaled shakily, voice so quiet Jayce could barely hear it over the distant sounds of the city.

“Are you hurt? I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner,” Jayce panicked, voice wobbling with emotion, “I was trying to find you I promise I-”

“Jayce,” Viktor stopped him, his tone firm, “Please just…I just want to sleep.”

Jayce’s mouth flew shut as his thoughts raced. Thousands of apologies simmered behind his closed lips, but the look of defeat on Viktor’s face stopped them from boiling over.

“Yeah…yeah,” Jayce frowned, “We can go back to the apartment.”

Viktor nodded, still curled in on himself like he had been when Jayce had spotted him, and the uncomfortable silence and haunted look on his partner’s face was almost enough to finally break Jayce.

The walk back to his apartment was quiet and tense. Jayce held Viktor to his chest the entire way, uncaring of how odd it looked to anyone who could see him; he needed to feel that Viktor was okay. Unlocking his door was a challenge since his hands still shook from adrenaline, and as soon as he was inside he beelined for the bed. It frightened him how still Viktor was in his hands.

He couldn’t even bring himself to change out of his clothes as he laid down on the plush sheets, opening up his cupped hands to let Viktor out.

“I’m so so sorry,” Jayce muttered, not able to look Viktor in the eyes as he spoke, voice wet and thick with emotion.

He barely expected Viktor to respond.

“It’s not your fault,” Viktor sighed after a few awfully quiet moments, “I…thank you…for finding me.”

“I shouldn’t have lost you in the first place,” Jayce grimaced.

Viktor’s face flashed between emotions as he looked up at Jayce. He didn’t miss how Viktor leaned against his thumb, putting as little weight as possible onto his bad leg, and the thought of Viktor falling to the floor and having to navigate through all those people made Jayce feel sick.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Viktor frowned, tilting his head up to better see Jayce’s pained expression, “I don’t blame you.”

“I should’ve noticed sooner I-”

“Jayce,” Viktor practically snapped, brows furrowed in frustration, “Please, just… I am tired.”

Jayce made an expression much akin to a kicked puppy as he stared at Viktor, his eyes flickered between emotions, before he pulled his hands close to his face, Viktor along with them. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, but the need to have Viktor close was nearly overwhelming. Gently, he pressed his nose against Viktor, allowing the warmth of his breath to ghost over the smaller man. He could feel how Viktor tensed up for a moment before relaxing against his touch.

“I’m sorry I just…I was so worried,” Jayce exhaled shakily, his lips just barely brushing against Viktor as he spoke, the action small but intimate. Viktor fell quiet in his hands, and as soon as Jayce processed how close they were he flushed with embarrassment.

Quickly, he pulled Viktor away, staring wide-eyed down at him, “I’m sorry I-”

“It’s okay,” Viktor stopped him, eyes wide and face unmistakably red.

Jayce stayed frozen still until Viktor waved to be brought close again, and Jayce couldn’t bring himself to fight it when all he wanted was to hold Viktor close after the whole gala ordeal. When Viktor was close enough again he leaned himself against the bridge of Jayce’s nose, as close to a hug as he could get. The action was slightly awkward, but before he could pull away Jayce pressed his nose back against him, pushing him even closer with his hands. His eyes scrunched tight as he let his shoulders sag and his worries be washed away by the small but comforting weight against his skin.

Again when he exhaled his lips just barely pressed against Viktor, and he couldn’t help how he wanted to stay like that forever. He could feel how Viktor tensed up from the proximity, but the smaller man didn’t tell him to stop, and Jayce was weak so he didn’t ask- too afraid bringing attention to their closeness would cause Viktor to pull away. He reasoned with himself that it was simply the comfort of his friend being close that he wanted. He just had to ignore the nagging want to press his lips fully against the man so carefully nestled in his palms.

That night he fell asleep with Viktor cradled against his chest, his thumb idly rubbing against his side as he rested. And all the while he couldn’t help but think about how nice it felt for the brief moment where his lips brushed against his partner.

[softshuji]

𝟏𝟎:𝟎𝟏 | 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐉𝐈

Title: The Hanma's

Summary: Hanma and you know those intimate moments are few and far between. But you always find a way to make the most of them. Back to masterlist here!

Cw: fem!reader, established relationship, reader and Shuji have kids, some suggestive content, pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, princess, mama, doll),some mentions of violence, this is kinda self indulgent lol. Reblogs appreciated!

Hanma Shuji has a morning voice like no other. It’s gritty, rough, laced with the aftermath of disuse and sleep, cigarettes and alcohol. It’s gravelly, inflected with the slight slur of fatigue, but it rolls over your body in such a way that makes the heat in your stomach thrum with energy. 

He swears the nights are deliberately shorter when he’s at home.

The mornings arrive too fast and the covers are pulled too quickly and he winces a little when the cold draught slips past the door left ajar and he thinks this is maybe the karma for spending so much time at work and never enough at home.

He pulls the blanket over his head and groans, his head of tousled curls now lopsided and flattened against the soft downy pillow.

Your arms come around him instinctively, your breath warm against the pronounced clavicles, the hollow of his throat flexing when he swallows.

The sleep grit is crusting in the corners of his eyes and he pulls up one hand to rub at them, the other pulling you closer against his chest, secretly relishing in the sigh of contentment he hears when you press a chaste and soft kiss to the dip in his collarbones.

‘Mmh Shuji,’ you say, your voice caught in the confines of fabric and cotton and sleep. The nicotine and alcohol, gunpowder and metal has left a scent on his skin, imprinted into the fine hairs that dance along his navel and you brush a hand along the toned ridge of his stomach, the muscles flexing under your soft touch. 

He loves this part of coming home the most, (among other things). The part where you sigh, his name leaving your parted lips and it sounds like a promise, like a heady rush of adrenaline, and your murmurs against his neck are the food for his daydreams in his absence.

‘Don’t wanna get up.’ A mumble that kisses your cheeks like a breeze, an inked hand snaking its way around the small of your back, past the harsh bruises, purpling spots that are red and pink smudges on your skin left just a few hours before under your loose shirt, past the bite marks that now rub against the swell of his bicep when it comes to rest on your shoulder. 

‘I know, but you gotta. We said we’d take them out, remember?’ Despite this, you make no move to leave, opting to bury your face in the curve of his neck, your lips moving over the telltale marks you’d left of your own, still lightly singing with a pulse of barely perceptible pain. Because Hanma Shuji knows you are as insatiable as he is, that your appetite for each other knows no bounds, that you drown in each other nearly every night, climbing out of the current when you come down from your high only to throw yourself in again. 

‘Mhm, you're giving me orders now Sweetheart?’ And the other inked hand comes to tilt your face to his, a thumb brushing the stray eyelash on your cheek, parted lips forming an O that he thinks is worth dying for. He thinks you are worth dying for, a single avenue of repentance, his single saving grace. 

You frown and tut under your breath, rolling your eyes in mock exaggeration, all faux annoyance and indignation. ‘You promised.’ You poke his side for effect, and it’s pathetic to admit your heart does a tiny leap when he giggles, teeth nipping at the flesh of your ear.

‘I know , I know, ‘m getting up birthday girl.’ And he cracks his eyes open to see you swirling a pattern onto the ink of sin, your eyes lidded and brow pinched as you fight the sleep still threatening to take you under. I love you, painted with your finger onto the same hands that the blood splashes on when he pulls a trigger, crusted under his nails and harder to wash off since the day he had met you. And smiling, always smiling at him, no matter how bad, no matter how many times he knows he breaks your heart. 

'Birthday girl huh?' you say now, a teasing and sleepy grin curling at your lips as you rest your cheek in his upturned band, big palm coming up to brush at your cheek. 

'Mhmm, my Princess's special day isn't it?'

'It is, you got something planned for me?'

'Might do, I guess you'll have to wait and see won't you?' 

You feign a tut under your breath. 'No clues?'

'No, be patient Pretty Girl.' And he brushes his thumb across the apple of your cheek, presses down on your lips till your teeth lightly bite down on it. 

'Mhm please?' You say now, a hand moving to rove over his bare chest, fingers tracing the whirl of fine hairs on his navel before he's catching your wrist between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up to his mouth to press a kiss to the inside. 

'Behave yourself Sweetheart.' 

You huff playfully and It hits him for the barest of moments, how often he comes close to losing this. How the blood he’s wrought could catch up with him one day, the pile of bodies he has gladly crushed to reach his desires could grab his ankle and pull him down and that would be it. And you would break trying to put yourself together again. Maybe it’s selfish to keep you knowing that, knowing he could be cut from you like a loose end any day now. But, he is insatiable with you, redeemed by the constancy and feel of you when the weight is heavier than usual, when the burden threatens to-

‘Shuji?’ 

‘Mhm?’ His eyes are pulled to yours again, your bare face free of makeup, lips soft and warm and just as inviting as they usually are. 

‘You were lost in thought for a second. Everything okay?’ 

He knows you mean it from the heart, the heart you carry for the both of you, a necessary recompense for the blessing of being his, because a man like Hanma Shuji won’t get far carrying his heart on his sleeve. So you do it for him.

‘Fine Sweetheart,’ he says and tucks it all away, the insecurity, the thoughts, the edge that has softened since knowing you, cut glass that no longer stings or slices when touched. Today is about you, he thinks. His Princess, his Pretty girl, and all the ways he can show you he knows it all- the things you do, the ways you care that he never mentions,  hair swiped back when he bleeds out on the sofa, towels pressed to his forehead as he mumbles in fitful sleep. 

And then it happens.

The door flies open and your head lifts to see your two springy children burst into the room, their curls bouncing as they race across the carpet.

They climb onto your bed, all short limbs and smiles and toothy grins, giggles and onesies and smelling of sleep, and they jump into your arms, tucked safely between you and the man you love the most. He laughs, full and beautiful, laced with the sluggishness of the sleep that’s still threatening to pull him under and pulls all four of you safely to his side.

You look at his hands as he playfully tosses your daughter into the air, her giggles and grins matched by his, and you think of all the blood and grit they’ve seen, all the splashbacks and gunpowder that he’s washed off in grimy bathrooms to come back to you time and time again. The same hands that now hold your children with a gentleness he doesn’t know he’s capable of, hands that hold yours and trace circles along the knuckles. In the safety of these four baby blue walls, with the sunlight pouring in through the slat in the window, falling onto the baby blue carpet, it is almost easy to believe you are just like any other family. 

‘How’s my little man?’ Your Husband says and winks conspiratorially at your son nestled into your side. 

‘Are we still going out today? You promised!’ Your son says, a frown creasing tiny brows that look so much like his Father’s that it knocks the wind from your chest. It’s almost terrifying to see the resemblances sometimes, the dark tousled curls that bounce when they pull their heads through tiny shirts, golden eyes that swirl just shy of copper. Both your twins that is, spitting images of their Father come to life and a sprinkling of you somewhere in the middle. If you were to ask him, he'd say they looked more like you. You and your winning smile and all the light it brings that now lives safely in their tiny hearts. 

‘I don’t know, have you been good for Mama? Both of you? It's her birthday y'know,’ he says and grins when they nod fervently, pleading eyes that turn to you to back their statement, wrapping their tiny arms around you with a whispered 'Happy Birthday Mama,' and It occurs to him, at moments like this, how greedy he has been to ask and want something that he’s spent so long denying to others. To grab at a life, snatch it from death’s hands, and take it for himself. He has a polaroid of the four of you in his wallet somewhere, behind cards and receipts, numbers of mob bosses, gang leaders, other people whose crimes are too heinous to name, and you safely at the back, tucked away for him and him only, as if this simple act is enough to protect you from the spray of bullets and contents of shady clubs.

‘Come on kids, go get changed.’ And your children scurry off, scrambling off the bed to run to their rooms, excitedly chattering, their curls disappearing through the doorway, voices high with laughter.

He flops back onto the bed and reaches absent-mindedly for the glasses thrown haphazardly onto the bedside table the night before, running a hand down his tired face. It never fails to feel foreign to him on days like today. When the sun is at its zenith, the watery bask of its light leaking into the room, and he wonders at what point his priorities changed, what point he started to think of you more often than he wanted to admit, some time in the past when he was younger and sporadic and chaotic. And while it hasn’t left, that zing of boyhood curiosity, wonderment and thirst for drama, he knows some part of him has softened enough to do this, to not flinch from family, to run his hand over the indentation on the soft cotton sheets, an imprint that remembers you as well as he does.

‘Shuji? Baby?’ And again, like a song, your voice pulls him from his reverie.

‘Yeah?’ 

A beat, your hand moving to hold his, to pull it to your heart, where the memory of his name lives, where he has etched it into your ribcage. ‘Thank you, for doing this I mean. For taking the time out for them and me.’

He doesn’t expect it to hurt like this, the sharp and visceral drop of something into his stomach, and he falters, the quirk of his Cheshire cat grin slipping into something more concerned, something more sombre. 

‘I didn’t mean- I mean I know you’re working hard, I’m grateful Shu’ baby- I am,’ you say, and the rambles of all the pent-up frustrations, nights made lonely by his absence, the whir of the refrigerator and the drone of nighttime Tv the only company, tumbles out before you can stop it. ‘But I miss you sometimes, and the kids-they miss you too. We all do.’

You can’t pretend that the calls made between meetings, between surveillance on the road, between drives from one shady establishment to the other are enough to suffice, to sate the need for him and sometimes it’s so clear, so sharp, that the pain of his absence cuts clean across your lungs.

‘I know…I miss you too, Pretty Girl.’ Said against the crown of your head, his lips slightly dry, chapped and still as full of love for you as they always are. He gets it, you know he does. It’s in the way he sends random messages to you in the small hours, when he knows you’re asleep and he’s watching a rat sell them out and he misses you in an urgent way, in a way that feels like an ache in his chest, the punch of it that hurts more than a kick could.

‘Come Home to us every time okay? Not just today, not just on my birthday, but every day,' You say, because it scares you to think otherwise, because you could run your hand over every ridge and bump of him and name every scar, every mark and it’s beginnings, because you could kiss the eyelashes from his cheek, and spend days and hours counting the calluses on his hands and it would still not be enough to bring him home to you every day. 

‘I will, y’know me Doll, I never lose.’ He knows It’s more for you than him. 

‘I mean you got your ass handed to you by Draken when-’

‘Well excuse me,’ he says, all faux annoyance, the grin curling at the edge of his perfect mouth. ‘What happened to you saying you missed me?’

You giggle, hiding against his chest, your hair tickling the collarbones that still betray the memory of your heated moments just a few hours prior.

‘I do! I always do. You’re like… my hero.’

‘That’s a new one, Doll.’

‘Like it?’

‘Mhm, y’know what I like even more?’

‘What?’

‘I like when you moan my name all sweet-’

‘Shuji?!’ And you slap a hand over his mouth, warm breath on your palm and the sound of his laughter muted and muffled as you spare a glance towards the door slightly ajar. 

And he smiles at you, softened, warming as you pull your hand away, pressing a kiss to the wrist he’s grabbed, tender and heartfelt. 

And you fall and tumble into love for him all over again.

A/n: I wouldn't be me without a self indulgent birthday fic for myself and about my darling boy, the apple of my eye, my heart and soul. (It's the 28th in case anyone wants to know ;)) thank you everyone always.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @rinnndoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @anxious-chick

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Now It's Always Summertime

History Professor!Reader x Student!Natasha Romanoff x Student!Wanda Maximoff

Summary: You're just trying to get your thoughts together for the upcoming semester, but there are a few distractions.

Word Count: 850

Warnings: Mentions of getting high, student professor relationship, age gap everyone is over 18.

A/N: I watched a Tik Tok that had the right vibes and this came to mind so here you go. A little treat.

You poured the black liquid from your stove top coffee maker into your glass mug. Your favorite mug with a world map on it. The steam bellowed from both the maker and your now full mug. The overhead lights of the office were off leaving the strings of fairy lights that adorned the bookshelves behind you and the warm glow of your desk lamp as the only sources of light. A Golden pothos falling over the sides of the shelves like waterfalls.

The leather bound notebook sat on your desk with coffee ring stains from setting your mug atop of the blank page. You always thought it gave the page character when one found its way to a page. You transferred your thoughts from the newest edition of the history text book you received for this upcoming semester. 

Going over your previous semesters lesson plan and improving on it with the new text book in mind. You taught a few different classes and with the short summer semester coming to an end only to pick back up. Before you'd have time to do anything it would be Autumn with a chill in the air worthy of the hot cup you sipped on.

A knock against the open doorframe brought you from your thoughts. Looking up over your glasses, hair slipping past your ear as your head moved. Your two favorite students stood in your doorway, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. Neither were history majors, but you seem to have captured their attention as they've now taken two of your classes. Your Western Civ I class along with your Mythology class. The two were already in your schedule for the Fall semester for Western Civ II and Wanda somehow snuck her way into your Norse mythology class. 

“What can I do for you girls?” You asked setting your pen down and picking up your mug, refilling it once more before taking a sip. The two girls stepped in and closed the door behind them. Natasha coming around to beside you and looking at the notes you took. 

“Is this for next semester?” The redheaded Russian asked as her finger ran over the words, a small smudge coming at the bottom where the fresh ink resided. You took her hand in your own after setting the mug down. Much like a mother would you licked one of your own fingers and used it to wipe the mark away on her finger.

“It is and I'd appreciate if my notes could stay intact. My thoughts are jumbled enough without you smudging them Tasha.” You looked up at the red head with a smirk plastered on your face and hers adorned a blush as Wanda came to your other side arms wrapping around your shoulders. 

“We wanted to know if we could help you with anything?” You felt her breath on the shell of your ear. Your attention moving from the Russian to the Sokovian. 

“I'm sure you two could be studying for your finals instead of coming to ask if I need help.” You raised an eyebrow to the brunette, the smirk still on your face as her forehead found your cheek. 

“Need some stress relief.” She murmured against you making a chuckle bubble up from your chest. Wanda let out a whine in protest of your chuckle. 

“Well she needs a stress relief. I'm getting high later.” Your head spun back to the redhead. 

“Without me? Rude.” Natasha started laughing along with you.

“Well I can bring it if you say we can come over tonight and then we can all have a good time.” Natasha wiggled her eyebrows and tugged on your hand that was still in hers. Another whine falling past Wanda's lips is what made you give in. 

“Okay. Okay you two can come over. We'll get high and have some stress relief from finals for everyone's sake.” Both girls became excited at the thought of getting to come over. 

You lived a ways away from campus so you never worried about anyone seeing the girls come over since the three of you started up this throuple of yours at the beginning of the summer semester. 

The classes were smaller and the two girls had already caught your eye. Since neither was a history major you figured once they got their history credits you'd never see them again. The campus was huge and the history building was nowhere near where these two spent the rest of their day. Yet when you saw their names once more you knew you had to say something. So as the old saying goes; one thing led to another and here we are. 

You wrapped and arm around Wanda, pulling her into your lap where her face now buried its away into the crook of your neck. Natasha just leaned against you. More than content to have you against her stomach. You never thought this is where you'd be when you started teaching here, but you couldn't be more happy, more full, more loved than you are with these two in your life.

[trappolia]

NEVER LOVE AN ANCHOR ── dan heng x gn!reader x blade, former dan feng x gen!reader x yingxing, 2.4k

you dream of blood.

the golden ichor that seeps through the jagged cracks of an old, divine blade. the deep red that drips from your wounds as a cruel reminder of your mortality, an ever existing shadow that haunts you through all the ships you travel through.

you dream of love.

a golden hairpin that catches your eye while walking through the bustling streets of a marketplace. the red paint that smudges on a lover’s lips when you exchange kisses. strokes of black ink upon parchment, reading words more poetic than one can ever have the courage to say aloud.

it is dizzying, in the way all dreams are. you are sitting under the moon and sharing a drink with someone you consider your friend, family, lover, and the next you are driving your spear through his chest. there are no blades of grass on this ship, no grassy fields for you to hide in, and the tendrils that you feel swaying, rustling, in waves past your ankles, are the chains of the sins you bear as someone they call their beloved.

the crew of the astral express are a welcome distraction, kind and warm as they offer you their companionship in their own personal ways. you help march 7th pin up photos in her room, laughing as you reminisce over your past travels through silly selfies and scenic photos. you sit with himeko during breakfast over a cup of coffee (yours brewed by yourself rather than the gorgeous redhead, thank the aeons) and indulge in the peaceful silence, a sense of normality that the woman is more than happy to give you after all that you’ve been through. mr yang tells you stories of other universes, weaving the already existing threads of all the lives you’ve seen around you into something completely different yet the same— and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he lived a different life before all this.

but no matter what, you always find your way back to dan heng.

though you have your own assigned room, the simple arrangement of a flat pillows and a blanket on the floor of the archives is as much of a home to you as it is to dan heng. you’ve spent many a night in his room, poring over texts and books with him, more often than not passing out on his lap or in his sleeping area.

( “they come as a pair,” march 7th once told the trailblazer when they asked about the two of you. “himeko said that arrived on this ship together. whatever they went through in the past, they made it through because they had each other. but that’s just what i think.” )

it’s true, in a sense. what would you have done without dan heng, travelling through all those ships that always met the same end? you wonder if you would’ve lasted long enough for himeko to find you and bring you to the astral express.

probably not.

dan heng feels responsible for you. he doesn’t say it, but it’s obvious. you once confessed your insecurities to him on a dark night, back when the two of you were still getting used to having a proper roof above your heads without fear of the ship getting attacked or waking up to security banging through the door.

( “what if they think i’m useless because i’m always clinging onto you?” you had asked him in a small, weak voice.

“…they don’t seem like those sort of people.”

“but what if?”

dan heng had looked at you, his expression tired and soft all at once as he sighed.

“then they’ll have a problem with me too.”

“why?”

“because,” he brushed his fingers over your gaunt cheekbones, worn from all that you’d been through. “i’m just like you. if something took you from my side, then i might as very well be useless to them.” )

there’s a known truth between the two of you, one that you never speak of; but you both know that it’s a fact. if you hadn’t been involved with dan heng — with him — you’d still be at home in the xianzhou alliance. you’d be blissfully oblivious to the convict on the loose, the exile who has returned home. you’d be living your life— a normal life.

but you aren't.

instead, you dream of him.

it should be impossible. bracers are not meant to be shared between a trio, and whatever gift you had been planning to share between the three of you was lost upon the exile. and yet, even without the ancient magic of the vidyadhara, he somehow manages to make his way into your dreams, haunting you like a ghost.

some nights, you dream of those arms that had always held you with such certainty, an impenetrable shield even when bloodied and battered. other nights, you dream of those hands driving a blade through dan heng’s heart, squeezing your throat until you take your last breath through a broken windpipe.

and every night, when you wake up from those dreams in dan heng’s arms, you feel that pain welling in your chest, settling for days as it finds comfort in its new home, made up of your aching lungs and your shattered heart. the days and nights blur together like this— haunted by a man still living and breathing, though not quite human, in the nighttime, and traversing through the worlds like a ghost searching for meaning in the daytime.

you don’t remember how it ended up like this. or do you? it all feels like a dream, all the details and images blurring together to be forgotten by morning. but it isn’t morning, and you can’t wake up from this reality. your head throbs. a concussion? who cares.

you can’t afford to let your guard down on this ship you once called home. you’re here for a reason, and though that reason is your top priority, you can’t afford to be caught either. the cloud knight that found you and dan heng — sushang — doesn’t seem to recognise either of you, and neither does the strange tradesman luocha, but you still can’t take any chances. panic blossoms in your gut, unsettling as you grip your weapon in your weak hands.

ah. that’s right. you’re fighting. reason grounds you with the fuzzy memory of your enemy standing before you— an ambush, because whatever forces are at work here clearly play just as dirty as the antimatter legion and that damned aeon they serve.

a fight you can’t lose, no matter how badly your head is throbbing right now, because you still have to find the others, have to save them from— from—

“ren,” your grip on your weapon loosens as the dust clears, revealing the man standing before you.

the enemy, your brain screams, though it can’t even make you move away. the word that slips through your lips is familiar, and yet not. your head hurts thinking of calling him by his true name, the name you called him before he turned into this.

blade, is what kafka called him.

ren, is what it means in your mother tongue, the language spoken in moonlit nights as the three of you sat under the stars, the silence broken only by a whisper of their names.

the name comes out as a quiet, pathetic croak, staring wide eyed at his figure. he’s frozen just as you are, his broken blade aimed straight at you with an arm that wavers just the slightest.

it’s like a domino effect; your walls crashing down the moment you see his mask slip for the smallest moment.

“yingxing!” your voice breaks as you call out to him again, almost desperately (it does not occur to you that you've let your memory slip, called out for a man long dead). your feet are moving from under you before you even realise it.

blade lunges forward, his sword drawn.

a desperate cry of your name wretches itself out of dan heng’s throat in a way that makes your heart ache, but it’s too late now. his warning comes only seconds after you’ve begun to run straight to danger, death, a threat to your life seemingly unseen to you as you surge forward like a blind lover, but you can see him.

the sharp angles of his face, the familiar bracer on his calloused hand, the searing heat of his vermilion eyes. he’s so close— close enough to kiss, close enough to kill, close enough to be reality rather than an illusion forged by a dream.

his blade is not what meets you. instead, it’s his hand. dan heng’s panicked screams is barely audible over your hammering heartbeat, your pulse quickening as blade’s calloused fingers wrap around your throat. he’s stronger than you — you would know even if he hasn’t been haunting your dreams all those years — and so he can easily snap you in half the second you’re in his clutches.

but then you’re pressed against him, back to his front. blade pulls you as close to him as humanly possible until you’re both flush, sharing the same, saccharine oxygen after years of breathing stale air through stone lungs. despite the sharp end of a sword held over your throat, you allow yourself to close your eyes, reveling in this single moment as if you’ve lived an eternity where the three of you had never once hurt each other. though he had an eternity without a single regard to how you’d hurt each other. in these stolen moments, you let yourself be stupid, oblivious, selfish, just to breathe properly for the first time in what feels like a millennium.

“let them go,” dan heng hisses, breaking you out of your reverie.

“no,” blade’s eyes narrow. there is no mocking in his expression, no sardonic smirk or cruel taunts. his walls are still up, none of that broken emotion that you’d only seen for a split moment when your eyes first met, but he lets himself drop the bravado. between the three of you, there is no such thing.

you whisper a soft cry of his name, making dan heng’s grip tighten on cloudpiercer as he moves to snatch you out of blade’s grip, but your former lover only growls.

“come any closer, and i’ll cut them.”

his voice is scratchy, worn like the calloused hands that are wrapped around your nape, squeezing almost painfully. a distant memory flashes in your mind, of these same calloused palms washing your back after a long day, cleaning the blood and grime.

these same hands could be stained with your blood, if he so wishes.

“you won’t,” dan heng hisses, and you hear something in him break like glass shattering on the floor. “you can’t.”

he sounds so sure of it, that this man will not slice that blade over your throat and take your life just as he had taken dan heng’s in so many eternities.

you’re reminded of the fact that no matter how many times the hourglass has turned over for dan heng, no matter how muddled his memories become, he once loved this man just as you did— once relished in his presence and touch as it lulled him back to sanity, masking the weight of all the sins the three of you had committed over the lifetimes your strings of fate had been entangled.

blade moves as if to cut your throat, to finally take the first life, the first step in the nth round of this cycle of violence, but his sword only manages to press down just the slightest against the skin of your neck before he stops himself. his hand — the one adorned by that damned bracer — shakes as he glares at dan heng with a look that can kill.

“fuck,” blade mutters under his breath. the word is not meant for you, but you hear anyway. blade pulls back from you roughly, and a barely audible whimper tears out of your throat when he suddenly pushes you forward and into dan heng’s arms.

dan heng’s eyes widen, clearly just as surprised as you when blade relinquishes his hold on you. he catches you with unsteady arms, trying to keep cloudpiercer levelled at blade as if the man will suddenly lunge forward and take him from you again.

blade stares at the two of you for a moment, watching as dan heng clutches you to his chest like you’ll disappear if he let go, as you hold a palm to your neck where the thinnest line of red bleeds through. his eyes narrow, and the only other indication of emotion in his face is the slightest downturn of his lips.

“i’ll be back,” blade says, and then there’s that cruel smile on his face again, a taunting glint in his eye as he looks at dan heng. “i’ve stolen your little eternity countless times before. what’s one more to the tally?”

dan heng growls, his grip tightening on cloudpiercer, “you damned—!”

but then blade’s already making his exit, leaping off the platform in a manner that gives you deja vu.

( a memory flashes in your mind, the image of him jumping off your balcony as jing yuan knocked on your bedroom door to make sure you were still asleep while dan feng dove under your bed for cover, a mundane moment of peace and carefreeness almost forgotten from where you had pushed it deep into crevices of your mind. )

i’ve stolen your little eternity countless times before. what’s one more to the tally?

after a breathless moment that seems to drag out for an eternity, dan heng’s arms finally uncurl from your frame, his eyes tracing your figure to make sure you’re unharmed. his eyes drag over the thin cut across your neck in an adagio, his breath hitching as he sees you bleeding the same colour of blade’s eyes.

“he didn’t kill me,” you breathe out. you don’t know why it’s only settling now. the relief is clear in your tone, but it’s obvious from the violent tremor of your hands that it’s only to mask your own uncertainty. "he didn't kill me."

dan heng is quiet. you’re too scared to look at him, at the expression on his face. you just stare at your shaking hands, and watch as he rests his palm over your own to soothe the tremors.

“he always had a soft spot for you,” dan heng whispers, something breaking in the tenor of his voice.

© trappolia 2024

[satangcrush]

Hi hi hiiiii ♡♡♡

In your solomon marrige post, you mention Diavolo would WANT to elope, but couldn't because of being prince. He would be sooo pouty about it though, like, Lucifer would probably leave their meetings with a headache from Dia complaining about it. (One of Dia's homescreen lines is him saying Lucifer told him off for talking about how beautiful MC is lmao). Idk you've just put this in my mind and I cannot stop rotating him!!

Long way of saying I love your writing, have a great day!!

“Have you ever thought of getting married?” He asks you one day, face stern with curiosity.

You bark out a laugh haphazardly after the silence settles in the air for a beat too long. You’ve thought of this question a billion times but haven’t had the guts to let it play out in your head for too long.

“Why the sudden question?”

Diavolo shoves the sleeves of his shirt up, and you can’t help but stare in dry-mouthed silence. The ink splatters on his finger catch your attention, and you move to grab a tissue to wipe it for him.

“I’ve been thinking about it.” He confesses into the air, ears tinged with a red hue.

You thought the topic had been over: blinking in surprise as you smoothed the tissue over the pad of his index finger. It was a wonder how he still managed to get messy even when he was trying to be careful. You kind of want to lick the ink off.

“You have?” 

The declaration makes your stomach flip in on itself but you quickly squash it down. You know your place well enough. Though, the small thing called hope flutters in your heart.

He nods, presence commanding in a way that makes your skin tingle. You shuffle in your seat, waiting for him to add more. He tilts his head, tired eyes crinkling at the corners with that honeyed smile; you have come to recognise was meant only for you.

“In fact, Lucifer told me to talk to you.” He admits softly, forgoing the pen in his grip to wrap his hands around yours. “He said he was tired of hearing me go on about the same thing.”

“Is that why Lucifer has been in a deplorable mood lately?” You questioned, faking an air of nonchalance as you subtly pinched the skin of his finger. He wiggles the appendage, stopping your motions instead.

“Probably.” He shrugged, a little too casually for your liking.

You hummed, a coy tune you had picked up from Luke while baking with the sweet angel. A cheery ring that probably didn’t suit the situation at hand but you were nervous, placing the other hand on your heart. The prince briefly scans your face before tugging you nearer to him.

“Do you think it’s possible to avoid Barbatos for one full day?” He whispers into the crook of your neck. You could practically feel the pout against your skin. It makes you shudder.

You cross your arms behind his neck, staring at the ink splatter that has now smudged onto your own fingers. We can, the irrational part of your brain urges you to blurt out.

“I can’t answer that.” You say instead.

The unspoken answer floats in the air for a second before Diavolo smashes it with his jolly voice. You hate it in times like this.

“Right.” He pulls back to look at you, an almost imperceptible frown pulling on his face. You soften, unlocking your fingers to cup his face gently. “A prince can only dream right?”

With great effort, you curved your lips into a smile — wobbly at the edges as you continued to knead at his face.

“The future ruler of the Devildom comes with great responsibility.” You teased but his face remained stony, eyes cloudy with thought. You both know the underlying meaning of your words. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

(Don’t forget your duty to the Devildom, Diavolo repeats in his head. A mantra drilled into him ever since he could remember. He wishes for more than what he could have. 

Wasn’t a ruler supposed to be greedy?)

“I’ll work on it.” He stirs, bringing his hands up to place them over yours. You see the glint of determination sparking in his eyes. “I’ll do it for you.”

“For us.” He repeats, leaning in until the tip of your noses are barely touching.

You’re at a loss for words, only managing to nod before he closes the distance, darting his tongue out to lick at your lips. You pull back after a few seconds, his words still heavy on your mind.

“Okay.” You mumble, turning your head as he continues to place chaste kisses at the edge of your lips. “I believe in you.”

You watch as his face lights up into a smile.

“Watch me.” He pulls you in for a hug, one that knocks the breath out of you. “I love you.”

You want to say something in return but you opt for squeezing him back in tandem. 

He already knows your heart anyway.

edit - day 11 for @om-adventcalendar

[cupids-chamber]

— “ FOREVER IN LOVE “  Overblots x Reader / Gender neutral reader |         [ Can be read as yandere / non-yandere ]

— “ RED ROSE “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Riddle 

The lights dimmed, as the garden darkened—your surroundings were cold, heartless.. dead.. even, the beautiful garden was nothing on par nor comparable to what it once was, the pride of Heartslabyul.. just like its ruler. Marvelous and adorned in black and red, similar to his emotions at that very moment—everything was distorted and irry, as ink covered all corners in sight. Like smudged ink on plain white paper. 

You watched him walk up to you, no one else in close sight— The familiar clank of heels, as he walked in your direction, looking directly at you... "My dearest rose.. something tells me, you don't quite like what you're seeing.." you heard the man chuckle as he approached you slowly, his soft and sweet smile, no longer there.. "Why, my love?", he laughed once more, except this time it came out in a more threatening tone then the last.. “I’m still your beloved Rosehearts, my red rose.” 

— “ ROTTEN INK “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Malleus

The nulling, sickeningly sweet lullaby rang in your ears, you heard him chuckle and sing along.. that perfectly synced melody, that could calm anyone—struck fear within you, your movements hastening, hoping to run out the door as fast as you possibly could. 

"Why the hurry, my dearest treasure" he hummed softly, hugging you from behind.. You could feel the slight wetness of the ink, staining your clothes.. how his body reeked of a sickeningly pudent smell of ink—rotten ink, if that even existed.... "Just close your eyes, my dearest... and then we can be together.. forever…", you felt his grip tighten, as he continued humming that melody, nulling you to slumber without much of a choice.. 

— “ BELOVED APPLE “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Vil 

You felt the claws dig deeper into your skin, as he mumbled sweet nothings in your ears.. he looked odd, different. Vil embraced you tighter, needing to feel all of you—too feel your skin, on his own. He smelled of poison, a strong one. It was overwhelming and you couldn't help but want to escape his cruel grasp, as you felt those cold claws dig into your raw flesh, easily ripping through your skin. "You aren't leaving, are you?... You won't be leaving, will you.. my beloved apple..?"

— “ ALL HE WANTED “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Azul 

You could feel the tentacles wrap around your leg, pulling you deeper into the waters... back into his crushing embrace, where he refused to let you go. Refuse to allow any form of space, he was suffocating—he knew he was suffocating, he was well aware of how forceful he truly was... yet when you were in his arms, where he could feel you, keep you, call you sweet names, hear your voice, the sound of your breathing—everything... it was all he needed.. all he craved.. all he wanted… 

— “ NEVER-ENDING EMBRACE “ 

| Gender Neutral Reader / Overblot Idia His breathing was heavy, as he pulled you closer into his embrace. You could hear the soft curses coming out from his mouth, as the salty teardrops fell from his eyes. He refused to let you go—it was getting hard to breathe, in his crushing embrace. It's as if he wanted to hold you close, until you melt and mold into him, into an extension of him, and everytime you'd try and escape, he'd only pull you closer, his grip would grow a tad bit harsher as he tightened his hold on you…

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

For drabble ideas: MQF and SQH feat. rare medicinal plants.

(I feel like SQH doesn't know it but on MQF's side they're totally friends)

Hope you like this one, thank you for your hard work! ^-^

I LOVE THIS. and i liked it so much that i didnt answer for like 3 weeks im s o so r r y. HOWEVER it is also twice as long as my usual prompt fills so i hope you enjoy pt 1

—

As the Lord of Qian Cao Peak, there are few things which cause Mu Qingfang to make anything like a ‘walk of shame’ across his peak. He is an esteemed scholar, a competent fighter, and a doctor who is considered by many to work miracles. People come to him to solve their problems, and when he must consult his sect siblings, it is with the self-assured confidence of an expert in one field seeking the wisdom of an expert in another.

It is with a heavy heart that he is forced to trudge across Qian Cao, over the rainbow bridge, through Ku Xing Peak, around Xian Xu Peak, and up to An Ding to knock at the Peak Lord’s door in the middle of the night. 

Shang Qinghua answers on the second knock. He appears in the doorway, backlit by the lanterns behind him, accompanied by a wave of cool air and an anxious smile. The man is still fully dressed, guan in place and ink turning his fingers black and smudging darkly across his jaw. No—a bruise, blooming purple. Mu Qingfang’s hands itch to check it, but instead he folds his hands in a shallow bow as Shang Qinghua’s eyebrows go up at the sight of him. 

“Shang-shixiong, this one apologized for disturbing you so late.” 

“Mu-shidi! A pleasant surprise. Don’t worry about it, there’s no way I would be asleep at this time. I thought you were gonna be one of my disciples telling me something was unexpectedly on fire, so really, this is an improvement. What can I do for you?” 

Mu Qingfang sighs. He really hates doing this.

“I’m afraid I must ask your expertise on a sensitive matter.” 

“Oh—? Ooooh. One of those nights, huh? Come on in.” 

Shang Qinghua steps aside, waving lazily over his shoulder for Mu Qingfang to follow him. He calls out, facing his sitting room, 

“Make yourself at home, Shidi. Sorry about the mess, you can push some scrolls over if you need to.” 

Mu Qingfang steps into the front room, taking in the familiar papers, scrolls, and cushions scattered around the floor, the desk, the shelves… he sees one booklet poking out of a plant pot. A Snow Lion Bush, red berries gleaming and viny tendrils swaying as if in an invisible breeze—maybe that is what’s responsible for the unusually cool temperatures Shang Qinghua always seems to keep his rooms at. Mu Qingfang almost wishes he’d worn an extra layer. 

Shang Qinghua starts making tea, and Mu Qingfang moves to take the kettle from his hands.

“Please, allow me. I’m the one who is disturbing you so late.” Best to step in before they both end up sipping bitter tea. 

Shang Qinghua chuckles and raises his hands in defeat, stepping away to ease himself down at his overflowing desk. Mu Qingfang makes a note—stiff, moving gingerly. Fatigue, muscle strain, or an injury he’s avoiding aggravating? He roots around Shang Qinghua’s cabinets until he locates slightly stale dried danshen and curcumin, makes a note to bring more by later as a thank you. 

“So… who’s the lucky victim?” Shang Qinghua asks. 

Mu Qingfang nudges some scrolls aside with his foot and sits in front of the man’s desk, pushing more paperwork aside to set down the pot and two cups of tea with Shang Qinghua’s consenting hand-wave. 

“You know I can’t tell you that, Shixiong.” 

“Ah I know, I know. Can’t blame me for asking. I really want it to be that one guy from Qiong Ding who keeps denying my funding requests for—anyways, it doesn’t matter. What are you looking for, exactly?” 

Mu Qingfang knocks his tea back like downing a cup of wine. “I have two victims of a spring plant. Contact based—their clothes were coated in an opalescent pink powder, fine grained. I spoke with them both individually. One described it as ‘vine like,’ the other ‘bush like.’ Both said the flowers were white and pink, with green stems and leaves and a darker pink tear drop shaped metal emerging from a soft, fur-like white bud.”

“Ahh, ‘Drawstring pulled tight upon sweet fragrance pent within’1?” Shang Qinghua asks, quoting something Mu Qingfang doesn’t recognize. He tilts his head, and Shang Qinghua waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Those sound familiar! Should I assume the sect members in question are, ah, feeling some effect?” 

“They have refused the… ordinary methods of relief from a trained service worker, myself, each other, and any other member of the sect who might be asked. One of them has a fever that’s making them hallucinate, and the other has developed an unusual rash.” 

TBC...

1王文英 (Wáng Wényīng) Poems of a Hundred Flowers: number 70 - Purse Peony

玲珑奇巧涎欲滴

[crazypersonslayy]

[Lessons in love]Severus Snape x Prof!Reader

~~Part 2

Summary: Y/N is the Herbology professor who has worked in Hogwarts for a few years since Professor Sprout retired. She has never really interacted with Snape, until Dumbledore assigns the both of them to work on combined lesson courses to improve student engagement. Things seem professional, maybe with a hint of unspoken attraction simmering beneath the surface. Until one thing leads to another.

~~

Two days had passed, yet they hadn't spoke a single word about the arrangement. She was starting to worry. What if he didn't want to work with her? Was she that unbearable? Surely he had forgetton about it. She paced around her room, debating whether or not to go down to the dungeons and find him herself.

Speak of the devil. Her owl flew in the window, dropping a letter on her desk. She took a closer look, realizing it was just a small piece of parchment paper that read:

Professor L/N,

Come to my classroom in 10 minutes.

S.S.

She almost choked on her coffee. His handwriting was definitely nice. More than that, it was an elegant script, and she liked the way he wrote his "l"s in a loop. Her thumb brushed over his writing, smudging the fresh ink. Her heart thumped in her chest as she imagined Snape bent over his desk, writing the letter, writing her name. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Then she paused. What am I thinking? He's my colleague. Shaking her head, she folded the piece of paper paper and tucked it away, then grabbed her wand before heading down to the dungeons.

~~

She dragged her feet begrudgingly towards Snape's classroom, goosebumps erupting on her skin as a gust of cold wind travelled through the dungeons. She shivered, making a mental note to herself to bring a coat next time. She reached the wooden door to his office, hesitating slightly. Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in." His deep voice instructed from the other side.

She pushed the door open, the loud creaking of the rusted hinges made her cringe internally. She stood between the doorway, looking down at her shoes as she mumbled a "Hello, professor". "Sit", she raised her head slightly and saw him gesture to a chair across him. She hurriedly closed the door behind her and made her way towards him.

The first thing she had noticed about him was his reading glasses, which were rested on his crooked nose, threatening to slip further down. His onyx eyes were fixated on the mountains of papers in front of him. They were stacked neatly into piles, some littered wlith red crosses and scribbles in the same handwriting she had admired a few moments ago. His posture was ever more perfect, he sat upright in his wooden chair, legs crossing beneath the desk. She sat down across him, then looked down at her hands.

A moment of silence passed, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of scratching parchment. She figeted with her hands, clearing her throat, "So..Professor, is there anything-" Snape cut her off, "I sent that letter at exactly 1107 hours, I had expected you in ten minutes. It is currently 1115 hours, you sit and wait." He continued with his marking. "..Oh, alright then" She mumbled. What a jerk he is.

"Excuse me?" He looked up again, his eyes staring daggers into her soul. Her eyes widened. I swear I didn't say that out loud.. "I hope you realise that your thoughts are quite loud" Oh. He's a Legilimens. Shit. Her eyebrows scrunched together, "Please stay out of my head, I prefer for my privacy to be respected". He scoffed, removing his glasses, "I did not call you here to tell me what or what not to do. " She stood up from her seat, "We are here to work together, not bicker like children. I expect to be treated as an adult". He pinched the bridge of his nose and put down his quill, standing from his chair, "Let's just get this over and done with". God save me.

"I have the new timetable for this year, we have combined lessons on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. 1300 hours to 1400 hours for the sixth years, 1400 hours to 1500 hours for the seventh graders. I was thinking we could teach our separate subjects on Mondays and Wednesdays, I will be free to assist you if needed. Then on Thursday we could have half an hour each." She explained. "I will not require your assistance whatsoever, not after that stunt you pulled". He hissed. What? Oh.. She did in fact blow up a cauldron by accident back in sixth grade. "That was once." She grumbled. "Once is enough to blow up my entire classroom, I would advise you to stay out of my teaching. I will teach Mondays, you on Thursdays. And on Fridays we will have theory lessons in my classroom, understood?" She sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, "Alright. I will send a letter to Dumbledore to inform him of our plans."

She turned away, walking towards the door. Then he called out to her "L/N," before she could react, Snape appeared in front of her holding a small vile of potion, "Your hand," She looked down at her hand confusedly, realizing there was a gash between her ring and pinky finger on her right hand, with dried blood smudged around it. She hadn't noticed it before, it was probably from handing those thorny plants that morning, "Drink this, before it gets infected." She hesitantly took the potion from him, "Oh-I uh, thanks" Her cheeks flushed as their hands brushed ever so slightly, a jolt of electricity shot down her spine. Snape had merely nodded, his expression unreadable as he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. She had sworn she saw something more in his eyes: maybe concern, maybe kindness.

She shot him a small smile and pocketed the potion, before turning around and walking briskly out of his office. Walking through the halls, she felt another gust of cold wind against her cheeks. But this time, instead of the sharp, freezing sensation, her cheeks felt warm.

Maybe he wasn't that bad after all.

~~End

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Feedback is always appreciated :)

Tags: @pear-1206

[ceilidho]

prompt: Soap being a funny, goofy flirt with his barista whenever he's on leave back home….super cocky and charming, then a couple months go by …. and he comes back sort of rougher around the edges after Las Almas. less trusting. a bit meaner when he talks to her….. [soap/reader] 2.5k; nsfw (on ao3)

-

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He’s back again. It’s not a usual occurrence, but when it happens your heart kicks into overdrive. He appears like clockwork every couple of months, and then back to back over a quick succession of days. Like he’s in town one week and then gone the next. 

You look up from where you’re organizing the muffins in the display case to find him grinning down at you from the other side. His hair is freshly shorn on both sides, the stripe of hair down the middle likely barely long enough for him to work his thick fingers through it. He’s got a cocksure grin spread across his lips. A fresh cut over his right eyebrow, a butterfly bandage over it. 

“Hi John,” you say. It’s almost a struggle to say the words. Your hands shake a bit where they’re extended out amongst the pastries, fingers pressing into a carrot muffin a bit too hard. It dents beneath your fingers. You pull them out, rest the tongs behind you on the countertop. 

“Hi kitty cat,” he purrs, folding his arms over the pastry case, leaning as close to you as he can. If it were anyone else, you might be tempted to scold them for smudging the glass. It’s you that’ll have to clean that up later. “Not Johnny anymore? Have I been gone for too long?”

Charm like butter spread thick over freshly toasted sourdough, already melting into the bread, dripping onto the plate between the pockets of air. You know he could ruin you if he wanted to, if you let him in. 

You know it won’t be long until you fold. He hasn’t been subtle about it. “Sorry, Johnny, we’re all out of scones.”

“Aw, that’s how you apologize for tossing up my morning?”

You twiddle your thumbs. “Sorry.”

“‘Have to do better than tha’, kitty cat,” Johnny says, lips drawn into a faux pout that has your heart skittering in your chest like it’s been let loose from the stables for once. “I was waiting for those scones for near a month."

“We have cream buns,” you offer. He snorts.

“Not in the mood for anything cream filled just yet.” 

There isn’t a shade of red deep enough to describe your face. “Pardon?”

“Ye fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” Johnny asks instead, evading the question.

You probably look as gobsmacked as you feel. It’s not like you haven’t been asked out on dates before, but Johnny is leagues away from any of the men you’ve dated. He’s cockier, back straight and chest out, flaunting the muscles strapped across his chest and arms. You think it’s reasonable that you’ve chalked his flirting up to habit, something he does with everyone; whatever distance you’ve put between yourself and your inevitable nervous breakdown has been built on assuring yourself that Johnny surely didn’t mean for you to take his flirting seriously.

Apparently, you were wrong. 

“You want to take me out?” you ask, sounding a bit dumb. 

“‘Course I do.” He cocks an eyebrow, leveling you with an obvious look. “Haven’t been shy about it; s’a bit tough when I’m all over the place these days, but I’m in town for the next two weeks, so we’ve got some time. When you getting off today, kitty cat?” 

Johnny leans farther over the countertop, towering over you now that you aren’t standing on the raised platform by the pastry case. Palms spread wide over the granite; when your eyes flit down, you can’t help the way they’re drawn to the dark, livid tattoos crawling up his forearms. Dark ink like they’re new trophies on his skin. 

His attention is always like the sun; your whole body burns under his gaze. There’s something about being stared at so intensely, blue eyes raking down the front of you, that makes you unsure. 

He buys a croissant instead, tenner pressed gently into the palm of your hand. You're tempted to deflect, tell him you aren't interested.

“Seven,” you whisper instead, hands shaking when you hand him his change. 

His hand closes around yours, callused fingers rough against your skin. “Got it. Pick you up seven sharp.”

When he leaves, you barely hear the jingle behind him, the blood pounding in your ears. You have a date. 

Your chest is tight for hours, thinking about your date later that evening. He picks you up after your shift, just as you’re locking up; you thought you’d have a couple minutes to head back to your apartment and freshen up, but you find him waiting outside the coffee shop for you, clad in a black hoodie and the same jeans as earlier. 

He’s as slick and gentlemanly as you might’ve anticipated, walking you to the pub with a hand nestled against your low back. You talk for what seems like hours tucked away in the corner. Johnny makes good conversation, but sometimes it feels a bit like an interrogation. He’s talkative, but there’s a faint edge underlying everything he does; he makes you wait for him at your table while he orders for the two of you at the bar, taking the seat facing you so you’re ensconced in his shadow, hidden from anyone else in the pub.

He insists on walking you back to your place, boots splattering through the puddles accumulating between the cobblestones. He makes sure you walk on the dry side. Every light you pass under sweeps across his face in a golden arc, illuminating the corner edge of his jawline, the plush spread of his lips, the furl of his ear like a nautilus shell. Brows that slope over deep set eyes. 

When he leaves you off at the door, Johnny’s hand curls in the hairs at the back of your neck and tugs you up for a kiss that goes scorching hot. Fingers tangled in your hair, other hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you in place. You feel trapped, helpless against the onslaught of him; a hot tongue flicks into your mouth and he groans, making your head spin. You feel it resonate through you. 

“Johnny—” you mumble when he pulls away for a second, cut off when he leans back in to suckle at your bottom lip. His beard is bristly against the soft skin around your mouth. 

You feel him smirk against your lips. He nips at the lower one. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, a’right, kitty cat?”

Johnny only looks the slightest bit disheveled when he pulls away. A thumb traces your lower lip. He briefly looks regretful, like he wants to bend down again for another one—you feel the intention when he presses his thumb ever so slightly past your lips—but then he pulls back, walking backwards down the street away from you. A hand raised in goodbye.

Then the next day, he’s gone. Vanished into thin air. You glance up whenever the wind chimes over the door jingle, but it’s never him, always someone with a different hat, a different face. 

You thought he promised you two weeks this time. Your chest collapses when the door opens and someone else walks in. Apparently he spoke too soon. 

Two days go by; you’re fighting the desperation to know. It oddly never crosses your mind to think that he’s ghosting you. Maybe it should. You hardly know him outside of the brief interactions you have every other month when he’s back from wherever he works (and you know that it’s all top secret, hush hush, you’ve seen the military tattoos and kept your questions to yourself), but it doesn’t feel—and you think this with no small degree of irony—like something he’d do. 

On the walk home, you often catch yourself looking for the familiar shape of him. Wandering past the shops closing up for the night, people piling into the bars, raucous voices tumbling up into the smoky sky; you stand on your tiptoes on the other side of the street and peer in, looking for the broad shape of his back. 

You never spot him. There is a cold gap in your life that goes unfilled. It smarts at the root of you; you didn’t think you could miss Johnny. You thought you could feel a twinge of regret every now and then for not indulging his flirting a bit more, but you had honestly shelved him higher than you could reach in your desires. Until he took you out and listened to you ramble on, listened deeply with his attention rapt, his cheek pressed into his fist as he leaned against the table towards you. Until he whisked you safely back home and held you in place while he sipped kisses from your mouth until your lips were swollen. 

It’s months later when you hear it. 

“Hi kitty.”

Your blood goes hot at the sound of his voice. When you whip around, Johnny’s on the other side of the counter like he never left. Black shirt that clings to the curve of his biceps, old jeans with fades around the knees and thighs stretched around his thighs. 

When you meet his eyes, they seem charged, steadier than usual. Flat lips turned up just at the corner, one side only. Johnny’s not usually so still, so grounded on his feet; there’s usually a frenetic undercurrent to him, like catching a live wire. You don’t know what he’s like out in the real world, but in your world he looks like he paces and runs to work himself free of all the extra energy. Maybe other forms of cardio.

“Johnny, you’re—” You catch yourself before the words tumble out, before you make it known that you’ve been tossing and turning late at night wondering where he went. Blue eyes sparkle like they hear it anyway, the faint note of desperation seeping into your voice like a hoarseness. 

“Fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” he asks you again. Less of a question this time. 

You feel pulled to him on a string. He doesn’t leave you in peace this time. He waits you out, sits at a table in the coffee shop facing you. Customers you’ve known for years seem entranced by him, and how could they not? They don’t make them like him often—tall and blue eyed, roguish; ruggedly handsome when the mood strikes. Pretty boy until he turns the full weight of his stare on you and you’re forced to contend with the fact that he is, in fact, all man. 

Your amity turns to enmity when someone stares at him for too long. Placated only because Johnny never so much as turns their way. 

Dinner is a long, drawn out affair. His conversation is rougher than usual, punctuated by bouts of silence. His eyes are murky waters. Something’s changed, you think, salad speared on your fork, hovering just in front of your mouth, studying him. Something happened in the months that he was away. Whatever it was, it’s left Johnny a bit more calculating, less trusting. He sits facing the door this time, eyes flicking up whenever it opens on the other side of the restaurant. 

“Sorry, angel, don’t have it in me to be sweet and gentle anymore,” Johnny says when he walks you to your doorstep. “‘Fraid it’s gonna be rough for you from now on.” 

His words make you tremble. 

The kiss at your doorstep doesn’t end there this time. Maybe this is all an extension of that moment months ago, the natural endpoint. You were never going to end up anywhere else but flat on your back under him.

“Pure gaggin' fer it, aren’t ya, kitty?”

Johnny’s voice is rough, barely a rumble over the sound of your own keening. Your whole body slides up the bed every time he ruts into you, thick cock spearing you open. Your hands slip over his shoulders where a layer of sweat has built up; your bodies slide together like you’ve been at it for hours, rather than just the thirty minutes since Johnny bodied his way into your place and made you guide him to the bedroom, shucking his clothes the whole way there.

“No, I would’ve—” You gasp on a particularly rough thrust, teeth clenching together, “—I would’ve w-waited. Oh god, oh god.”

“Haud yer' wheesht, bonnie, quit whining,” he grunts. “Dinnae act like you weren’t asking for a big cock in this cunt. Could hear her purring behind the counter. Needed it for months, didn’t ya?”

You knew this was in him somehow, this penchant for dirty talk. He’s always moved like it was in him. You feel swept away by it, scorching under his hands and tongue and dick. Tightly wound. Only capable of holding on, one hand clenched now in the lowest part of his mohawk while he ducks his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. When he gives it a mean bite, you squirm and cry out.

“Never thought you were s-serious,” you admit, whimpering when he nips again at the tender spot there. 

Johnny draws back onto his haunches, still deep in you. There are scars across his chest that you didn’t notice before. New skin frosted over, deep gouges across his arms; what you think looks like a bullet wound. Your eyes go wide. It’s impossible to think what he must have been through.

He looms over you, hand coming up to curl delicately around your throat. Just enough to let you know that he’s there, that he’s got you right where he wants. Johnny smiles wide, wicked, white teeth stark in the darkness of your room. 

“Oh, I’m very serious, kitty,” he laughs, deep and throaty. He thrusts languidly into your heat now, drawing it out. 

He makes a show of it when he comes, fingers tightening around your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat. It strikes you in the moment that you let him in bare, trusted him despite months of absence and no real excuse for it. When he pulls out, you feel it leak from you. Frustration boils under your skin because you haven’t come yet; you feel almost betrayed, a whiplash reaction that has tears welling up in your ears. 

“Don’t worry,” Johnny coos at the sight of your pinched face, “you’ll get yours, bonnie. Gonna treat this kitty real nice.”

You struggle against his hold when he forces your legs wide and slots himself between them, making his way down the bed. He tongues deep into your cunt to lick his own spend out. Your thoughts dribble out of you, head empty; there’s nothing left in you except bone-deep exhaustion and the feel of his bearded cheeks scraping against your inner thighs. 

You flinch like you’ve been shocked when he sucks at your clit, hypersensitive. He laughs when you do, doubling his efforts. His hot mouth on the place where he still drips from you might make you lose it completely. The most wounded sound bubbles out of you. Your hand trembles in his hair, torn between pulling his mouth closer and pushing him away. 

He doesn’t relent until you’ve come twice, your face flush with blood. When his tongue flicks over your clit again, it’s for the pleasure of seeing your legs spasm. 

“Johnny, please—can’t anymore,” you beg, trying to press your foot against his shoulder to push him away. 

His chin glistens with your juices. When he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, plump and swollen, you drag in a harsh breath. Maybe you could go again.

“Kitty, I’ve had a rough couple weeks,” he says, voice light but for where it descends into a memory, deep and dark. “Just let me eat your cunt and we’ll talk about everything later, okay?”

Your fingers tingle like they’ve fallen asleep in his hair. When you give in, it feels inevitable.

[mudandmire]

Contrasts

Azris Week - Day One: Contrasts

~~~ Hello hello! I found the Azris ship and the community this year and have absolutely been consumed by it. I love this idea, I love these two characters, and I love that there's so much potential between them and for them to feed and inspire such a wonderful community. I've never participated in the acotar fandom apart from this, and I'm so excited! Thank you so much to @azrisweek for putting together this event, I have had so much fun letting my brain run free like a dog off a leash with these prompts :D ~~~

Tell me

Azriel calls him tatlım, and Eris doesn’t know what it means.

It’s a secret, he supposes he can accept it—relate to it. Nooks and hidden corners itch and snarl with the weight of his own. An enchanted drawer he keeps in the washroom holds his greatest wonder and his greatest shame.

The journal weighs heavy in Eris’s mind. He traces back the parchment pages with intangible fingers during lulls in his father’s council meetings. The drone of bees, lazy and fat in the afternoon sun becomes the hushed whisper of a canyon gale through dried grass. The lines he inks, stroke by stroke, Azriel matches in full, thrumming strides. Words next to his are clean, unbroken, while Azriel’s remain thick, written in charcoal with smudges at the corners from where his fist has run over the line.

When it’s dark, a time when even shadows cannot creep and loom larger, Eris presses his own fingertips to those words. The smears of charcoal because Azriel had told him early on in their budding friendship when they were young that he can’t use quills.

“They're too thin, my hands shake too much.” A smaller version of Azriel speaks the memory into his mind. The whorls and pockmarks on his hands hidden between the gap of his thighs.

Eris had taken it as a challenge—and now he revels in it. Azriel is messy with his charcoal pencil, too free with his mistakes and smudges and it leaves Eris half a country away and entirely breathless.

‘Tell me what bothers you, tatlım.’ Azriel had written him earlier, the familiar scrawl of his heavy hand appearing stroke by stroke in the filled pages of Eris’s enchanted journal.

Two were made, Eris gave one away. He could not bring himself to regret it even if his life were on the line.

‘Tatlım?’ Eris had asked, his letters looped and coiled together in the way they get when he rushes, when he needs answers.

There was no sound save for Eris’s own steady pulse, the whistle of air through his nose as he waited for a response. And yet he could’ve swore he heard Azriel’s laugh, the breathy one, brush against the point of his ear.

The words appear in the space between one breath and the next: ‘Maybe one day, gach’lilit, I will tell you. For now, stop avoiding my prying.’

Eris places a hand on the rise of his chest. Holding in something that seems to be rising from his stomach to his throat and lands gently on his tongue like the orange and black patterned butterflies in the garden.

‘Tell me now,’ he begs, ‘and I will tell you whatever you wish, Azriel.’

‘Come back to visit me, sweetheart. That’s all I ask.’

It had formed a pause in their effortless back and forth. Eris wanted to—Azriel knew that. No, the issue wasn’t in Azriel’s plea, he knew just how much Eris longed for the little village in the Illyrian steppes. The stable in the field and the small, knobby kneed, black lamb that follows Azriel around like ducklings in the Forest House pond in spring. He misses the creeping, ruby red moss and the yellow and sage aspens that crop up from out of the golden plains like the jagged teeth of a cliff.

Most of all, most desperately of all, he misses Azriel. There is not one inch of his soul that doesn’t.

The inked tip of his quill hangs over the page, a knife poised for the final push. Through skin, muscle, bone, to the heart of everything—the rot that waits, festering under the floorboards of his adamant desire to run. It is one thing; it is also a collection of things Eris has stored like the most gruesome of trinkets, the most harrowing of trophies.

Because Azriel calls him sweetheart. He writes in his tongue letters of longing and punctuates them with words like tatlım, and gach’lilit. As much as Eris wants to stitch those given titles to his chest, he already has one.

Eris Vanserra. Heir of Fire. Son of Autumn.

Sweetheart. Tatlım. Gach’lilit.

He cannot have both. The heir who wears the crown, who feels it’s golden spiked thorns pierce the thin skin of his head knows this. Eris Vanserra was not born with room on his chest for titles other than this: his father’s son.

When his quill meets the page, a heaviness in his hand that wasn’t previously there, he knows Azriel already knows what he will write.

‘Soon,’ he lies, ‘when the festival of the summer sun comes, I’ll visit.' Eris Vanserra cannot flaunt about the wilds of the Night Court without purpose or reason. Even less if the hint of the reason is his desire to see an Illyrian male—but he can set out on inter-court business to strengthen alliances, break down information, and gather intel. Eris Vanserra cannot winnow straight from the quilts of his bed into the hay-strewn floor of Azriel’s stable.

No matter how much he wants to.

His chest pinches, a sharp point digging into the sensitive skin between his ribs when Azriel takes a minute longer to reply. The page remaining horribly empty with their spare words, their delicate dance.

‘Then I will just have to hold onto these words a little longer, besheirt. I wish for you to hear them in person, for they are as sacred to me as you are.’

Something cracks, folds then splinters and out pours a smile like evening sunlight through the painted colors of autumn leaves in the canopy. The tension building in his shoulders leaks down and pools around his feet, an unwanted puddle he completely forgets about. Eris may be an heir, a son of autumn, and child of a loveless, forced marriage; but he is also sacred. Something holy and divine by only the rights of Azriel, and Azriel alone.

Eris has his titles. The stitched corners of his heart taken up piece by piece, but he will forever play the game of keeping himself in between the two if it will let him keep Azriel.

He has his own titles to give him.

~~///~~///~~///~~

(Key for words:)

Tatlım - ‘Sweetheart’

Gach’lilit - ‘Firefly’

Besheirt - ‘Notion of a soul mate, but mostly means Intended in terms of spouse’

aH. Alright okay cool I'm so normal about them. This is a short little thing, and it doesn't follow canon lore lol sorry about that. I really loved the idea of contrasts because for me it's what first drew me to this pairing. At first it seemed like there were too many contrasts for them to even be compatible, and then through softening my perspective of both of these characters and their flaws (and no small amount of delusion in which we merely squint from afar at SJMs portrayal of these characters) I found that maybe these contrasts actually enhance their chemistry. what crazy imagine that.

[starrywooyo]

treasure: eight (final)

synopsis: when y/n gets whooshed into an alternate universe, an adventure: one with pirates and monsters and much, much more

pairing: ot8! pirate ateez x fem! reader

genre: pirate au!!

!!warnings(per chapter)!! - [bellow cut!] the usual blood, gore, weapons, stabbing

notes: aahhhh finally we've reached the end~!! I'm so happy that we've completed treasure now and that so many of you have been enjoying it and reading it.. all your comments mean and meant the world to me!! so.. see you in the next series or oneshot??

word count: 3.4k

taglist: (if you want removed or added to the list please lmk)

@toxic-babexe , @sunnyhokyu , @cambriel , @lelaleleb , @acescavern , @meowmeeps

series masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter |

The faint red line of his scar.. smudged looking to your thumb you see the same red slightly staining the skin.. This hongjoong.. Has no scar.. Surely he’s not been lying about having a scar after all this time.. No.. he couldn’t even the last time he cried he cried..b-blood.. This hongjoong didn't.

Your heart begins to beat erratically in your chest. You feel as though any second you could pass out. You stand to your feet grabbing the extra blanket and holding it close to your naked form and if to solidify and mock your mistake and realisation.. Said man tosses on his side in his sleep and there, clear as day on his shoulder blade.. ‘HALA’ permanently resides there in black ink.

You stumble back at the realisation the room spins, your legs give way and you brace yourself expecting to hit the ground.. 

Only.. you don't. You fall into something soft. 

“oh.. darlin’..” a voice quietly whispers out.

“oh.. darlin’..” a voice quietly whispers out.

Heat from his clothed chest sinks into the bare skin of your back and you feel yourself relax in the man's hold.

“H-hongjoong…?” you slightly whisper out 

The man brings his head forwards to rest in between your neck and shoulder. 

“Hmmhmm it's me darlin’” he breathes out 

And you sigh out in relief.

He picks up your clothes and drapes his long captain's coat on you 

“Ere wear this the now till i get you as far away from that man and these people as possible” the ‘real’ hongjoong whispers out

He gently guides you away from the tree and closer to the waters edge so as not to wake the sleeping imposter.. And carefully over the stones and across the water and back into the tunnels. Once  he deems it safe enough he stops and hands you your clothes for you to change back into. Once you do that's when the waterworks start. 

“Hey hey what's wrong?” hongjoong asks cupping your face in his hands as he wipes the tears away worried.

“i’m - i’m sorry” you stutter between sobs

“Wow wow what for darlin?’” 

“Everything” your eyes fall on his shirt.. slightly stained red with a hole at the shoulder you can slightly see the bandage underneath, dirty and soaking up the blood from the wound underneath. “I..i hurt you and i.. He.. we”

“Hey” he says to you firmly yet soft, making you look at him “none of that now. It's okay. I'm okay. You don't..” he takes a breath and changes what he was gonna say “i- did he hurt you?” he asks 

You shake your head, lip trembling “no.. I don't think he could..”

“It doesn't matter if you think he wouldn't, he's still dangerous y/n..”

“Come on, let's get you back to the other ey?” he adds at the end 

You both walk through the tunnel going farther away from the other hongjoong and his ‘crew’ 

The walk is silent and somewhat peaceful as you walk beside one another though you can't help but think of yunho.. What his other self did.. You can't help but be nervous and a little bit scared.. Even though this one will be your yunho.. 

You're dragged out of your thoughts at the bustling sound of chatter up ahead and the light crackle sound of a fire.. 

You kinda freeze up and slow down as you both get closer, hongjoong notices this and gently squeezes your hand in his.. 

“It's okay.. You're gonna be okay now” he whispers.. And gently guides you with him.

You eventually reach the little makeshift camp they've set up in the tunnels.. 

Seonghwa, yeosang and wooyoung are all around the fire seemingly cooking a light something? Jonho rests on the stoney wall, his eyes closed. San seems to be rolling up his bed to put it back in his pack and Yunho and mingi are seemingly taking watch.. 

“Hey guys.. Look who i found..” hongjoong gets the guys attention as you approach

“y..y/n..” wooyoung is immediately up and pulling you into a hug

“Woo come on.. Don't crowd her..”

“S’okay joong..” you whisper out

Everyone seems to fall into a comfort around the quiet and peace of the fire.. 

Hongjoong has gone off somewhere..

Yunho and mingi still stand guard.. Though mingi sits sharpening his blade.. 

A bowl of the food passed to both of them from seonghwa.

Jongho still rests against the wall.. San now sits with Yeosang and rests his head on his shoulder lightly. Seonghwa sits down beside them after passing them their own bowls. 

And wooyoung sits with you in his arms, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to his chest as you sit a little ways away from the fire. His bowl sits on the ground beside him and you hold your own.. The heat coming through the material heating your hands in this cold cave.. 

“Yunho.. You need to eat.."San says to him as yunho hasn't touched the broth in his bowl. 

“I'm not really hungry..” yunho responds.. Looking around the makeshift camp.. His eyes fall on you in wooyoung's arms.. His heart aches..

Seonghwa looks at him.. His own heart aching for the younger..

“I'm fine.. Don’t worry about me..” he says.

…

“Woo.. you not gonna eat the soup?” you ask him

“M’ fine pretty.. Just need to hold you in my arms.. Was so worried about you..” he says nuzzling his face into your hair at your neck..

You sigh out and pick up his bowl stirring the spoon inside it before turning in his grip to slightly face him. You pick up some of the now mild warm soup in the spoon..

“Here.. you need to eat..”

He sucks in a breath at your words and actions.. A light blush coming to his cheeks

“Y.. ye don't have to feed me pretty.. I got hands..”  

He does however open his mouth to let you feed him..

You continue feeding him till the bowl is empty and hongjoong eventually comes back..

“Okay crew.. We can head that way.. I scouted ahead.. Seems to be not that much farther down..should be just behind the waterfall.. Pack up and get ready to head out.” hongjoong commands. 

They all begin to pack up.. The fire is put out and you all continue down the winding tunnels of the cave you continue for a while.. Going further and deeper into the cave..

The walls begin to get moist.. And the sound of running water can be heard in the distance.. 

A waterfall falls at the end of the tunnel..

“Ugh.. it's a dead end hongjoong..” some of the guys complain

“Is it now?” hongjoong taunts and proceeds to walk through the water.. 

We all stand still for a few moments.. He pops his head back through.. 

“Well? You comin’?” he says

One by one we all make our way through the cool, cold water.. 

On the other side is a vast and open underground pocket in the cave.. Another yet bigger and fuller tree sits, its thick trunk.. Magnificent.. A moat surrounds it.. We get closer to the tree.. A chest rests at the bottom.. Homgjoong walks through the waist deep moat.. He walks towards the chest.. And sticks the key in opening it.. His eyes widened..  And he pulls the item out.. Holding the hour glass in his hands.. 

A gunshot rings out and hits the bark of the tree close to hongjoong. 

“Not. so. Fast. I think that belongs to me.. Don't you think so?” 

The other hongjoong and his crew… 

back wearing their black outfits.. And hats.. He and the rest stalk closer to us..  

“I have to say darling, I was quite upset to find you gone when I woke up.. I thought you enjoyed your night with me..” he taunts

“Shut up!! Don't speak to her” the real hongjoong snaps

“Oh? I touch a nerve? Pissed I got to her first? And her feelings? It doesn't matter.. Hand over the cromer. And this won't end with blood shed..”

“Like hell he’ll give it to you!!”

“Very well then.. I see what you've chosen.. Kill them all.. Keep y/n alive..” he says to his crew

…

Yunho moves in front of you, his sword drawn and keeping it pointed at the other hongjoong.

“I won’t leave till i have the cromer and my y/n!!”

Yunho shifts and positions himself to where he shields you more..

“And you think we’re just gonna give y/n and the cromer up that easily!?” yunho yells

The other hongjoong rolls his eyes 

“Your loss..”

“Bring it on then!!” yunho yells more

The other hongjoong draws his sword, lets out a yell and runs towards the group. The rest of his crew following

The two hongjoong’s swords clash together and the rest of the crew starts attacking the other crew.  

Seonghwa and wooyoung have put you behind them keeping you close as they still fight to keep the enemy away. 

The cave is echoed with metal cladding against metal.. Grunts and groans. 

Whist fighting his alternate self.. Another of the other crew members sneak behind hongjoong..

“Joong look out!!” you yell.. He catches the sneak attack.. In that moment of distraction.. I'm grabbed from behind..

Hongjoong is stabbed in the side.. Blood quickly seeping into his white shirt

“Captain!!!” the crew yells as hongjoong falls to his knees. 

“Sorry about this… darling~” a cold blade is pressed to my throat..

“Everyone drop your weapons.”

In the moment of distraction the other Hongjoong has grabbed me.. pressing a blade to my throat

The group stops as this happens, and Yunho’s stomach feels like it’s dropped to his feet as he watches the other Hongjoong hold his sword to your neck

Hongjoong and Yunho are both filled with a mix of shock and rage

 “Don’t even think about it…” He spoke, taking a few steps forward before stopping and letting out a hiss as the blade pressed further into your neck

The other Hongjoong lets a smirk form on his face as he notices the reactions, holding the blade closer to your neck

“And what makes you think you’re in a place to make demands?”

Yunho felt something inside him snap as he watched the smirk form on the other Hongjoong’s face. He was filled with a rush of anger as he gripped his sword tighter

“I swear to god if you hurt them..”

“or what… you already failed to protect her from yourself.. your other self..now. Drop your weapons!!”

Yunho feels those words like a punch to the gut, the grip on his weapon tightening more as he clenches his teeth

He stares at you and the other Hongjoong, letting anger fill his body.. slowly, he drops his weapon to the floor, eyes never leaving you or the other in front of him

The others reluctantly drop their swords too. 

The other Hongjoong let’s a satisfied smirk form on his face as he looks at the rest of the group

“Smart choice.”

“jongho . here now!” he yells for his jongho. 

The younger of the crew steps forward, a stoic look on his face as he follows his captain’s command

“Hold her.” he orders

Jongho reaches out and grabs you, holding your arms behind your back and keeping you in place

“now… the Cromer.. ah yes!!! In the chest…”

Seonghwa’s hands clenched into fists at the mention of the Cromer, clearly not wanting to hand it over, but not wanting you to get hurt either

“everyone better stay down or else shots will be fired.”

The group freezes, keeping still as Jongho keeps a firm grip on you.. The tension in the cave rises as everyone exchanges glances, unsure of what to do in the situation

He opens the chest.

His eyes land on the Cromer inside, and he reaches in and grabs it, holding it in his hand

“boys… we're going home tonight!!!”

The other Hongjoong’s crew cheered, excited about going home.. The real crew, on the other hand, are worried and anxious

“Sedna!!!!!” he yells for the witch

After a few moments, the witch appears a few feet away from him, blinking once before speaking

“You called?” she says

“the moon is full and at its peak.. activate this..”

Sedna takes a look at the Cromer and the full moon before nodding

“As you wish, Captain.” she says

She takes the Cromer from him and holds it in front of her, closing her eyes to focus as she twists and turns the cromer. 

“Sedna!! You traitor!!!” the real Hongjoong yells coughing from the stab wound 

Sedna ignored his yelling as a glow began to emit from the Cromer, it’s glow getting brighter and brighter as the ritual continues she places it in the stone on the ground

The portal opens

The other Hongjoong’s crew cheers, excited about finally being able to go home.. The real crew stays silent, watching the portal form in front of them

“Ahhh winning is nice.. Now men.. Go ahead.. Seonghwa you first..”

One by one each of the other crew enters the portal and disappears back to their own world.. Until it's just the other hongjoong and jongho who still holds you.

“Okay jongho you next.. Let her go, I will bring her." Hongjoong says. 

Jongho reluctantly lets go.. And enters the portal not before looking back at his captain..

“Now.. you next love.. Hm?” he says

“Fuck!! y/n darling.. Don't go with him..” the real hongjoong gasps

The other hongjoong.. Seeing your hesitation.. Speaks.

“y/n. Love. I wish to use my prize, my wish now..” he says relatively calmly

“Surely you won't go back on your word.. After All.. We did shake on it..” he taunts

You sigh out..

“That's a girl.. Get in the portal..and come with me.. That's my wish.” he says..

“Nooo!!” the crew and hongjoong start yelling

The other hongjoong hold out his hand for you.. You reluctantly take it.

You stand closer to him.. And run your hand up his chest..

“Home?” you peer up at him..

He sighs out..

“Yes my love.. Mm home..”

You pull him in and kiss his lips..

The real hongjoong’s heart breaks.. As do the others..

However as you kiss him you're backing him up closer to the portal.. Your hand sneaks down

You pull away.. He’s exasperated

“But I'm sorry..”

He looks confused at you..

You suddenly stab the dagger into his chest blood pouring out he lets out a gasp

His face pained.. “L..love?” you push him into the portal and knock the cromer off the stone the portal closes over as you do so..  

You fall to the ground.. The adrenaline, finally leaving you..

Hongjoong immediately pulls himself towards you.. His wet red stained hand shakily cupping your face..

“Oh gods.. I thought I lost you there darlin’...” he leans his forehead on your own.

“Ahem.. if i may..” sedna begins.. Hongjoong glares at her..

“Miss.. if you're wanting to go back home.. I suggest you do so as the moon is still at its peak..” she says

Wooyoung pipes up..

“Home? She is home.. She's back with us..?”

“Ah.. back to her own world..her universe”

And there it is.. The secret you've tried so hard to keep..

“W..what? What is she talking about darlin’?” hongjoong asks confused as he looks into your eyes..

Tears line your eyes..

“It's true.. Im.. I'm not from this universe.. I don't know how and it's crazy when i think about it but I got sucked into a painting.. And I was here..”

Hongjoong sighs out.. 

“Oh darlin’.. were .. were you ever gonna tell me?” 

“Yes.. when the time was right..”

“Being here.. With All of you has been amazing and I've never been so happy..”

“Miss the moon is leaving its peak.. You need to make a decision.. It'll be many years before you can go back home after this blue moon..”

Hongjoong shakes his head and looks at you seriously.

“You don't.. You don’t have to go.. You can stay… with me..” he whispers the last part. 

You weakly smile at him

“I wish I could.. But I've got my family back home..” you whisper

Hongjoong shakily sighs out.. Sedna knowing your decision opens the portal to your universe.. 

You look at it.. The portal looks like water but through the blur you can see the room.. 

You go to stand.. Hongjoong grabs your hand

“P..please..” he whimpers..

Your lips meet his own as you finally kiss him.. For the first and final time.. 

“Find me in my universe?” you joke through tears

“I will..” He says seriously. And he removes the necklace around his neck.. Attaching it around your own.. “I’ll find you..” 

Your hand slips from his as you stand and walk towards the portal

You turn back to face them

“You all mean so much to me.. I'm so glad to have had you a part of my life.. You’re all so precious to me..” you say through your tears

“To me.. You're my.. My Treasure.” hongjoong whispers

Wooyoung rests on his knees sobbing..

“S..see you?” you wipe your tears and finally walk through the portal.. 

As you disappear hongjoong takes deep breaths and struggles to get up but he does and he staggers towards the portal still bleeding out

“D..darlin’ w..wait..i..” just as he reaches the portal.. it disappears.. The moon, no longer at its peak. He falls to his knees and his tears finally fall as he rests his head on the bark

“I love you..” he whispers.. 

…

Your eyes flutter open.. You scan your surroundings.. White sheets still cover the dusty room.. One lays on the floor from the couch you're sitting on.. Your book lays open upside down on the floor.. 

You gasp the memories coming back as you come to.. Your eyes shoot to the painting that.. Lays on the floor.. You stand and pick it up, hanging it back on the wall.. The ship’s not in the painting anymore…  

Was it just a dream..?

You make your way to the door of the room and pull it open..

“97..98..99..10.. Okay ready or not here I come.."James' voice carries down the hall.. 

He soon rounds the corner..

“Ugh.. y/n.. The point of hide and seek is you’ve to hide? Don’t you wanna play?” he speaks..

“But.. i.. I've been gone for days.”

Your older brother ruffles your hair..

“Think you got too lost in your book again y/n..” he giggles

Mm yeah.. The book… 

Your hands subconsciously fiddle with the necklace around your neck.. Hold on- necklace..??

You pull it out looking at the red gem tied with the string.. 

It was real… 

..

The weeks go past and finally your time at your grandparents manor comes to an end.. You're all back home, your parents are home too, only you're packing up your large suitcase..

 “I can't believe you’re leaving us little sis..”

You laugh “well I've got to go to uni don't i?”

“Well yeah sis.. But to a whole ‘nother country.. We’ll miss you..”

You hug james..

“I know but I'll come back during breaks.. Now get out so I can pack!!”

..

You pull your suitcase through the airport after saying goodbye to your family which was a tearful goodbye but you promised to come back during your unis breaks.. 

You check in and eventually you’re in the air.. 

The flight is long very verryyy long but eventually you land in the place you will call home for the time being.

You collect your bags and make your way to the train/subway

You sit and watch as the city goes by from the large train window

The train announcement goes off letting you know you're arriving at your universities station

You make your way onto the campus and check in and get shown to the student accom. 

Once you lug your luggage to your room and get settled for a few hours and eat some food you make your way to the hall where orientation is being held.

You sit on the bleacher with no one really speaking to you as you are a foreigner.. Which is silly since you speak the language

“hi.. “ you say

“Sorry.. Don't speak english” they get up and move away with their group

You sit and watch everyone as they talk and make friends..

“Hey..” a deepish voice calls out

You turn a gasp leaves your lips..

He sits beside you on the bleachers clad in jeans.. Converse and a oversized hoodie

His bright coloured dyed hair stands out..

“Me and my friends couldn't help but see you sitting by yourself. Would you like to sit with us? What's your name darlin’?”

“I'm y/n..”

He stands offering you his hand.

“Nice to meet you y/n.. I’m Hongjoong.”  

...

he laughs out loud.. the rest of them look at him as if hes finally gone mad.. perhaps he has.. he pulls the dagger from his chest and watches as the blood drips off the metal.. he laughs

"ahhh oh love... what have you done.. you've awoken the beast inside me"

he smirks.

[zhalfirin-binds]

Details of my bind of A princess of Mars

Since I kept making small mistakes. Starting with the wrong printing format, then forgetting to adjust the sewing so I could trim (I did not plan for margins quite as large as they are... ). The backing turned a bit wonky too. So I decided I'd try some new things on this book.

I wanted to use the interference colours I have with a different base coat. They come out best with a black or dark ground colouring. Before I used oak gall ink, because that was what I had (and I love to watch the magic happen when it turns from translucent blue to black), but iron, in whatever form, is the last thing you want in a book because it will rust and damage the paper over time.

So I did some testing with a few different inks to check for effect and smudging and eventually switched to a china ink.

The one I got has a really nice black with a slight gloss to it. That should have tipped me off, but I kept going and just painted the edge with the interference colour acrylic ink just to watch how it gathered in the lowest part (I did the front edge with the curve first) and took forever to dry. Trying to help that with a hair dryer only needed me up with a pattern of tiny ripples. When I opened the book I could see the paint had been too thick in some parts and flaked off a bit. I diluted and kept painting, with way better results, eventually, but it's still not completely even on the front edge (the picture here is the 3. or 4. result... I was just tired to keep going at that point). The top and bottom edge look fine though.

Covering the case was a bit of an adventure too for a few reasons. I wanted to avoid and gaps... but first I failed to accurately estimate the stretch of my different papers then I forgot to consider the overlap and figuring out which part should overlap which was a challenge. I went of the green layer that wraps all around the case as top layer so it could cover all pointy edge I had not covered yet. The pointy bits are always the most likely to take damage or get loose. So I had that taken care off. I still have a small spot on the backside that's not the layer it's supposed to be, but it blends in well enough with the other colours.

Another thing that I did not think of was, when I cut the onlays was how overlapping would impact the shape. the yellow was supposed to be a nice slanting hill in the foreground... well, I would have had to keep that in mind for the overlapping toplayer.

I also thought about titling the cover and even got as far as test titling with copper, gold, creme, red and brown (the line between creme and brown, that's red, I know it's turned invisible, bu it is there). None of the results made me overly happy though so I skipped it.

Last thing, but I'm not sure whether it's a mark of the construction or the hinge is too small, the backing not sufficient, is the opening angle of the covers. It opens alright, but when I push the cover a bit down it drags the text block along and it looks like there's too much tension on it to me. I'll have to see for my next binds if I can optimise that.

I liked the spread out design enough to make it a picture for my wall ^^