#Trash Pile of OCs

[matchalovertrait]

While Dulce was on the hunt for the notebook, Antonio got acquainted with Cosi! He's more of a cat person, but he loves all kinds of animals. He would help Dulce, but that would be an invasion of privacy, no? You know what's definitely okay, though? Taking out the trash from the trash bin that is not even halfway full yet.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

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[transmasc-tabris]

So I've seen a couple of people do posts asking which of their OCs would have the most rancid disclose if they were canon so I'm... contributing? Using this as an excuse to yap? Descriptions under the cut since I couldn't fit everything in the poll spaces for everyone. These aren't the best or most fleshed out descriptions just tried to think of things I thought people would zero in on for one reason or another.

Click for descriptions

Rella Lavellan - Fireballed a templar at least once, let Cullen keep taking lyrium, not all that nice to Solas, mediocre mother even though she very much tried, 40yr old trans lesbian, just wants to do Disruptive Chaos with Sera and not deal with all this Andraste nonsense.

Amelin Lavellan - leaned into the whole Herald thing because he loved the attention, lied to everyone about definitely believing in the Maker, overconfident in his fighting abilities and generally everything, mean to Dorian

Anaan Mercar - former blood mage, has used the corpses of slaves to fight for her, knocked a man's teeth out because he had a panic attack, trans woman who is unapologetically butch and old, believes heavily in vigilante justice, the only successful parent on this list

Issala Laidir - Thedas's youngest deadbeat father (yes the circumstances were bad but he was genuinely abusive to his son for years before giving him up), drinks too much, prone to emotional outbursts, agrees with Taash that Emmrich is weird

Inez Laidir - abandoned her wife and recently traumatized disabled child to do thief and pirate stuff, let everyone in her old life think she was dead for decades, steals literally anything from everyone but never has money because gambling

Daia Thorne - poisoned her infant son leaving him unable to hear or speak, abandoned him and her husband years later in order to avoid jail, also let her family think she was dead

Emilio De Riva - Crow, without a shred of morality or sentimentality left at this point (edgy dumbfuck let's be real) mean to Bellara, in a toxic relationship with Emmrich, dislikes Manfred and doesn't care about Assan

[serpentinespider]

constantly posting whatever I want and being as cringe as possible in every way and then remember I’m mutuals with multiple of my favorite artists/writers ever here

[the-coincidence-child]

{ Aslan's little trash pile in the shed is keeping me up all night }

{ @subaruwu idc if this boy scratches tf outta Subaru but for the love of god SUBARU GIVE YO SON A TOY ROCKET PLZ HE'S NEVER OWNED ANY TOYS PLZ (lying he just destroyed them in panic/rage when he moved in with the Sakamaki's). }

[enniewritesathing]

99 for John.

Does your character live by any kind of philosophy? What is it?

John believes that if you make a promise, you better keep it. Or promise to not do [x]. To him, promises are kind of sacred. Breaking one or not being to keep it is... well, he's very intense about that.

I don't know if I'm gonna make a story out of this, but way back when, there were promises between John and Jacob. Jacob had John promise not to cut his hair in solidarity (and pointing out he hated the sound of scissors anyway, lol) and John promised to win a tournament trophy for Jacob for his birthday since it was the following day. Unfortunately... Jacob died and John did not win that trophy. Upset is a severe understatement.

Years later, John had another chance to win a tournament but not just any; it was the Juniors World Championship. Got all the way to finals that the date fell on Jacob's bday, but lost to Leo de Koning (he's actually in The Montage too). To make matters worse, John was outskilled in every sense and he got his ass beat. idk how Leo knew about Jacob (maybe through an interview, as kind of a thing with finalists) and he mocked John. He was demoralized and he almost hung up his gloves until Eli talked to him (not just him though, but ofc him going through what John was going through at the time.)

Did John get single minded after that? Maybe, but goddamn it, he promised his brother he was gonna get that trophy for him and he did.

[thatbugkidd]

INTRODUCING... MY DRONESONA/OC, SCRAP

Scrap is a unique type of drone, a Collector Drone. Collector drones are a byproduct of worker drones, built with a few differences to be more efficient at their primary tasks. They are slightly smaller and more compact, but much heavier and hardy. These drones were built to be able to hold extremely heavy loads, much more than your average worker drone. They can also endure much harsher conditions, and are overall a bit more resilient.

They were often tasked with "collecting" things, hence the name. Trash, scrap material, valuables, minerals, etc etc. Primarily, they were used to mine the planets, collecting and transporting materials they gathered. They are equipped with an extra pair of arms, that are removable and replaceable via a port on their sides just below their primary arms. As well as ANOTHER pair of ports just on their backside for a third pair of appendages if they're ever seen fit to use it.

Their second pair can be swapped for extensions that help with their tasks (eg, clawed hands for digging) and are often equipped with tools under the last cap of their finger joints, such as screw drivers, a drill, tape measure, etc as they were often also used to help at construction as they were excellent for carrying heavy materials where trucks and other vehicles couldn't reach.

Unfortunately, because of their heavy machinery, upkeep and maintenance was very important but oftentimes difficult to provide. Because of this, not many were built in the first place, so when the core exploded on copper-9, most of them were destroyed or permanently powered down. Scrap, being kept below the surface in a bunker for repair on damages, had been very jostled but managed to reboot with a big chunk of memory loss and now faulty code that went awry.

This caused a malfunction in their tasks, so she now collects anything perceived as dead. She wanders copper-9 digging through corpse piles of drones and humans alike, scavaging for anything interesting and looking for history as she explores the dead planet.

The backside port allows the third pair of appendages to slide up and down for added mobility!!

Also featuring @kalpeavaris 's drone OC, bishop hehe >:3

[chaosandcandies]

UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER Ⅶ: Dormageddon

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

The dorm was a warzone.

Jeongin darted across the living room, frantically gathering stray water bottles and shoving them into a recycling bag. Chan wiped down the kitchen counters like he was scrubbing out a crime scene. Minho vacuumed with murderous determination, dragging the machine across the floor as Seungmin and Han argued over whether or not the couch cushions needed to be thrown into the washing machine.

Hyunjin, barefoot and half-dead, silently wiped the windows with a haunted expression — like his soul had long since left his body.

They were cleaning like their lives depended on it.

Because, in a way, they did.

Iseul was moving in today.

And none of them wanted to be the reason she took one look at the dorm and immediately asked to move out.

“She’s late,” Jeongin huffed, stuffing another empty chip bag into the trash. “Why is she late?”

“Maybe she chickened out,” Han muttered, aggressively fluffing a pillow.

Minho paused. “Can we blame her?”

Hyunjin stopped wiping. “Maybe she decided we weren’t worth it.”

Seungmin glanced up. “Maybe she died.”

They all froze.

Chan sighed, rubbing his face. “We need to get out of the dorm more.”

The front door finally creaked open.

And Iseul stepped inside.

She hovered awkwardly in the doorway, cradling a duffel bag, a suitcase, and... a cello case.

The boys stared at her.

And then at her luggage.

“That’s it?” Chan blinked. “That’s... all you brought?”

Iseul shifted her grip on the cello strap, her ears burning. “I don’t have a lot of stuff...”

Han squinted. “The cello takes up half your things.”

“Yeah. It’s my priority.”

“Fair enough.”

Minho shut off the vacuum, dragging it to the side. “Why were you late?”

Iseul deflated. “My mom.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened. “Your mom?”

“She wanted to make sure I packed properly,” Iseul muttered, stepping inside. “And then she cried. And then she made me swear not to die. And then she cried again. And then she made me promise to call her every night—”

Seungmin snorted. “Is she okay?”

“No.”

The tension snapped in half.

Hyunjin smothered a laugh behind his hand. Jeongin giggled. And the rest of the boys slowly started to relax — shoulders dropping as the pressure dissolved into something almost normal.

Almost.

Because Iseul saw the way their gazes flicked toward her bags.

Saw how cramped the living room felt with her things piled up by the door.

She felt guilt curdle in her chest like sour milk.

They’d done so much already — cleaned the dorm, rearranged their rooms, added a bunk bed to the three-bed room, and cleared the smallest bedroom for her.

And now she was here.

Taking up space.

Making everything harder for them.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the knot in her throat.

“Since you guys cleaned so much,” she started, tugging at her sleeve, “how about I make dinner?”

The reaction was immediate.

Jeongin lit up. “Really?”

“I’ll help,” Seungmin added, casually pushing Jeongin toward the kitchen. “You can be her assistant.”

“I’m not her assistant—”

“You are now.”

The two of them bickered all the way to the fridge.

Iseul stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, staring at the mountain of ingredients the boys had shoved at her like it was a boss fight. She chewed her lip, feeling the weight of their effort to make space for her in the dorm. Guilt gnawed at her chest. They’d added a bunk bed to an already cramped room, cleared out their smallest bedroom for her, and scrubbed the place like they were expecting a military inspection.

The least she could do was feed them.

“Okay,” she muttered, tying her hair up. “Let’s do this.”

“I’ll help!” Jeongin popped up beside her like a golden retriever, already rolling up his sleeves. “I can cut veggies!”

Seungmin leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You can barely cut paper.”

Jeongin scowled. “I can too!”

“Prove it.” Seungmin handed him a carrot and a knife with the air of a judge watching a defendant plead their case.

Jeongin gripped the knife with pure determination. He made one dramatic, calculated slice — and the carrot promptly shot off the cutting board, skidding across the counter like a hockey puck.

Seungmin burst out laughing.

“I’m TRYING!” Jeongin yelped, scrambling to catch the runaway carrot.

Iseul snorted, covering her mouth. “Okay, okay — let me show you.” She gently adjusted Jeongin’s grip on the knife, her voice patient. “Hold it like this. And curl your fingers so you don’t accidentally chop them off.”

“I wouldn’t chop them off,” Jeongin said, pouting.

“You’d just, what, mildly maim yourself?” Seungmin deadpanned.

Jeongin threw a piece of carrot at him.

Iseul shook her head, but a small smile tugged at her lips. It was... nice. Familiar, even. The way Jeongin clung to her like an eager younger brother, and the way Seungmin’s teasing had this quiet warmth to it, like he wasn’t really being mean — just pulling her into their rhythm.

“Are you sure you know how to cook?” Seungmin squinted at her as she started seasoning the meat.

“Just start chopping the onions, Seungmin,” Iseul said, handing him a knife without looking.

Seungmin blinked at it. “This feels like child labor.”

“You’re older than Jeongin,” she deadpanned.

“Emotionally, no,” Seungmin muttered, but he started chopping anyway.

Jeongin, meanwhile, handled the rice like he was solving a Rubik’s cube, painstakingly measuring everything. His tongue stuck out a little in concentration, and Iseul had to bite back a laugh.

“You’re really careful,” she noted, stirring the soup.

“I don’t wanna mess up,” he admitted, glancing at her. “You’re cooking for everyone, and I don’t want them to be mad if it sucks.”

Iseul’s chest pinched.

“They wouldn’t be mad,” she said softly. “And... even if they were, I’d tell them off.”

Jeongin blinked, then beamed so brightly she almost had to look away.

Seungmin, stirring the soup with the absolute confidence of someone who loved to provoke, didn’t even glance up. “Wow. Our knight in shining armor. Remind me to call you if a fly breaks into the dorm.”

Jeongin nearly dropped the plate he was drying. “Hyung!”

The bickering continued like background noise as she cooked, Jeongin flailing while Seungmin casually tossed insults like confetti. And somehow, despite the chaos, everything started coming together.

The soup simmered.

Jeongin cut vegetables while sneakily stealing bites, yelping whenever Iseul caught him. Seungmin expertly handled the seasoning, pausing only to deliver backhanded compliments that made her want to throw the ladle at his head.

“Not bad,” he mused, tasting the broth. “I expected worse.”

Iseul narrowed her eyes. “I’m adding extra spice just for you.”

“Aw,” he smirked. “You do care.”

Jeongin snorted, nearly slicing his finger off.

By the time they started plating the food, Iseul realized she was actually... smiling.

Seungmin wiped his hands on a towel, glancing at the perfectly simmered soup like he personally deserved a Michelin star. “Dinner’s ready,” he called out, voice echoing through the dorm like a battle horn.

From the living room, chaos erupted like they hadn't eaten in weeks.

“DINNER?!” Han practically toppled over the couch.

Felix vaulted the coffee table with zero hesitation.

Hyunjin nearly face-planted trying to rip off his hoodie.

“They act like we don’t feed them,” Seungmin muttered, shaking his head as he lifted the soup pot.

Iseul bit back a laugh, balancing a plate in each hand as she and Jeongin set up the table. Jeongin, ever the helpful one, carefully placed chopsticks and napkins, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on getting the spacing just right.

“Why are you lining them up like we’re in a restaurant?” Iseul asked, stacking bowls.

Jeongin flushed, adjusting the napkins like he was solving a puzzle. “It looks nice, noona.”

Iseul dropped a plate.

Jeongin froze like he’d been caught committing a crime. “I— I didn’t mean to say that —”

Iseul bent down to grab the plate, but her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped it again. Her brain blue-screened.

Noona.

He called her noona.

He called her noona in front of everyone.

From the kitchen doorway, Seungmin wheezed, barely holding back laughter. “Oh, that’s cute,” he said, voice dripping with malicious glee.

The universe collapsed.

Han slammed his hands on the table like he was hosting a reality show. “Wait, wait, wait,” he gasped, pointing dramatically at Jeongin. “He called her what?”

“Noona,” Seungmin chirped, pure evil in human form.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO,” Jeongin wailed, his voice breaking like a shattered vase.

Hyunjin, frozen in place, stared at Iseul like he’d discovered a glitch in the matrix. “You... let him call you that?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

Iseul didn’t respond. She couldn’t respond. Her brain was melting. She just stood there, gripping the plate so tightly her knuckles turned white, heart pounding so loudly she swore the others could hear it.

“Noona,” Felix whispered, eyes twinkling. “That’s so cute.”

“I’m leaving,” Iseul muttered, already planning her escape route.

“YOU CAN’T ESCAPE IT,” Han yelled, arms outstretched like some kind of cult leader. “YOU’RE HIS NOONA NOW.”

Jeongin slid down to the floor like his legs had given out. “This is the worst day of my life,” he groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

Seungmin, who had clearly been waiting for this moment his entire existence, crouched next to Jeongin and patted his back like a fake-supportive friend. “It’s okay, baby bread,” he cooed. “Your noona will protect you.”

Jeongin threw a napkin at his face.

“Why do you even call her that?” Changbin asked, folding his arms with a grin that screamed he was enjoying this way too much. “I mean, she’s closer to your age, right?”

“I—I don’t know,” Jeongin stammered. “She just... gives noona vibes?”

Iseul nearly dropped the plate again.

“Noona vibes?” Hyunjin repeated, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

Jeongin buried his face in his hands. “You cook, and you scold us, and you make sure we eat... you feel like a noona!”

Iseul’s soul physically left her body.

“Guys, I think she’s going to cry,” Han whispered, leaning closer to her face like he was inspecting a wild animal.

“I’m quitting,” she mumbled into her hands. “I’m packing my bags and going to live in the practice room.”

Jeongin looked devastated. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable —”

“She’s not uncomfortable,” Seungmin interrupted, voice sugary sweet. “She’s just malfunctioning. It happens when her noona programming gets activated.”

Seungmin barely had time to react before Iseul launched herself across the kitchen.

“YOU’RE DEAD!” she screeched, knocking over a chair as she tackled him with the force of a small hurricane.

Seungmin hit the floor with a thud, laughter echoing through the dorm as she pinned him down, her knees digging into his sides.

“I yield, I yield!” he wheezed, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t breathe!”

“That’s the point!” Iseul growled, shaking him by the collar like a cartoon villain.

The boys exploded.

“YES, GET HIM!” Han cheered, pounding the table.

“WORLD STAR!” Changbin yelled, holding up his phone like he was filming a fight for the internet.

“Seungmin, you brought this on yourself,” Felix snorted, not even bothering to help him.

“I regret nothing,” Seungmin choked out, grinning like the little menace he was.

Lee Know, arms crossed and smirking, watched the chaos unfold like a proud father. “I knew she had it in her,” he said, nodding in approval. “Finally putting Seungmin in his place.”

“This isn’t putting him in his place, this is a murder attempt,” Chan groaned, scrambling over to try and pry Iseul off Seungmin.

“Save me! She is a bloody monster!” Seungmin gasped from beneath Iseul, face red from laughing.

“I’m not saving you, I’m saving the dinner table!” Chan yelped, dodging Iseul’s flailing arm as she fought to keep Seungmin pinned. “Iseul, come on, get off him!”

“I’ll get off when he apologizes!” she snapped, wrangling Seungmin like a wrestler in a death match.

“For what?” Seungmin coughed, barely able to breathe through his grin.

“EXISTING,” she hissed, shaking him harder.

Lee Know leaned back against the counter, utterly delighted. “This is the best day of my life,” he said, voice dripping with amusement.

“Minho, help me!” Chan begged, half-laughing, half-panicked as he tried to lift Iseul by the waist.

“Why would I stop this?” Minho tilted his head, watching Chan struggle like it was a live comedy show. “She’s thriving.”

“She’s committing a felony,” Chan cried, dodging another swipe of her hand. “Someone help me!”

Hyunjin, still hovering awkwardly near the table, hesitated. He glanced between Iseul’s wild, feral expression and the way Chan was one slip away from being collateral damage.

His chest tightened — partly out of concern, partly out of something he didn’t want to name.

He hated that Seungmin got to tease her so easily. Hated that Jeongin got to call her noona first.

Hated that he cared so much.

Hated that he found her when she was mad. But maybe a little too cute.

Hyunjin cursed under his breath and scrambled forward, grabbing Iseul by her shoulders. “Okay, okay, let him live!” he yelped, digging his heels into the floor as he helped Chan haul her back.

It felt like trying to tame a feral cat.

“You little —” Iseul kicked wildly, limbs flailing as the two boys dragged her like she was some kind of rogue beast.

Seungmin, instead of being terrified, just lay on the ground laughing his lungs out.

“This is the best day of my life,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Why are you like this?” Chan demanded, face twisted in betrayal.

“WHY AM I LIKE THIS?” Iseul screeched, flailing harder. “HE’S BEEN TAUNTING ME FOR HOURS —”

“LET HIM DIE,” Han cheered from the couch, voice muffled against a pillow.

Hyunjin, out of breath, managed to sit Iseul down on the floor, keeping her in place with both hands on her shoulders.

“Breathe,” he huffed, chest heaving.

Iseul glared at him, fists clenched, practically vibrating with leftover aggression.

Hyunjin should’ve been terrified.

Instead, his brain short-circuited again.

Because she was looking directly at him — eyes fierce, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she tried to catch her breath.

He swallowed hard, pulse stammering.

"...Please don't kill us," he muttered, voice shaky. “You're kinda cute when you're mad, but, like... terrifying.”

Iseul’s brain exploded.

Hyunjin immediately wanted to rip his own throat out.

Chan went rigid. His eyes, wide with disbelief, snapped to Hyunjin like a predator locking onto its prey.

“What,” Chan said, voice unnervingly calm, “did you just say?”

Hyunjin, who looked like he wanted to dig a hole and die in it, tried to backpedal. “I—I didn’t mean it like that!” he stammered, still gripping Iseul’s shoulders. “I just — I —”

“YOU THINK SHE’S CUTE?!” Han roared, flinging a pillow across the room.

Felix was cackling so hard he rolled onto the floor, tears streaming down his face. “NO WAY,” he wheezed, pounding the floor with his fist.

Jeongin, face buried in his hands, screamed into his palms like he was witnessing a crime.

Meanwhile, Iseul just sat there. Unmoving. Unblinking.

Absolutely fried.

Her entire body locked up, like her soul had fled to a different dimension.

“C-cute?” she whispered, voice so quiet it was almost a glitch in the universe. Her entire face exploded in red.

Hyunjin, realizing the chaos he had unleashed, panicked. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO SAY IT OUT LOUD,” he blurted, voice pitching so high it cracked.

Chan lunged forward, grabbing Hyunjin by the collar. “THE AIR FRYER,” he hissed like a man possessed. “I’M THROWING YOU IN HEADFIRST.”

“I’LL PREHEAT IT,” Lee Know called, already walking to the kitchen with a casual strut.

“MINHO, NO!” Hyunjin screeched, flailing as Chan dragged him toward the kitchen like a man on a mission.

Seungmin, still sprawled on the floor, barely conscious from laughing. “Tell my family I love them,” he rasped.

“I CAN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE,” Iseul finally exploded, clutching her face as her entire body curled in on itself. “I NEED TO QUIT. I NEED TO MOVE TO ANOTHER COUNTRY.”

Jeongin, clutching his stomach, almost toppled over. “I CALLED HER NOONA AND LIVED — BUT HYUNJIN CALLED HER CUTE AND DIED.”

Hyunjin, bright red and struggling against Chan’s grip, tried to salvage what little was left of his dignity. “I WAS JUST TRYING TO STOP HER FROM COMMITTING MURDER,” he howled.

“BY FLIRTING WITH HER?!” Han screeched, clutching a pillow like he was witnessing the scandal of the century.

Chan, eyes burning with big brother fury, shoved Hyunjin into a kitchen chair. “SIT DOWN,” he ordered, voice low and deadly. “You are not allowed to speak for the rest of the night.”

Hyunjin, face still burning, sulked like a scolded puppy.

Lee Know wandered back in, biting into a rice cracker. “Pity,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “I was actually gonna turn on the air fryer.”

“STOP,” Hyunjin whined, burying his face in his hands.

Iseul, still melting into a puddle of embarrassment, finally peeked through her fingers. She glared at Hyunjin with the weakest, most half-hearted death stare imaginable.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to kill you,” she muttered.

Hyunjin peeked at her through his fingers — and immediately turned even redder.

The boys, seeing his reaction, lost it all over again.

Felix almost choked on his laughter. Han was crying. Seungmin lay on the floor like a casualty of war.

And Chan? Chan slumped against the counter, staring at the ceiling like he was questioning every life decision that led to this moment.

“I need a vacation,” he whispered to himself.

Lee Know clapped him on the back. “Or a bigger air fryer.”

The conversation eventually shifted.

The initial explosion of chaos faded into background noise as the boys fell back into their usual rhythm — tossing jokes across the table, piling extra food onto each other’s plates, and slipping into the easy, natural dynamic they’d built over years of living and working together.

Iseul tried to keep up.

She really did.

But the longer they talked, the quieter she became.

It wasn’t intentional — no one was deliberately ignoring her. But the boys moved so fast, with overlapping stories and inside jokes, that she felt like she was running after a train she could never catch.

They’d start reminiscing about something that happened on tour.

Or talk about an old trainee memory.

Or bicker about a game they played last week.

And Iseul just... sat there.

Smiling when they laughed. Nodding like she understood.

She laughed along, even when she didn’t know what was funny.

She twirled her chopsticks between her fingers, pretending to focus on her food, while her heart slowly sank into her stomach.

This is what she was interrupting.

This is what she was intruding on.

It was one thing to know the boys were uncomfortable with her presence. It was another to see — to feel — just how tight-knit they were without her.

They had a bond she couldn’t break into, no matter how hard she tried.

And maybe she shouldn’t try.

Maybe she shouldn’t even be here.

She stabbed at her rice, her appetite fading, guilt crawling up her throat like thorns.

Jeongin called her noona.

And she’d nearly passed out like an idiot.

The boys were bending over backward to make space for her.

And she was making it harder for them.

They had to clean the dorm for her. Rearrange their rooms. Sacrifice their privacy.

And for what?

For her to sit there in awkward silence, drowning in self-pity?

Iseul pushed her bowl away.

“Um,” she started, voice barely loud enough to cut through the chatter. “I’ll wash up first. You guys can... take your time.”

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

The boys immediately protested — voices overlapping in a flurry of concern:

“You barely ate—” “We’ll do the dishes, don’t worry—” “Are you feeling sick?”

She forced a smile. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Chan frowned, his brows knitting together. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

Hyunjin’s gaze flicked toward her.

But he didn’t say anything.

And Iseul didn’t wait for him to.

She slipped away from the table, her chest aching, and shut the bathroom door behind her like it could physically block out the noise of their laughter.

The shower steamed up the mirror as she stood under the scalding water, her head pressed against the tile.

She hated this feeling.

By the time she got out, her hair clung to her skin, her eyes were swollen, and she was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with her body as shuffled into her most comfortable pajamas without thinking — the bright green dinosaur ones with a cartoon tail on the back.

The dorm was dim, the only light flickering from the TV screen.

The boys had migrated to the living room — sprawled across couches, tangled in blankets, half-asleep as a random variety show played in the background.

Iseul hesitated.

She lingered in the hallway, heart pounding, not wanting to intrude.

Not wanting to disrupt whatever fragile peace they’d finally settled into.

But Seungmin caught her.

He twisted around on the floor, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Look who survived the shower,” he drawled, eyes gleaming. “Did you have an emotional breakdown in there?”

Iseul froze.

Her pulse skyrocketed.

She scrambled to mask the panic on her face — to laugh it off, even as her chest clenched like he’d reached in and grabbed her heart.

Seungmin didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t know.

He was just teasing her.

He didn’t realize he was right.

“I was just washing my hair,” she mumbled, rubbing at her arms. “I… didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting.”

Iseul startled.

Hyunjin sat cross-legged on the couch, leaning against the armrest, one hand propping up his face.

His voice was quiet. Gentler than she expected.

He looked tired. Or maybe he always looked like that now.

But the second he actually saw her — standing there in damp hair and dinosaur pajamas — he malfunctioned.

Iseul, still toweling off her hair, stood in the dim hallway — her eyes big and unsure, damp strands of hair clinging to her flushed face.

Hyunjin nearly choked on his own breath. His heart lurched, and for a split second, he forgot how to function as a human being.

Why was she cute?

Why was she cute when she looked like she’d been emotionally obliterated in the shower?

Why was he noticing this??

He scrambled to do something, fingers blindly fumbling through the grocery bag next to him.

Without thinking, he yanked a yogurt cup from the grocery bag beside him and — panicking beyond belief — flung it at her like she was a wild animal.

“Here!” he blurted, voice cracking like glass.

Iseul caught the yogurt, eyes wide.

Hyunjin blushed violently.

What the hell was he doing? Why did he do that?? Why was he short-circuiting over pajamas??

He turned back to the TV with the stiffest posture in human history.

“Uh — you... like those,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Seungmin cackled. Immediately.

Hyunjin wanted to burst into flames.

Iseul clutched the yogurt to her chest like it was a life preserver, her entire face glowing red.

She didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to tell Hyunjin that the stupid snack had saved her.

So, instead of speaking, she quietly sank onto the floor, legs folding beneath her.

She stayed.

The boys resumed their bickering.

The show flickered on, the room filled with noise again.

Hyunjin peeked at her out of the corner of his eye.

His chest squeezed.

Because she was smiling.

Just barely.

But she was smiling.

And somehow, that was enough.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkam, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo

STORY HINT: Iseul's mom came from a well established family and was originally a law student. But she had to quit law school as she got pregnant with Iseul and married her dad. Iseul's grandparents weren't happy with the situation (or their son-in-law) but they still stayed and helped her mom. They also made sure that Iseul was provided with top notch education and training.

Uk the original draft was more angsty than this. Like I didnt include Iseul's mom or dad, only in passing and there was no comic relief. But I'm honestly quite happy with this version. Anywhoo, don't be a ghost! Leave likes and comments!! Reblogging helps a ton too Stay safe!!! ~Candy

[buggs-and-beasts]

No Stone Unturned (p1)

Summary: The last thing she needs is the Winter Soldier crashing on her couch. It’s only a matter of time before someone tracks him down to her apartment, the only place he visits more than once. All she can do is hope Hydra doesn’t get their first, or if they do, that they kill her before they recognize her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female OC/Reader

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of canon typical violence and torture, descriptions of physical injuries, invasions of privacy, mind and memory reading reader, depictions of mental illness and flashbacks

Word Count: 2743

Note! - thank you to my lovely fiancée for helping name the story and the chapter, as well as being my wonderful beta reader to catch silly little mistakes (like when I imply Bucky only has one lung)

Look What the Cat Dragged in

She’s always liked taking walks in the rain.

There’s something so peaceful about the way the world slows down and the air gets crisper, something that just opening the windows to her apartment can’t fully capture. Down here, on the city streets, it’s so much stronger. That’s why she’d pulled on her soft blue, long sleeved dress and fleece lined leggings to brave the chilled early evening.

The streets were practically deserted by the time she stepped out of her apartment building and opened her black umbrella, but that only made it better. She might as well be the only person in the entire city, walking her familiar loop around closed storefronts and locked doors. Now, only 2 blocks away from finishing her loop with waves of comfort rushing through her, movement at the edge of an alleyway catches her attention.

Whatever moved was small, maybe a racoon or a stray dog or cat. The weather report she’d watched earlier rings through her head, it’s meant to freeze tonight. She’s quick to veer off her loop, stepping into the mouth of the alleyway and scanning it for life while chirping to get the animals attention.

“Come here sweetheart,” she calls. A sudden flash of mottled gray before her makes her yelp, then laugh as she takes in the dirty gray soaked fur of a ragdoll cat.

“Well hello there beautiful.” She smiles as the cat weaves between her legs, “What’re you doing out in this kind of weather?” The cat doesn’t stay with her for long, prancing further into the alleyway but pausing every couple of steps to check if she’s following. She does.

“Are there more of you back there?” She calls, scanning the area nearby for something she could carry the cat back to her place in, eyes landing on a damp cardboard box. She pulls it from a pile of trash, carefully keeping it under her umbrella as she follows the slender watercolor gray cat deeper into the dark alleyway. She’s trying not to trip on the uneven asphalt, watching as the drenched animal vanishes around a corner.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected to find. Probably a litter of kittens or a pile of trash turned into a small shelter.

The last thing she was expecting was to find a man there in the dark, his hulking frame sprawled out on the floor, bloody and rain-soaked. He’s in worn dark clothes, resting on his stomach, head facing away from her so his shoulder length dark brown hair blocks his face from her view. The cat stops at the man’s side, sitting expectantly with big eyes trained on the girl it’d led here.

She takes a single step forward, opening her mouth to call out to him but the syllables die on her tongue as she notices the knives and guns strapped to him. That sends her stumbling back, the umbrella and box dropping from her hands, her body pressing into the dirty alleyway wall.

She stays there a moment, watching and waiting for him to move. He doesn’t.

The puddle of rain surrounding him is dark, bloody. He’s obviously hurt, presumably unconscious. The cat is next to his head now, licking his cheek without response.

She should call the cops, and ambulance, help in general, but a nagging feeling tells her not to.

“Fuck.” She curses, taking slow careful steps closer to him before kneeling down beside him. He doesn’t look incredibly dangerous, famous last words, she knows, but what if he isn’t. What if he needs help.

There’s a way to know for sure.

Self loathing soaks into her alongside the rainwater. She hates that the idea even came to her, that something deep inside her would dare to recommend she use her disgusting ability. She didn’t need it. It wasn’t her, just a remnant of the worst experiences of her life.

She couldn’t let him die there, but if she was in his position she’d sooner die than risk detection in a hospital. What if he was running too?

One step away from the wall. Her worry for the man’s life is winning and she knows it. It’s dishonorable, sure, but is invading someone’s privacy worth it to save their life. She takes another step, then another, until she’s kneeling next to him.

The hem of her skirt is soaking up rainwater and blood, the liquids creeping up the fabric. She’s holding her breath, reaching out with her pointer finger but stopping before she can feel the soft skin of his bare and bloody cheek.

Just one touch, one unethical, invasive peak into someone else’s mind to decide where to go from here.

His skin is cold, but she only manages to feel that for a moment before its overtaken by a deep burning. Instantly her head is throbbing, her vision blurring from the pain. She can feel water filling up her lungs and electricity throbbing through her hands, her arms, her core. Everything aches and stings and glows white hot. Hands are grabbing and hitting her everywhere, bruising fingers and violent impacts making her dizzy. All she can see is a blur of harsh men and bright lights. There’s blood in her eyes, sticky thick liquid dripping and gliding down her face.

Just when she thinks it all might knock her unconscious a new, stronger cold soaks into her. It’s deep and throbbing, bringing a new burn alongside a painful numbness. She can’t feel her fingers, her toes. She can’t breathe or scream or cry out. She’s frozen. Completely and utterly.

The girl falls back with a gasp, panting as the images and feelings slowly vanish. She’s completely sitting on the ground now, desperately trying to adjust to a spinning brutal world. The feeling of soaked fur and chilled toe pads pull her back into the alleyway, the cat brushing past her shoulder then hopping up to stand on her bare thighs. The cat chirps at her, tail flicking gently behind it.

No hospitals. No police.

If she wanted to help him, and she did, she’d have to do it herself.

“I’m gonna need a bigger cardboard box.”

—

It only hits her a couple hours after she finally managed to drag him into her apartment just what she’s done.

The Winter Soldier, the fist of Hydra, is laying shirtless on her couch, his massive form making it seem comically little. He’s wanted by Hydra, every government worldwide, and the Avengers. The three groups she wants in her life the least are actively tracking down the guy she’d just stitched up like she was sewing a new skirt.

If her body wasn’t so exhausted she’d be terrified, but instead she’s just semi-panicking while half awake. It had taken 2 hours to pull Captain America’s right hand man 2 blocks, stopping only when the pain from his memories forced her to throw up or collapse into a wall. She’d tried to avoid touching his skin but it was nearly impossible to do while heaving him onto her shoulders or yanking him down the sidewalk. Her one saving grace was his left arm, thankfully the sleek metal didn’t conduct the inside of his mind like his skin did. Unfortunately that didn’t protect her from his memories when she’d handled his injuries.

It was nothing she couldn’t handle, just a stab and a couple gun shot wounds. She’d spent another hour tackling those with her handy sewing kit. It would’ve been so much quicker, but she needed 30 of those minutes to get herself to a point where she didn’t flinch and yelp with each brush of his skin. The end result wasn’t perfect or ideal, the unsteady stitches making her curse her once steady hands for their current tremors.

She can’t tell which has been more exhausting, heaving around a man twice her size or taking in the unbearable torture inside him.

With her guest handled she moves to care for the cat, wiping dirt and grime from its fur with a warm wet washcloth to reveal pure white. She trudges around the apartment, setting up a litter box alongside bowls of dry food and water on her living room floor.

Now, with everything and everyone handled, the newfound calm gives way to her own horrors.

She spent too long too close to him and now even across the room she can’t get his head out of hers. She’s a broken radio, stuck on his station at full volume. His memories are overwhelming, overloading every sense in her body. They’re blurring, blending into her own experiences, building into unstoppable flashbacks until she has no clue what sensations are hers. She stumbles back against the wall, sliding down it and setting her head into her hands. Bones are cracking and splintering, lungs are heaving, whimpers and screams are bubbling up into her throat.

It takes every grounding exercise in her toolkit to calm her body down and by then even crawling to her room is out of the question. Instead she leans back into the wall, shutting her eyes as the damp cat crawls into her lap. She’s out in minutes, free falling into the dark void of sleep with a strangled sigh.

—

His eyes snap open into a room he’s never seen before.

The couch he’s laying on is plush. A thick soft blanket wraps up from under him until it hugs around his shoulders, locking him into a comfortable cocoon, but otherwise he can’t feel any restraints. In front of the couch is a coffee table, strewn with bloodied medical and sewing supplies. Beyond that is a fireplace, the sparse glowing embers quietly crackling, and a chair piled up with dark thick fabric, metals, and plastics.

His hands shoot to his body, pulling away his cocoon and searching for his weapons in a panic. Not only are they missing, presumably within the pile on the chair, but so is his jacket, his shirt, even his shoes and socks have been removed leaving him semi-exposed in only dirt and blood cacked tactical pants and underwear.

He shoots up to a seat with a sharp wince from his strangely cleaned and bandaged core. Even the healing gash on his right forearm he got climbing a fence is wrapped up. He tries to push away the uneasiness of having been cared for while limp and unconscious, instead scanning the space. It’s an apartment, a modest living space broken between living room and kitchen with an island of countertops. What catches his eye the most is the vase of flowers, bright marigolds on the island.

Every movement he makes is careful, slow, cautious. The last thing he needs is to get the attention of whoever brought him here. He had no reason to think they want to harm him, he’s not bound, his stuff is right there on the chair only a couple feet away, still the idea of him being found and moved while he was so vulnerable makes him want to run. Run fast and far, and never look back.

Better to be gone than risk meeting his host.

He makes it a couple steps towards the chair, reaching out for the handgun still in a holster at the top of the pile before he hears it. A gentle… purring? It’s coming from behind the chair. His gaze moves downwards, peaking delicately over the top of the pile in search of the source of the sound.

His tired, gray-blue eyes land on vibrant icy ones. The pupils seem to grow at the sight of him, purring turning into chirping as a fluffy white ragdoll cat squirms out of the arms of a sleeping girl and prances over to him. It rubs it’s head against him, chirping louder and louder by the second.

“Shh.” He hushes but the cat doesn’t seem to care, now chattering and pacing back and forth against his legs. “You’ll wake her.” He whispers, watching the cat hop up onto the pile and carefully climb the exposed edges of the armchair. It’s first meow is enough to push him over the edge, his right hand rubbing a warm cloud onto its head. “Please.” The touch appears to placate the cat, returning meows and chatter and chirps to methodic purring.

Still petting the cat he dares for a moment to scan the girl behind the chair. The first thing he notices is that she isn’t really behind the chair, just in the triangular space between it and the wall because of its angle. The next thing he takes in is the girl herself, she’s softly breathing, curled up into a loose ball, eyes solidly shut. Asleep. He takes slow and deliberate steps around the chair to get a better look at her, the cat following his hand to the other side of it’s back. She doesn’t look much like a threat to him.

His heart races a little when he notices the blood stained all over her baby blue dress and gray leggings. Her hands are bloody too, stained and coated in cracking dried red without a source he can identify. He’s crouched beside her, having halfway convinced himself to pull her out of the corner for a proper injury assessment when he realizes where the red came from.

Him. It came from him.

He glances back at the coffee table, at the blood soaked needle and thread haphazardly thrown into a clear lidded tin to keep the cat from getting it, at the trashcan at the end of the island and the completely soaked bandage trapped just barely poking out of the lid. Had she really fixed him up?

He doesn’t get to grapple with the question for long before a gasp pulls him back to her. He stands again stepping back quickly to give her space, but she doesn’t stand. Her eyes don’t even open, but another gasp escapes her lips, this one accompanied by a panicked whine.

It’s a nightmare, he’s sure of it. He’d recognize the way her unconscious body squirms and twitches, the way her eyes dart around beneath her eyelids, the quiet breathy half-words anywhere. He should leave but he can’t. Instead his hands stretch out towards her, slow and wary. He doesn’t let his fingers meet with her soft skin, only grabbing onto her shoulders where the long sleeves of her dress cover her and shaking her frame softly.

“You’re okay.” It’s practically a whisper, every syllable hoarse and raw from disuse. It occurs to him in fleeting concern that this is the first thing he’s said since the airship. He tries again. “You’re okay. It’s just a dream.” Her chest is heaving more and more with each strangled breath.

“Ple-” there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way her numb lips stumble through only a fraction of a word. Her eyebrows knit together, face tensing up as her head lolls forwards. “No.”

“Fuck.” He can’t help but curse, releasing her left shoulder and pushing a strand of her from her face. “It’s just a dream.” She seems to settle a little, as if she can hear him through the mist of her own nightmares, but the fear builds up again into an agonizing whimper. He doesn’t think, he just acts, cupping her cheek into the palm of his hand. He can feel the warmth of her flushed face as he lifts it up.

“You’re okay.” He repeats for the last time, as firm and loud as his damaged voice can handle. “It’s just a dream.”

Her eyelashes flutter open, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, bright eyes boring a hole through his head. There’s something gorgeous about them, so vibrant and detailed he could search them for hours. That is, he could search them for hours if he could manage to ignore her flushed cheeks and plump, parted lips.

With a jolt he realizes just how hard he’s staring and the intimate way his fingertips are cupping her cheek, tilting her chin up towards his face almost as if….

He pulls his hands from her suddenly, blush creeping up his own face at an alarming pace. The silence between them might as well be another bullet forcing it’s way into his side. He screams at himself to say something, anything. Unfortunately part of him takes ‘anything’ a little too seriously and, instead of concocting something endearing or charming to say he can only force out a pathetic…

“Hi.”

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#3 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Azriel finds the guy that sold Cassandra. Lots of bonding happens with Cassandra, Azriel and other members of the IC. Slight cliffhanger.

Warnings/Tags: mentions/implied rape. Mention past sexual abuse. Mentions pregnancy from rape. Slow burn. Violence. Brief victim blaming. Found family. Protective!azriel. Protective!IC. GRAMMER ERRORS—I plan on going back to edit this please don’t judge me too hard I’m gonna have a busy week and just really wanted to get this posted for y’all🩵

Authors Note: all reblogs, likes and comments are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next chapter. Regular italics are inner thoughts and bold italics are mental communication.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel stands in the darkness of night watching. Waiting. Body thrumming with anger. Calm cold anger. The kind that got people killed if they didn’t give him what he was looking for.

Only moments after Cassandra’s departure had his shadow returned to him. Telling him where to find this Vale. This horrid male who was taking females away from their family and selling them off—profiting off of them like livestock.

He sees the male, recognizes him from the briefs flash of memory Cassandra let slip at dinner, the one where this mad had choked her, slammed her against the wall just for needing to use the restroom.

The male is loading something up in the back of a wagon, the building behind him dark and dingy. Azriel let his shadows take him closer. Closer. Until he was standing in the alley between this man's house and another. The smell was horrid, small creatures scurrying about looking for their meal for the evening.

The male retreats into the building and Azriel lets a shadow loose to follow him—to be his eyes inside of this building. Inside is just as dark and dingy and piled high to the roof with…stuff. The blue skinned male navigates the maze of boxes and bins and trash with ease. He seems to be the only one here but Azriel knew better so he waits following the man through the seemingly endless maze.

That’s when he hears it, his shoulders going tight, his jaw clenching. Crying—no sobbing. A girl begging to be left alone as the male grabs her and pins her down to the floor.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pounds his fist against the outside of the building, taking chucks of the stone out. It’s loud enough to distract the man, to get him away from that girl as he rushed from the room under the floor, locking the locks and coming out. Looking around wildly for the source of the sound.

Azriel winnows, leaning against the wagon the man had been loading before, whistling to get the man attention. He whirls around, black eyes narrowed in anger, freezing in place when they land on him.

“Shadowsinger?” He grunts, narrowing his eyes at Azriel. “What brings you to these parts?”

Azriel looks him over, the smell of shit, piss and rot was overwhelming even from this distance.

“Vale,” Azriel says, to let the male know he knows who he is, rightfully see the fear in his eyes. “I’m looking for something and I hear you’re the one to help me.”

“I ain’t got nothing you need, pretty boy,” Vale sneers, crossing his arms, looking Azriel over. Trying to come off as tough but it’s actually laugh-able.

“Are you sure?” Azriel asks, pushing off the wagon. Letting his wings spread wide, walking closer, towering over the male. “See, I’ve got this female telling me you bought her from her dad and sold her to a pleasure house. I mean, tell me I’m wrong, man. I’ve just gotta check on these things. It’s a pretty serious accusation and all.”

“That chick’s got the wrong guy. I would never do something like that. These bitches are always trying to get us males in trouble,” Vale said, seeming to relax. Big mistake.

“You think so? Just tell me if you know her man. About this tall, really pretty, tan skin, white hair. Wings.” Azriel growls the last word, the man’s eyes widening again, taking a step back.

“Look, man, it’s not like that. Her dad owed me money, so he gave me her instead cause he couldn’t afford to pay me back, okay? So I didn’t technically buy her,” He stammered out, trying to explain himself.

“Oh,” Azriel said, nodding his head. “Well, I mean, if you didn’t technically buy her then no law was broken.”

“That’s right!” The male nods, sighing in relief. “No law was broken, man. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t do that—”

“Yeah. I get it,” Azriel nods, shifting. Looking towards the building, then back to the low life in front of him. “And that female inside? Did you buy her? Is she here of her own free will allowing you to rape her daily?”

“Fuck,” Vale whispers, turning and running down the cobble stone road. Azriel stands there watching, a grin stretching his lips as he lets the male think he’s getting away.

“Send Morrigan,” He calls out to Rhys as he watches the male.

“She’s coming.”

Then he's gone again, just as Vale looks over his shoulder to try and spot him, only to smack hard into a body that came out of nowhere. He looks at the shadowsinger towering over him, swallowing thickly.

“What do you want from me?” The male nearly cried out as Azriel grabbed him and pulled him up, slamming his face first into a stone wall. The resounding crunch of his nose breaking is ever satisfying.

“Her name is Cassandra,” Azriel snarls into the man's ear. “She told us what you did to her. What you did to that female you have locked in that disgusting building. We know there’s more girls. We will find them all and when we do, I’ll let each one take a turn with you. Their weapon of choice. And you’ll feel exactly what they felt.”

“Ple-please. Please, just kill me,” The man begged, fighting in Azriel’s grasp but he was no match for Azriel’s strength.

“And what kind of justice would that be? Did you stop when those girls begged you to? Did you give them death with they would have preferred that over you using their bodies?” Azriel asked, scenting the smell of urine as the man pissed himself. “You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you.”

Before the pathetic excuse of a male could beg or plead any more Azriel grabbed the back of his head, smashing it into the wall, letting him fall unconscious to the ground. He left him there binded and hidden by shadows, stalking back to the building where he spotted Morrigan easily.

“Don’t tell me this is where he’s been keeping those poor girl?” She asked when she spotted him approaching.

“Unfortunately, I think it is. She said under his house but he could live here. I’ll question him more. I know there’s at least one female inside,” Azriel explained, guiding Morrigan into the building. Be could get the female on his own but he knew it was safer to have a female companion—after all they’d been through the least he could do was make sure a female was the one to comfort them.

They get to that basement floor, unlocking the various locks and pulling the hatch open. It’s as dark and dingy down here as it was in the rest of the building. Morrigan enters first, taking Azriel’s hand to steady herself on the old wobbly stairs.

“Your wings won’t fit down here,” She said, hushed. He nods at her. “Send a shadow if I call for help.” It’s said jokingly but he knows she’s serious. He’d rip the floor from this building to help her if she needed it.

Mor squinted her eyes in the dimness of the sellar, resisting the urge to plug her nose from the horrid smell.

“Hello? Is anyone down here?” She calls out, looking up from at Azriel when there’s no reply. “Hello, my name is Morrigan. I work for the High Lord. The male keeping you here is—”

Morrigan’s cut off when I body slams into hers, knocking her to the ground. She cries out in surprise when a sharp sting slices across her cheek.

“Stop, hey, stop! I’m here to help!” Mor calls out, trying to catch the hands of the female fae on top of her.

“Mor!” Azriel’s deep voice calls.

“I’ve got it!” Mor calls back, grabbing the girls wrists. “Please, stop! Vale is gone! He can’t hurt you, please, stop!”

The girl stops fighting then still tense where she’s straddling Morrigan’s middle section.

“He’s gone?” She whispers and Mor nods.

“Yes, he’s gone. He can’t hurt you any more. I swear,” She promises. Eyes finally able to take in the sight before her.

A fragile, naked, malnourished body sits atop her. Eyes not only shut but scarred as if they’d been cut—maybe by the same person that took Cassandra’s tongue. But what really got Morrigan, what had her ready to lose the contents of her stomach was the rounded belly attached to that nearly skeleton body. Her eyes welled and she helped the female to shift off of her body.

“Are you pregnant?” Mor whispers, trying to keep her voice from breaking as the female nods.

“Please, don’t let him take this one too,” She cries, reaching out to find Morrigan’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Promise me I get to keep my baby.”

“I promise, no one is going to take your baby away from you,” Morgan swears, a single tear falling down her cheek. “What’s your name, sweet girl?”

“Neema, my name is Neema,” She answers and Mors eyes widen. The girl Cassandra told them about.

“You and your baby are safe, Neema. We’re gonna take you away from here, okay?” Morrigan says, standing and helping the pregnant female stand as well.

“I have my friend Azriel here too, he will not touch you, he’s only here to make sure no further harm comes to you. He’s handing me a cloak for you to wear,” Morrigan explains so the female doesn’t feel uncomfortable. She nods, allowing Mor to wrap the cloak around her.

“Are there any other females here?” Azriel asks gently, wishing he hadn’t with the way she clenched at the deep mess of it.

“Not—not that I know of. The females come and go. There’s been no others for months…” Neema answers, grasping the fabric tighter around her body.

Azriel and Mor share a look the last females had to have been Cassandra and the other two she mentioned.

“I’ll stay and check the building before I head back,” Azriel informed, consciously softening his voice so as not to scare the female again.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Morrigan winnows away with Neema and Azriel searches every inch of the building with his shadows. No signs of any other females. He leaves the building, needing to relieve himself of the horrible stench.

He retrieves the still bound and unconscious male, winnowing him to his dungeon. He strips him, places a gag in his mouth, dumps him into a chair and binds him to it. He would be dealt with later.

The sun would be rising soon and he wanted to be there when they informed Cassandra they found the male and the female—her friend?

He enters Rhys' study, Cassian and Mor there too.

“How is she?” He asks, glancing at Morrigan then his brother.

“Resting,” Rhys answers. “Madja looked her over. Thankfully the baby seems healthy, Madja’s main concern is getting Neema to gain some weight and begin healing herself.”

“We offered her to live amongst the priestesses in the library, she agreed,” Morrigan said, her brown eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed.

“Good, that’s all good, they’ll help her heal,” Azriel nods his head crossing his arms. “I have the male in my dungeon.”

“Have you gotten any information out of him?” Rhys asks, standing from his desk.

“Not much. He admitted to knowing who Cassandra was, receiving her from her father and holding her. He never admitted to selling her but that information won’t be hard to get out of him,” Azriel explains and Rhys nods in agreement.

“You get whatever information you can out of him and then he’s dead,” Rhys orders, Azriel doesn’t need to confirm he already knew what Rhys decision would be.

“Are we telling Cassandra?” Cassian asks, the first words he’s said the whole time.

“We are. She needs to know he’s here, it may bring her some comfort knowing he’s locked away and Neema is safe. I think you should be the one to talk to her, Azriel,” Rhy says, turning his attention to the shadow singer.

“Me? Not Mor?” Azriel asked, a bit confused.

“Yes, you. She’s comfortable with you. You’re the one that apprehended him. I believe she would prefer to hear it from you,” Rhys nods.

“Okay, I can do that,” Azriel agreed.

“You handle that, I’ve got some business to attend to with the priestesses. We’ll all meet up in a few hours to discuss further action.” Rhys stepped around his desk, patting Azriel’s shoulder when he passed by him.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

An hour goes by before Azriel tracks Cassandra down. Finding her in the library, flipping through a book where she’s sat in the large window seat that overlooked the city below. A steaming cup of tea next to her.

“I thought you couldn’t read?” Azriel asks, leaning against the door frame, grinning when those green eyes meet his.

“I can’t. I’m looking at the pictures,” She said, holding up the book, some romance book from the looks of the two people in a colorful garden.

“Ah,” Azriel says, walking further into the room. Trying not to focus on the way her eyes track up and down his body the closer he gets. He holds his hand out for the book, flipping it over the read the title, snorting at it. “Secret Garden Romance, huh?”

She shrugs, taking the book back.

“I asked the house for a book with a lot of pictures, this is what I got,” She said, a small sweet breathy laugh escaped her lips and he couldn’t help his own smile.

“Did you end up getting some sleep?” He asks, watching her set the book down and grab the warm mug.

“I slept but not great,” She shrugs. “I can’t stop thinking about my sisters.”

“We’re gonna do everything we can to find them, I promise you that,” Azriel said, not even waiting for a beat. He would find her sisters and he’d beat the shit out of her father too.

“You know I took my older sister's place. It was supposed to be her he sold off but the way she had cried when he told her. I couldn’t let him do that to her so I told him to take me…I didn’t really know what he meant when he was selling me. I thought I’d be a servant like the ones we had when I was a kid or something. I never thought…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath.

“You’re not to blame for what happened to you. You were protecting your sister. You did a very selfless thing. You're safe now and your sisters will be, too,” Azriel said, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned towards her.

“Well, what about you?” Cassandra asked, gently changing the subject. “Did you ever get any sleep?”

Azriel sighed with a head shake. “No, actually. That’s kind of why I came to talk to you.”

Cassandra fixed him with a curious look, leaning forward as if to give him her full attention for whatever he needed to say. He looked into those glowing green eyes, filled with curious concern.

“We found that male. Vale. We found him,” Azriel said, watching the vast range of emotions flash through those emerald eyes.

“He’s here?” Is what she asks, fear tinging her voice. Azriel straightens his back.

“He will not touch you,” he declared, holding her gaze. “He won’t even come near you.”

I’ll fucking kill him if he does. He thinks but doesn’t add it out loud.

“He can’t get out of…wherever he is?” She asks, and he wants to reach out so badly to comfort her. The ache in his chest drawing him to her.

“No. He’s being held in a very secure place. I promise you’re safe here. You’re safe with us.” Azriel promises. You’re safe with me.

“Were there any females with him?” She asks and Azriel nods.

“The girl you told us about, Neema. She was the only one there—it had been only her for months.”

He watches as her eyes fill with tears, offering his hand for her to hold. She takes it, thumb tracing his scars unconsciously.

“Just her…alone with him for months. Gods, is she…I feel like okay isn’t the right word for what I want to ask,” She says, sadness written all over her face.

“She will be okay,” Azriel said. “She’s in bad shape. Pregnant, malnourished but we have an amazing healer and a library below the mountain. Many priestesses live there. Many of them have experienced similar traumas. They’ll help her heal.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. He wasn’t sure what was going through her head as she sat there silently, grasping his hand and tracing his scars.

“I want him to die.” It’s fierce. Heated. Emotional. And it does something to Azriel’s heart, to his brain. He squeezes her hand. “I want him to feel everything we felt. To know the fear he put us through. I want him to suffer and then I want him to die.”

“He will die. I swear to the Mother. I’ll get every drop of information from him and when it’s time his death will be painful and slow,” Azriel swore, gently swiping a tear from her cheek.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

The next day is a day Cassandra would remember forever. She hadn't slept much the night before but Morrigan had practically begged her to have lunch.

Cassandra wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for a day out in the city but she felt safe with Morrigan. She nearly asked if Azriel could come too until she learned he would be spending the day collecting information from Kamari and Vale.

Morrigan picked out her outfit for the day and it was one of her favorites she’s worn since being here. A flowy silk top that tucked into a dark pair of slacks that raised high on my hips. They emphasized her longer legs in a way she had never noticed before. She had also pinned Cassandra’s hair up and out of her face.

She liked the way Azriel smiled at her when he saw her dressed this way. She blushed but was quickly rushed away by Morrigan, shouting something about wanting you to herself for the day for girl time.

Their first stop was a place she called the River House. A beautiful home that her mother would have loved. Morrigan had only had them stop here briefly to grab a few tote bags, wanting to shop while they were out but promised to bring her back and give her a proper tour of the house.

The city was even more beautiful when you were in it. The sun was shining bright in an endless blue sky. Better than any dreams she had ever had about it.

They went to bakeries, where Cassandra single handedly filled half a tote with various pastries.

Then a clothing shop where Morrigan helped her pick out some new clothes. A few everyday pieces. A gorgeous gown she wasn’t sure where she would wear it but Morrigan swore she would need it sooner or later. And then the softest, satin, dark blue nightgown—it had reminded her of the stones that glowed atop Azriel’s hands. Morrigan herself had picked out quite a few outfits and gowns of her own and a lace set that looked like something the girls in the pleasure houses would wear but she paid no mind to it—she was sure it would look gorgeous on Morrigan wherever she planned to wear it to.

Then they went to a place near the river for lunch, the glistening river was the perfect view while they ate.

“Do you feel like you’re settling in okay?” Morrigan asked, sipping on some kind of iced fruit tea while they waited for their food.

“I’m still…adjusting. I enjoy the company of everyone. I feel like I can trust you all. It’s just odd.” Cassandra says, taking a drink of her tea that was just slightly too sweet but she wasn’t complaining.

“What’s odd?” Morrigan asks gently.

“Trusting strangers more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else,” She says it like a confession, like she should be ashamed for feeling that way.

“I don’t think that’s odd,” Morrigan shrugged. “You’re around people like you, people you can relate to and get to know. It’s easy to feel safe with us in turn, causing your trust. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Cassandra smiles at Morrigan.

Their food comes soon after and they talk the whole time. Morrigan gives her the rundown of how Rhys, Azriel and Cassian all knew one another. She explained more about their titles and what each one of them did as a member of the inner circle. She told her about so much that Cassandra could believe she’d spent her whole live knowing practically none of it.

When they go to a bookstore Cassandra looks at a few before putting them back. Morrigan grabs them and tells her they’ll teach her to read—that she’ll love these books and so many more.

And when they finally get back to the House of a Wind it’s late. She's exhausted from carrying around nearly overflowing tote bags and eating more muffins then she can count.

A top the house where they have to land they’re greeted by the three males. Their solemn faces wiping the smile off your face. She caught Azriel’s eyes, sees the look of pure death there—a look that she just knows means he wants to kill someone.

And just like that, her perfect day with Morrigan took a turn straight down hill.

Tag List: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94 @purple-writer8 @little-missbookyworm @saltedcoffeescotch @namelesssav @slytherintaco @whatsupb @little-missbookyworm

[naffeclipse]

A Tease

Reader x Grease

Commission Info

I am rattling @o-cinnamonstickz for commissioning one of my monster boyfriend OCs and letting me go absolutely feral with this guy! Grease is such a menace and the poor reader must sweetly suffer him. After stealing a break while on a late shift, the reader will run into Grease behind the diner, and one tease will lead to another.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

The customer smiles as he hands you back the black check presenter, his mouth spread a little too wide to show off his molars. You feel the money tucked within, but with an inward groan, you fear there is no tip. You wish him and the few others eating with him a good night. Maybe you’ll get lucky and one of his friends will pity you and dump a few quarters on the dirty table.

As they all throw down their napkins and scurry away, out into the night of Hebron, you step back to the cash register. Feeling the inside of your apron pocket, you brush against the worn and half-crumpled box of cornstarch hidden within before snagging your pen to tuck behind your ear.

With a few taps and clanks, and a little slam to get it to open properly, you deposit the cash for the meal. Stealing a glance over to the table, you find the dishes piled high, the clear cups half filled with watered-down soda, and not even a dime in sight.

Great. Just lovely. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff through your nostrils. Where did the virtue of tipping go? Is it just tourists or is it simply everyone that steps through the diner doors who forgoes the practice?

Such questions will only leave you with a headache pounding away at your temples. Biting back a few choice words due to their rowdiness and the not-at-all-subtleness in looking you up and down, you slip the bill into the towering pile that has collected throughout the day.

It’s close to the end of your shift, right? You keep yourself from staring at the clock in the diner too frequently lest the hands get stuck in one place, endlessly ticking without spinning. Everything seems stuck in time here. 

The Hebron Diner, aptly named after the town Hebron, in which you and this poor restaurant reside, is a vintage theme with black and white photos of old cars driving between the trees and sepia pictures of scenery from the nearby national park. You’re growing to hate the lilac coloring of the tables, stools, and booths, and your own stupid waitress attire is drenched in the same hue. Your apron is white—a poor choice, considering how well it shows the stains of burger grease and ketchup. 

You return to the table and begin gathering plates. One hardly touched his fries and you think the other merely played with his country-fried steak. Only an hour to go and then you’re free to rush home and scrub off the smell of fast food from your skin and hair. As the darkness holds over Hebron and its neon-dusted but quaint main street, your hope for the end of a long shift grows. 

You bring the dishes back into the kitchen. Darren, the cook, seems content to clean the grill while the diner remains open but inhabited by hungry customers. 

“Hey, would you mind taking out the trash?” he calls over his shoulder, never even looking up from the faint steam that sizzles over the grill top. “I’ll keep an eye out, let you take a break for a minute if you do.”

“Deal,” you answer without hesitation. You still need to wipe down the table, but you’ll do that after your break. You’ve earned one. 

Dropping off the dishes, you look to Darren for directions on which garage. He jerks his head in the direction of the trash bag sitting in a gleaming silver can, and you quickly tie it up and lift it from its container. Without another word, you breeze outside towards the dumpster. 

Darren scratches your back, you scratch his. You don’t talk to him much, but your habitation as coworkers is seamless as butter on fresh hotcakes. 

The coolness of the night washes over you, chasing away the heat and stress of the diner. A faint street light shines into the employee parking lot filled with cracked pavement and the remnant odor of grease traps. 

The dumpster is located on the other end of the small lot, unfortunately. The light doesn’t quite reach there and deep potholes collect water and whatever may fall into their depths. Your heart skips a beat, your fingers white-knuckling the tied-off garbage at your side.

There are monsters out there. You never thought of such things since you were a child, but the world became a lot bigger and unknowable, and this town became a lot smaller and strange since you discovered the truth. There are things in the dark that hide with mouths full of teeth. They like to watch you. They hope to follow you home and catch you where no one will hear you scream.

Is your paranoia striking because you’re alone now? The darkness is thick and inky, wrapping around the edges of the weak streetlight.

No. Stop being a child. Heaving the trash bag up with a soft clatter, you grind your teeth. The night isn’t what scares you. You push yourself forward, one foot after the other, until you catch sight of one of the potholes. It brims with dark liquid shining iridescently. It stands between you and the dumpster, and you catch an unmistakable ripple across its surface. There is no breeze tonight.

Your breath catches in your throat before you roll your eyes. A name is on the tip of your tongue, ready to call out, but you stop yourself.

A wicked grin crosses your lips. A juvenile idea infiltrates your brain and you run with it. You set one hand on your hip before arching a brow, staring down at the oil puddle. Does he really think you don’t know he’s here?

Dropping the trash bag into the puddle, you promptly sit on top of the black material—not allowing logical thoughts such as the fear of something sharp poking you or the general distasteful smell reeking from it stop you—and throw the puddle outwards in a thick, black splash.

You recline back on it, hands on your knees, as you shift your hips slightly to sink into what feels squishy and crumples slightly, perhaps old food and cardboard boxes. Gross. You ignore it and keep sitting pretty. Underneath you, the puddle begins to bubble and froth. The iridescent sheen of purples and blues and yellows flash in a way you haven’t quite seen before. 

Then the thought lingers a little too long before it manifests into something searing with embarrassment. You might as well have plopped yourself into a demon’s lap.

No. You hold firm. This is payback. He’s stalked you, hunted you down, and grabbed you. The least you can do is embarrass him with the rotten cherry being a trash bag on top of him. You lounge as if it were a throne.

Then a growl emerges from below you. Goosebumps roll over your arms until every tiny hair pricks. Your heart begins to thump hard and fast like a rabbit fleeing from a fox.

You spring off of the garbage bag as if burned. Breath caught in your throat, you whirl back to face the sleek ripples of the oil puddle. 

The black liquid rises, funneling into the figure of a man, lithe with muscles and powerfully sleek not unlike a tiger. The trash bag is ripped upwards in a grip of indignation. Your gut clenches as claws, iridescently gleaming and dark, sink into the thin black material.

A creature of living oil. A demon. Grease.

Two dark tendrils drip down from the top of his head, the tips resting at his shoulders. A long, sleek, and wicked tail snaps behind him. His face is flat with a sharp jawline, lacking a nose but his mouth bears bone-white teeth. Two pale blue eyes, centered with black pupils, pierce you in the darkness of the parking lot as if he might devour you whole. You’re reminded so vividly of a tiger before it strikes.

“How disrespectful,” Grease snarls, his silky and dark timbre carrying a slight threat underneath it. “I’ve come to see you and you put trash on me. Must I remind you who I am?”

You shift on the gritty pavement from one foot to the other. The candle flame of mirth inside of you is not yet extinguished. A small voice warns you in the back of your mind that you’re pushing your luck, but you are nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

“I know who you are, oil boy,” you say, much braver than you are. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

His grin widens.

“Oh?” He steps forward, his shoulders lowering like a cat about to bounce. The sway of his tail is excited, thrilled for a chase. “Neither are you, little nymph.”

A brief burn infiltrates you at the nickname he’s unfortunately bestowed upon you. Your brow furrows as you take a step back. A powerful concoction of adrenaline and confusion floods your veins, interrupting the flow of your thoughts as a primitive instinct to survive takes hold.

“What…?” Your tongue is too heavy.

He tilts his head, revealing a terrible mouth filled with shark-like teeth. Fear spears your heart.

“If you want to sit in my lap, you merely need to ask.” He cackles a heinous sound of black glee.

Red heat fills your face, coloring you in both rage and embarrassment. No, no, this is backfiring. You should have known he would have twisted it in his favor. He’s so seductive and intimidating. You forget which part of him is more dangerous: his teeth or his words.

“Ah, just how I like you, all pretty and pink,” he purrs deep in his throat. His black tongue, oily and black as midnight, swipes over his teeth as if he just found dessert.

Forget this. You twist on the balls of your feet, pushing off the cracked pavement in a dead run for the back door of the diner.

It’s over before it’s truly begun. Long, slick claws snatch you by the arms. Grease rips a gasp from you as he whirls you around and pins your back to the wall. You glare up at him, a breath rattling into your lungs. 

“Let me return your little favor.” His voice coils within you. Your heart beats against your ribs, wild under his devouring gaze. “A little tease for another.”

The sleek tip of his tail finds your ankle and begins winding up your leg. You bite back a yelp at the squeezing, staining pressure from the tendril. A chain to ensure you can’t run.

“I wasn’t teasing you,” you protest, but it’s a lie. A filthy lie that is only met with a sinister chuckle from Grease. 

“Don’t be so coy. It’s not a good look for you.” 

Fighting words long to fly off your tongue but his own emerges from his jaws. Dripping black saliva coats it like thick honey. Your eyes widen. He leans in closer with a monstrous grin. The tendrils upon either side of his head twist up gently and press into your cheeks, securing you into place as you suck in a sharp breath. Your palms press flat against the wall at your sides. He bends low to find access to your neck.

The cool, slick caress of his tongue on the curve of your throat draws out a shiver. It fills your chest and rolls down your spine. Tenderly exploring your skin, the tip of his tongue licks slowly upwards before disappearing from underneath your chin with a cool trace. You gulp.

The fiend. You would curse him if you weren’t half-paralyzed underneath his mouth. Your fingers inch toward your apron pocket.

“On second thought, why stop with a tease?” Grease slips back just enough to capture your gaze and watch you squirm. A threat of blush is bearing down upon your defenses. “You deserve more. A proper… tantalizing…”

He finishes his thought with a too-wide smile and his tongue flicking out of his mouth, closing the precious little distance between your lips. The gallope of your heart roars in your ears. You can’t name the roiling in your middle. It is too hungry, too excited for an oil demon’s touch. 

Still, you lean forward in the slightest, just to catch him the slightest bit off guard. His tail loosens from your leg. His eyes widen, but he presses in—

You snatch the box of cornstarch out of your apron and whip it in front of you, spilling out fine white powder onto the oil demon. He screeches in fury. Backing away from you as the cornstarch latches onto his chest, he writhes and hisses, claws raking at the substance gluing up his sleek form.

“You—! You—!” He howls but all you can do is steal one breathless sound before sliding out from underneath him and grabbing the door handle. Twisting it, you fling yourself into the kitchen.

You twist back to slam the door closed but catch a sharp, pale blue glare, frothing with a promise so vile, it ignites your core into a hot bubbling mess.

Grease will make you pay. But not tonight.

You lock the door and fall back against it. Deep gulps of air heaves through your chest. You slowly push your hair away from your sweaty face.

You got away. For now.

[st4rg1rl-16]

━━ ✶✶˖° 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗩𝗘 | 𝗡𝟰𝗦.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀) ━ 2019 to 2023!f1 grid x driver!female oc

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━ twitter goes crazy after some youtubers sexualise the only f1’s female driver and the worst of it all is that she reads every tweet

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 ━ 2019, 4 april / 9 april

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ━ shanghai, china

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ━ charles and arabella being a little horny (again), mentions of virginity but nothing happens (yet) sexism, sexual objectification so basically men being trash (what a surprise!)

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━ i suck at warnings anywhore! pain so soon? this is nothing! sadly, arabella is going to suffer a lot :(

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ━ @namgification @louvrepool @d3kstar @omgsuperstarg @whoselly @yl90 @wcnorris

• — need for speed’s masterlist

A COMFORTABLE silence hung over the room, without counting the sounds that the skin of their lips made when they collided with each other, their breaths and sighs or the distant song of birds. A bluish light from the dawn of a cloudy day painted the white walls of the hotel room. You could still see the moon thanks to the large window that was located on the other side of the room, in front of the bed in which both of them were tangled in each other. Although it was already April, it was still cold in Shanghai.

Her long, slender fingers curled into the short strands at the nape of his neck, giving a small tug earning a growl that he felt in his mouth as he caught her lower lip between his teeth. He separated from her, taking a few seconds to observe her and he could swear that there was nothing that could compare to what he felt in that moment when he saw her green eyes that were looking back at him lazily but intensely full of life, her brown locks piled up at the top around her head, her cheeks were red and her lips, oh her lips, her lips were red and swollen thanks to him. Because he had been the one who had left her like this, him and no one else. He watched as she rolled her eyes before he felt her grip tighten on his arm and how with the hand she had on his neck she pushed him even closer to his face to press their lips together again.

Their lips met again and neither of them could be happier. Charles's hands took on a life of their own as they began to roam over the girl's body as his life depended on it. He felt her skin crawl beneath his fingertips, his chest swelling with pride as she let out a breath into his mouth.

"Charles..." She sighed his name against his lips when his left hand passed over her hip and he smiled into the kiss. He raised her hand again very slowly until he brought it to her collarbone and where he gently caressed the skin of her neck before curling his hand around her throat. He pressed his body even closer –if it was possible– to hers.

His hand was big enough to cover her entire neck, he liked that. He moved his thumb caressing the edge of her jaw as he separated from her enough to break the kiss but not enough for their lips to stop touching.

"Tell me, ma belle" He murmured, because even though they were alone in the room it felt like a sin to speak out loud and break that intimate bubble that they had managed to create around them. Arabella's breath hitched in her chest as she saw his sly smile hang on his lips and she felt his grip on her throat tighten for a second "Tell me, what do you want?".

She mentally cursed not only herself but him as well. Her lips parted feeling the need to breathe harder and harder, she really felt like she was drowning. She looked into his eyes and then at his lips, she licked her own, managing to taste him. Charles almost looked away from her eyes when he felt her tongue lightly touch his lips but he held strong.

He tightened his grip, feeling her erratic pulse through her neck, and pushed his hand up, making her raise her chin. He insisted "Mmm?".

Fuck it.

She looked at him pleadingly and practically moaned "You. I want you”.

He analyzed her for a few painful seconds that to Arabella seemed like hours before he crashed his lips against hers. While they were kissing she felt him turning them on the mattress and a second later they were sitting, she on top of him.

The kiss was aggressive and fast but she still felt that he was trying not to hurt her, she smiled earning the grip his hand had moved down from her throat to her ass. She let out a moan and immediately wanted to hide under a rock when she saw him pull away from her but she calmed down when she realized it was to take her shirt off of her. She nodded when he gave her a look asking if it was okay, she thought that it was adorable so when the shirt went over her head she gave him a short kiss to which he smiled sweetly before bending down and starting a trail of kisses from her chin to her cheek and down the column of her throat.

She bit her lip not caring that they were swollen and beginning to sting due to her action, she closed her eyes throwing her head back leaving him more room to paint her neck with kisses.

She moaned again as she felt him suck and bite her delicate skin. She should have stopped him, she should have considered that it was not a good idea for him to mark her that way but she was drunk, too drunk from that sensation that she didn’t know how to explain nor that sensation that she didn’t even know how to name. She didn't care, she only cared about him. It was all him, she felt him throughout the room, in every pore of her skin.

Him, him, him. It was all him.

She was so immersed in that simple pleasure that she didn't even feel uncomfortable or insecure about being in a bra in front of a boy for the first time. It was strange, she really thought the first time was going to be a disaster but for the moment she was quite comfortable and she was quite enjoying it. Had she really missed this all these years?.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt his chin brush against one of her breasts, his kisses had descended from her throat to the skin that covered her esophagus and were about to reach the beginning of her breasts. His hands had moved from her waist and bottom to her back, both hands large enough to cover almost her entire back. She felt one of his fingers caress the clasp of her bra.

“Can I take it off, mon ange?” She lowered her chin again and after looking into his eyes for a few seconds, she finally nodded. She didn't trust her voice at that moment, she didn't believe that anything other than moans, gasps or some sigh was going to come out of her throat.

She let his hands take hold of the hook of the black bra and soon she felt it peel away from her skin. Swallowing, she helped him take it off by passing both arms through the straps. She looked at it in the monegasque's hands and she scolded herself for not having chosen a prettier bra, not that that one was ugly but it was too simple. She shook her head slightly without Charles seeing her, that wasn't important now.

He threw the bra across the room, almost hitting a painting that it looked like it was expensive. He grimaced and she laughed lightly making him smile.

He looked at her, laughing and almost naked on top of him. The expensive painting that he almost broke couldn't compare to the work of art he had in front of him. A small sigh came from deep in his chest. He brushed aside a couple of unruly strands that had slipped past her shoulders and pushed them back, letting them join the rest of the long hair that covered her back. This caught the girl's attention, her laughter began to die, leaving behind a pretty but unremarkable smile.

She shifted a little uncomfortably under his gaze and he denied, caressing her waist, his other hand gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him again when she looked away from him. He looked at her with all the sincerity in the world "You're beautiful, mon ange."

"Really?" Her voice was almost not heard but he did, he would always hear her. He nodded, taking her hand and bringing it to his bare chest, placing it on top of his heart.

"Really" He caressed her face with the hand that was previously holding her waist "You're like an angel, the most beautiful thing anyone can see in their life".

She licked her lips and brought her free hand to his neck. She approached him and rested her forehead on his before closing her eyes "Kiss me, Charles."

And he, more than happy, obeyed. Their lips met for the thousandth time that morning, their tongues began to curl around each other until her lungs began to demand air, they reluctantly separated. Charles kissed her lips chastely before moving his lips to her cheek, down to her jaw and then to her neck as he had done before. After thinking about it for a second he took her hand to one of her breasts and began to caress it, testing the terrain.

Moans soon filled the room when his lips accompanied his hand, especially when he began to pay attention to her nipples. With his lips glued to her chest he looked up at her and he could swear he almost came right there. Her eyebrows had furrowed together, her eyes were closed in enjoyment and her mouth was slightly open while moans came non-stop from the depths of her throat.

Charles's pants were starting to feel pretty tight.

He separated his lips from her skin and flipped them over again, so he was on top of her again. The spanish girl complained when she felt the loss of contact to which he let out a small raspy laugh before placing his lips back to her chest although they didn't stay there as they began to move towards her stomach.

Arabella's eyes widened when she felt his hands get tangled in her pants and her panties. She sat up quickly making him stop and look at her confused.

She covered her face with both hands and let out a loud sigh, muttering curses in her native language. The monegasque frowned at her, crawling across the bed until he was in front of her. Once he was in front of her, he took one of her hands, forcing her to uncover her face, which was red with shame.

“Hey” He whispered when he got her to uncover completely and look at him, he looked at her worried “Have I done something wrong? Something that made you uncomfortable or...”

She was quick to interrupt him “No, no, no. The thing is...”

She bit her lip, uncomfortable with the situation. Charles raised an eyebrow at her, positioning himself more comfortably on her side. He looked at her expectantly, making her gaze nervously travel around the room, avoiding his eyes. She pressed her lips together making them disappear in a fine line when he took her hand and intertwined their fingers.

"It's okay, ma belle" He gave her a small smile "You can tell me if you want."

She took a breath and bit her lower lip again "It's just... I've never been with someone like….that, I-I'm a virgin" She murmured her last words, trying to avoid them, but he managed to hear her.

He opened his mouth, surprised more than anything. It took him a while but he reacted, he began to caress the back of her hand with his thumb to calm her down.“Oh, okay. It's okay, nothing happens. We can go slow, I'm not in a hurry”.

He smiled at her when she finally looked at him. He knew that she was worried about what he would say or think, he could see it very clearly in her eyes but it was true that he didn't care too much about sex, he wasn't with her for that reason.

She covered her face again, letting out a sharp complaint "This is so embarrassing"

He laughed lightly, twisting his hands around her wrists to move them away from her face again, he pushed her making her back make contact with her mattress again. He soon lay down next to her and hugged her. They both looked at the ceiling in silence. Charles knew she was embarrassed –not just because she herself had just admitted it verbally– it was noticeable in the air of the room, in how it had changed. He let out a small sigh and began to caress her shoulder gently.

“After Azerbaijan the race is in your country, are you excited?” He changed the subject, wanting to distract her from her thoughts knowing that she was overthinking, it was something he had observed in her. Arabella had a hard time expressing her feelings out loud so everything was stuck in her mind and he knew that right now her head was in chaos.

He felt her shift against his chest, he tensed for a moment because she, like him, was still naked from the waist up and her could feel her breasts pressing against the skin of his own torso. He kissed her hair letting her get comfortable.

"I'm nervous" She admitted, tightening her grip around his torso. "I'd like my first victory to be at home”.

“Maybe you win here or in Azerbaijan” The girl's gaze traveled to the large window from which much of Shanghai could be seen. She was grateful for having accepted Charles' idea of traveling to the chinese city a week earlier.

She separated her chin from his chest and raised her head to look at him. He followed her with his gaze, tangling his fingers in the rebellious brown locks "And you, how do you feel? It's going to be your first home race in Ferrari”.

He grimaced “I just hope I don't eat the wall like two years ago.”

The girl opened her mouth remembering it “It was you! God, I didn't remember that”.

She remembered when she saw the boy's car hit the wall in the 2017 race in Monaco, they were both still in Formula Two. She still remembers seeing the car smashed against the wall as she drove past it, not much later she was named the winner of the race.

Who was going to tell her that the driver of that car was going to be her teammate and that they would both be half naked in bed? The world was really small.

“You won, right?” He looked at her with half-closed eyes and she nodded, laughing. He clicked his tongue “I remember I wanted to congratulate you but I never did.”

“Maybe thanks to that we are here today”.

He kissed her forehead “And I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.”

SHE frowned when she saw a tweet about how some YouTubers mentioned her, she moved her right thumb to the link and waited for the screen to take her to the YouTube video.

When the video's headline appeared on her screen, her brow furrowed even more. 'Moto2: Argentina Race, summary and our opinion' Her eyes traveled curiously across the screen observing every little detail, apparently they were a couple of spanish boys, one with hair dyed blue and the other brown, it seemed that they were not very far from her age, they had set up a channel in which they commented on Moto GP races and according to their number of subscribers, apparently they were doing quite well. She raised an eyebrow, sensing what the matter was going on.

She pressed play and the blue-haired boy began to speak “Bienvenidos otra vez a…”Welcome back to…

She rolled her eyes heavily before stopping the video and beginning to search through her comments for her name. She stopped a couple of times reading her last name but when reading the comments she could see that they were only talking about her brother, she bit her nail as she continued scrolling down through the comments. She finally started to find her name.

She moved the thin red line until the number 6:02 became present, she pressed the center of the screen again and quickly one of the boys' voice rang through the room. She was thankful that she was back in her room because she didn't know what to expect, much less how she was going to react, so she was thankful that Charles wasn't present.

“Oliver Torres was going very well until he had to go to the pits” Her ears perked up when she heard the name of her younger brother. The blue-haired boy nodded at his friend's words and turned in his chair.

“Yeah, he's really not having any luck this season” He lowered the hood of his head and looked at the camera “At least he doesn't have anyone giving him shit like his sister with Hamilton”.

The other snorted before laughing half-heartedly “Ah, yes, Arabella Torres.”

"He doesn't like her" His buddy laughed, hitting him on the arm, to which the other stretched out making a face.

“It's not that I dislike her, but I don't think it was a good idea to put her in Formula One” He shrugged his shoulders.

The blue haired one looked at him interested "Why?"

“I feel that the FIA accepted her just for being a woman, so that there is diversity. They have Hamilton and Torres, they already have the minimum diversity acceptable by society”.

“That's twisted but I wouldn't be surprised if it were true”.

“Hmm, I also don't like her because he's too narcissistic. She thinks she's the best but come on!, she hasn't won anything. She said she was going to beat Hamilton but she's done everything but win, it's no big deal. Her racing style is shit and I don't know, she isn’t that good”.

“But she is pretty”.

They both looked at each other for a few seconds in silence before starting to laugh. The brunette nodded "Yes, she's hot. Very hot, how old is she?”.

“Eighteen”.

“Ah, okay, then it's legal for me to say this” They laughed again as if it were the best joke in the world “She would be a good fuck, have you seen that ass?”.

“Yes but I'm more of a tits guy, you know.

“It's not that she lacks in that area” He put her hands in front of his chest and squeezed them making an obscene gesture “Some good pillows”.

“Do you think they are natural or she had surgery?”.

Disgusted, she ran out of the video. She dropped the phone and lost her gaze to some fixed point in the room. She suddenly felt disgusted with her body, as if she had the sudden need to cover herself as much as she could so as not to be seen.

How could they talk about her as if she were just a piece of meat with eyes? Was it only her chest and her ass that were important and not that she drove a car every weekend that went three hundred kilometers per hour with the possibility of die every time she sat on it? She pulled her sweatshirt down trying to cover herself as much as possible and lay down on the bed. She felt tears pool in her eyes as she crawled into the sheets. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them, it didn't take her long to fall asleep through tears.

A couple of hours later, which was actually seconds for her, the noise of her phone indicating that someone was calling her. Her gaze traveled around the room, she felt disoriented not knowing what day or time it was. She could tell that at least it was still daylight thanks to the large window in front of her bed. She ran a hand over her face, feeling the roughness of her cheeks thanks to the tears that had dried on their way to her neck. She let out a sigh and immediately sat up, sitting on the bed. She groaned when she felt a sting in her skull, something that used to happen to her when she fell asleep while or after she cried.

Blindly, she moved her hand across the sheets to touch her phone, picked it up, and looked at the screen. The YouTube application was still open but there was no trace of the video, she looked at the time and breathed a sigh of relief, it was still early.

The phone was still ringing indicating that her brother was calling her.

She pressed the green button present at the top right corner of the phone and brought the device to his ear.

“¿Si?” Yes? She asked fearfully because the truth was that she almost never spoke with her brother, at least not on phone calls, but they did send each other the occasional message to congratulate each other when one of them took a trophy home or to ask about their parents in in case one couldn't talk to them but the other could. They both had a very busy life, him in Moto2 and her in Formula One, so it had been at least six or seven months since the last time they saw each other because it's not like they coincided too much, when one was on one side of the world the other was in the other. It was strange, but that was their relationship.

“I've seen the video” From the tone of her voice he knew that he was angry and the truth didn't surprise her. Since Oliver had entered his teenage years he had acquired some anger problems, of course she couldn't blame him because she was just like him except that when her little brother received some kind of comment or something he didn't like he was quite vocal about it while she decided to keep quiet and let her actions speak for her.

And now you cry like a little girl, her conscience scolded her.

"I'm going to kill them, who the hell do they think they are to talk about my sister like that?" She came back to reality when she heard his growl, behind his voice she could hear motorcycle engines roar. She assumed that he was training for his next race, she felt bad for him, she hoped that the issue would not affect her training.

“Oli, it's okay. Everything is okay” She tried to reassure him “They're just two assholes talking nonsense”.

“No, Bella. It's not okay” He shook her head even though his sister couldn't see him “Do you know what they're saying about you on Twitter? They are talking about your body as if it were theirs to comment on, it's disgusting”.

She saw how her free hand began to shake and she sighed again, she closed it into a fist trying to make the tremors stop. She suddenly felt guilty, guilty that her brother was having a hard time in that moment, he was only sixteen years old and he was witnessing his older sister being sexualized on the internet. It wasn't something a little boy should have to experience.

She heard a door close on the other side of the call “Arabella, I've read tweets where they say what they want to do to you. There are people who have gone to jail for less, it is very disgusting”.

“Fuck” She cursed out loud. She was thankful that her parents didn't have social media.

"Whatever you do, don't look at Twitter, okay?" He sounded like he was pleading from his tone but she knew he was actually trying to be nice and make her say yes but they both knew that as soon as the call was cut off she would run to the blue bird app. He pursed his lips, swallowing his words “I think mom told me that you are in China with your friends, go out with them and entertain yourself as much as you can. Forget it, okay? I'll tell Nick so he can do something”.

“Mmmh, yeah, okay” She nodded quickly, wanting to end the call. She sounded like a masochistic but she really wanted to see what they were talking about her.

“Please, Bells”.

"It's okay, I'm not going to look at it" She promised him. Her face was distorted into a grimace, her chest hurt when she breathed. I'm sorry to lie to you, little brother.

"Please, don't do it" The youngest Torres begged, knowing his sister. He knew that she was going to look at it and that she was going to mentally beat herself up about it, then she would smile in front of the world and say that she didn't give a shit to keep up the appearances. That was his sister, trying to seem strong in front of everyone when in reality she was just a scared girl.

"Goodbye, Oliver" She cut off the call before he could answer her. She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen, moved her finger across it and exited YouTube, the home screen soon coming into view. She stared at the blue bird icon for a few seconds, biting the inside of her cheek.

Her gaze went to her hand, which was still shaking only more rapidly now. She wrinkled her nose regretting what she was going to do but still didn't stop her finger when it moved across the screen.

Her eyes moved frantically across the screen; people talking about how they wanted to fuck her, comments about how she was only in Formula One to be the sex doll for the other drivers, some sick bastards explaining with every detail what they would do to her in bed if she gave them the opportunity and, of course, lastly, a little few comments defending her.

She brought her hand to her mouth trying to suppress the sob she could tell she was fighting to get out of her.

You should have listened to your brother.

SHE FELT Lando's arm slide down her shoulders which woke her up from her trance, she looked at the briton finding his unique white smile.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his tone wasting concern despite the big smile that hung from his lips as he spoke.

"Yes" Sh nodded, passing her arm around his waist so that they could walk more comfortably, she looked at the backs of the others walking a couple of meters more in front of them before looking at the curly again "Why do you ask?”.

"It's just that you've been all morning like in another world, I don't know” He shrugged. His index finger traveled to the junction of his sunglasses to push them up through the bridge of his nose.

It had been three days since the twitter thing had happened and, although she couldn't stop thinking about it, she hadn't talked to anyone about it. She ignored her brother's calls and messages and apparently, fortunately or unfortunately, neither Charles nor any of the others had seen the tweets. The truth is that she thought she had been lucky because she preferred to enjoy her free time with the boys without feeling the clear discomfort that the fact that they read the tweets would bring, she knew that they would try to cheer her up and that they would try too hard that things would become uncomfortable.

She leaned her head against Lando's shoulder and a short time later she felt how he rested his chin on hers. They kept walking until they met the others, who had stood near a bar.

Pierre smiled ladily when he saw them hung together "Is there anything you want to tell us, guys?".

Immediately Daniel began to make noises to annoy them, forcing Max to follow him who resisted but ended up following him with laughter. The gaze of the youngest of the McLaren duo traveled to the Ferrari boy who didn’t look very happy, and moved slightly away from the girl.

Arabella rolled her eyes extending her arm to push the frenchman, simulating discomfort but the smile on her face betrayed her “Que pesado el Pedro” So annoying, Pedro (spanish version of Pierre).

Gasly frowned confusedly at the unknown language in which his friend had spoken to him while the other spaniard laughed loudly. He turned to his best friend, leaning over to murmur in his ear and that no one listened to him “What did she say?”.

The monegasque shrugged while still looking at his teammate laughing with her compatriot while they spoke in spanish. He smiled slightly happy to see her laugh again because these last few days he had noticed that her mood had changed, she was acting strange. He had decided not to mention it knowing that she had a hard time talking but he had set a deadline, tonight he was going to ask her if she was still acting like that. He was relieved to see her gradually becoming the Arabella he knew again. He felt his chest warm up when he saw her smile.

Merde, Charles. You're in too deep, huh?

"Well, let's eat" Norris raised his voice and made his way among his friends to enter the bar although he stopped his steps by turning around to look at the others. Everyone looked at him expectantly wondering what was wrong while he looked at them pursing his lips “Does anyone know Chinese?”.

The other curly haired laughed, hitting his hand against his shoulder as if he had said the funniest thing in the world while the dutchman rolled his eyes, passing between them to lead the group and, finally, go to the bar. He looked at the british “They also speak english, Lando”.

“Oh”.

Ricciardo's laughter got louder, he bent over holding his stomach “Ah, it hurts”.

Carlos looked at him entertained "Look how happy he is always, I want to be like him at his age”.

"Hey, I'm not much older than you." He quickly stopped laughing, put his back straight and looked at the male spaniard who smiled mockingly at him.

"But you're older”.

He opened his mouth to answer him but the hand of the only girl resting on Sainz's shoulder and pushing him towards the bar interrupted him.

"Come on, Carlitos" She kept pushing him, an equally mocking smile stuck to her lips "Don't bother grandpa anymore”.

"Oi!" The Australian exclaimed and both spaniards began to laugh.

Charles looked at them –at her, rather because he only looked at her– with a smile as he followed them from a little far away. His best friend made a noise calling his attention, he looked at him finding that he was already looking at him with a small smile on his face.

"What?" He asked confusedly at what the blue-eyed one laughed catching him in his arms, Leclerc complained when Gasly's arms surrounded his head.

"You like Arabella" He sang causing the younger to stop his movements, he looked at him alarmed but Pierre ignored him "It hurts me a little that you didn't tell me, you know being your best friend and all that but...”

“What are you talking about? I don't like her!” He exclaimed getting out of his grip. The frenchman analyzed him with his eyes, he was on the defensive mode, he definitely hid something.

"Yeah, of course" He took his phone out of the back pocket of his pants and put it on his face "Well, look, how together you can be seen here, holding hands and everything”.

Charles snatched his phone to be able to see the photo better.

"Merde” Shit.

Meanwhile, inside the bar, Arabella was smiling at Verstappen who in a gentlemanly act was holding her chair to sit down.

She gave him a smile “Thank you, Maxie”.

The boy blushed, waving his hand like saying "it's nothing." Lando let out a sharp laugh when he saw the intimidating dutchman blushing.

“And you don’t hold the chains for the rest of us? So rude of you" Ricciardo complained to which the Red Bull driver raised his middle finger in his direction.

"I can hold something else for you if you want”.

Arabella laughed, taking her phone out of the bag that hung from her shoulder, which was ringing indicating that they were sending her messages. All the color left her face, leaving her as white as a paper sheet.

"Mierda” Shit.

[professorsnape394]

Day 3: Haunted Hijinks

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Haunt

Summary: Peeves has it out for the new Professor and only Severus Snape can help.

A/N: So I had initially intended for his to be a shorter story but it ended up being even bigger than my last. I apologise if there maybe isn't quite enough Snape for you, but good news is there will be a part 2!

Warnings: ghosts?

Word Count: 2518

Credits to Gif Creator

Week 1

The haunting started just as I had anticipated. Doors slamming, objects randomly disappearing and reappearing in different places, drawers sporadically flinging themselves open and emptying their entire contents onto the floor.

I wasn’t scared. I knew it was coming.

When I first joined the school Minerva was over the moon to have her favourite student joining the faculty. I received an overwhelmingly warm welcome by everyone… everyone, except two.

The first was to be expected. Severus Snape was never a man for comradery. Despite the fact we had both attended Hogwarts at the same time as teens, my presence here didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. While I had been admittedly disappointed by his cold reception, I wasn’t surprised by it. Snape rarely acknowledged me, even when we had shared classes together. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he didn’t even know I existed.

The second, less then pleasant reception, came from a poltergeist.

As confirmed by Minerva, Peeves had a habit of making every new professor’s life at Hogwarts a living hell. Everyone had experienced the same treatment, all except one.

The torment was to last one month exactly, worsening as the weeks went on. This was his way of initiating you into the faculty apparently. The silver lining of it all though, was after the month was done, no professor would be pestered by the poltergeist thereafter.

The first week passed without issue. Yes, it was annoying to go to pick up your hairbrush only to have it vanish from plain sight. And constantly tidying up the contents of my desk was becoming a bit of a nuisance but nothing I couldn’t handle for the next few weeks.

Week 2

“Peeves!” I groaned, jumping from my chair, as my whole desk hit the floor. “I’m trying to work.”

The room echoed with deep belly laughter, an apparition of the ghost appearing as he zoomed from one side of the room to the other.

Books flew from their spot on the bookcase, smashing into the opposite wall before fluttering to the floor. One after the other the shelves emptied themselves, leaving only the bare bones of the old oak bookcase.

While trying to right my upturned desk, a loud creaking caught my attention.

“No!” I screamed, watching the shelves come crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

This had been the way of the week. Standing by, watching the poltergeist wreak havoc on my chambers, powerless to stop his antics. Within the short space of a week Peeves had turned my life upside down. Every day I awoke to each room in my quarters being completely trashed by the ghost. My clothes were piled high, the empty drawers dumped beside them, class assignments and student essays lay scattered across the floor, he had even taken to raiding my bathroom cupboards, squeezing out the contents of every bottle he came across, smearing it over the floor, walls and mirrors.

Despite my efforts to clean up after him, I soon realised it was a futile task. No matter how quickly I cleaned up one mess, Peeves had already created three more. It was halfway through the week when I realised it would be easier to live with the mess for the next two and a half weeks. Paying my dues turned out to be a lot messier than I had anticipated.

Week 3

The penultimate week took a different toll than the others. I saw Peeves a lot more than he had previously allowed; choosing to take to his physical form and follow me around the castle grounds.

He whispered nonsense in my ear, spoke over me while I taught, interrupted my conversations with my colleagues and worst of all he sang. Day and night, Peeves belted out a badly pitched tune, throwing in the occasional made-up limerick to just to taunt me.

Last night was a particularly difficult night. Somehow Peeves had gathered every radio, gramophone and record player from around the school and scattered them throughout my bedroom. Dozens of different melodies blasted through the speakers, all while Peeves sung along to songs that he never even knew the words to.

My three-day migraine turning into four, I was surviving purely off of caffeine and sheer will power at this point. I hadn’t had a minute of sleep since the week began, and I wasn’t sure I could cope with it any longer.

“Not long now, my dear.” McGonagall encouraged, gently patting my arm reassuringly.

Struggling to keep my eyes open, I took another large swig of my morning coffee. “How did you put up with it, Minerva. I don’t think I can last much longer; it’s beginning to affect my teaching.”

“I’m afraid it’s just one of those things we have all had to endure, my dear.”

“Not everybody.” I huffed, turning my narrowed gaze to the potions master at the far end of the table. “How did he get away with it? Why doesn’t Peeves make his life hell.”

“That would have to be a question you ask Severus.”

“Pft.” I grunted. “He’d never tell me. He hasn’t even spoke to me since I started here.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“No but…” I didn’t have any excuse.

“Then maybe now is your chance. Severus had never been one to make the first step, but I know he’d appreciate it if you paid him a visit.”

“Do you think he even remembers me? I mean it’s been years since we were in school and even then we didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

“I’m positive he’ll remember you, Y/N, maybe more than you’d expect.”

“What’s that supposed to mea- “

Before I had a chance to finish my sentence, my mug of coffee flew from my grasp, levitating in the air tauntingly, before finally tipping its entire contents onto my lap.

I jumped from the table with a gasp, thanking Merlin the beverage had time to cool before I was scolded.

My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Not only was my dress and robes stained dark with coffee but the entire school had been privy to my torment.

I immediately ran from the Great Hall, hoping to escape any further public teasing from the spectre.

By the time the school day had come to an end my head was pounding from the lack of sleep, Peeves had interrupted all six of my classes today, and I had heard students whispering about the coffee fiasco on more than one occasion.

This was my breaking point.

Putting aside my shame and anxiety, I stormed down to the Dungeons to find out how Snape escaped the poltergeist’s awful induction. I was willing to beg on my knees if that is what it took.

“Y/N?” Snape breathed, seemingly shocked at the sight of me on his doorstep.

“I need your help Severus. Please.”

“Come in.” He granted, clearing his throat as he returned to the room.

I took a seat by the fire, waiting for him to join me. Instead, the potions professor paced around the room, never quite settling on one spot.

“It’s nice to see you again.” I called over my shoulder to him, hoping to break the ice.

“Is it?” He stumbled. “I mean; yes, it is.”

“It’s been a long time; I don’t even think I remember the last time we saw each other.”

“Graduation.” He said without hesitating. “I saw you afterwards in the Hog’s Head with Potter and Black.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that.” I chuckled nervously, wondering how he possibly remembered that when I couldn’t.

“I remember Sirius got so drunk that night, he ended up sleeping at mine and-

“What do you want, Y/N.” Severus snapped, his entire demeanour changing as he made his way to stand in front of me.

“I need your help.” I repeated.

“With the Poltergeist I presume.”

I nodded simply in response, suddenly understanding why the students found him so intimidating.

He had changed a lot since school. He was no longer the scrawny little teenager whose clothes never quite fit. He was a man now, tall and built out. His clothes fit him perfectly, they even showcased the outline of a bicep on either arm. His voice was like velvet, deep and rich, and it hit my ear in exactly the right way. His face, while no longer youthful, suited the aged lines etched into his forehead. His eyes had always been my favourite though; dark as the night sky and just as mysterious. I never could bare the intensity of his gaze and experiencing it now made me feel just like that awkward 14-year-old again.

“Peeves is not one to be stopped. With exception of Dumbledore and the Bloody Baron he listens to nobody. A deal was struct with a previous headmaster to allow the spectre to have his fun for one month, after which he is not to intervene with the professors to ensure the sanctity of the school and the students education.”

“But he never tormented you.” I whispered, hoping to gain some more insight.

“I cannot help you.” Snape’s eyes saddened.

“Why not? Is it because we were never friends in school? I tried to talk to you Severus, I did, but you just never seemed interested, I- ”

“I cannot help you, Y/N, because I did nothing to deter the ghost.” I opened my mouth to object, but Snape never gave me a chance to speak. “Peeves never haunted me because he never wanted to. It is my understanding that before the castle was built, these dungeons were the grounds in which Peeves was brutally murdered, more specifically, this very room. The ghost refuses to enter my chambers at all. I cannot help you, Y/N, because the only place in this whole castle where you can escape the phantom is here.”

My shoulders drooped at the revelation.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked like he really meant.

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.” I puffed, trying not to sound as disappointed as I was. “I guess I’ll just have to suck it up like everyone else, I guess.”

Realising Snape probably didn’t want me to stick around for some unnecessary small talk, I immediately tried to make myself scarce. However, while heading out the door I was forced to stop in my tracks.

“Y/N.” Severus called after me.

God, I loved the way he said my name.

“If you ever need a break from him. To do your marking or even just to read for a bit, you can come here. There door is always open.”

“Thank you, Severus. I really appreciate that.” Though it wasn’t likely I’d ever take him up on the offer. Being in such close quarters with a man like him was bound to set me nerves on edge.

Week 4

With 7 days to go until my living hell was no more, I was sure I could power through the fourth and final week.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Day one came in full force. I awoke to the deafening sound of fireworks; fizzing and sparkling at the end of my bed. My heart pounded in my chest; the combination of insomnia, my high caffeine intake and now this, heart palpitations had become a regular occurrence for me.

Nevertheless, I promised myself to power through the day, trudging out of bed to start my classes. I waded through piles of my belongings; the floor hadn’t been visible for a fortnight now and I was almost starting to get used to it. As I made my way to the bathroom, I flicked my wand turning off each blaring radio as I went, hoping it would earn me a moments peace before I was thrust into the chaos of Hogwarts.

True disaster stuck, however, as I approached the hall leading to the bathroom. A sharp shiver shot through up my spine as something squelched underneath my bare feet. I closed my eyes, praying it wasn’t what I thought had happened.

My favourite sweater lay sodden in the middle of the hall, amidst a pair of drenched leggings and a stack of soggy assignments. The hall had been completely flood, the source of course being; the bathroom.

“Please please please.” I repeated to myself as I gripped the door handle tight.

Giving me no time at all to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable state of the bathroom, Peeves appeared on the other side of the door, yanking it open forcefully, taking me with it. I was instantly flung into the deep end, finding myself standing in the middle of a domestic rain shower. The shower, the sink AND the toilet all had water spurting out of them, drowning the room until I was in an ankle-deep puddle. Even the bath was overflowing, given that Peeves had deliberately put the stopper in it before choosing to burst the pipes.

I let out a long and frustrated scream.

“This has gone too far, Peeves!”

A far away laugh echoed through the chambers, he clearly got his desired reaction out of me.

While tempted to succumb to the ghosts’ antics; ready to ball myself on the floor and cry it out. I remembered I did have one other option.

No longer possessing a sense of shame I trudged my way through the castle halls wearing only my saturated silk pyjama set and a pair of waterlogged fluffy bunny slippers. My hair clung to the side of my face in strands of tangled curls, the wet ends dripping onto the floor behind me as I walked.

“Please don’t say no to this.” Were the first words out my mouth when Snape opened his door to me.

“Alright.” He answered without question.

“Can I stay with you.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll just be for the week and I can sleep on the couch, or even on the floor but at least I’ll sleep. And I’ll have to use your shower too, as you can probably tell my bathroom is currently incapacitated. I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible, and I’ll literally owe you the biggest- Wait, what did you just say?”

“I said okay, Y/N.” It was clear the potions master was struggling not to roll his eyes at me forcing him to repeat himself.

“…But why?”

“I’m not quite as unaccommodating as people seem to assume. I’ve witnessed how much you have struggled these past three weeks. And I know, if you’ve shown up here begging for my help, it must be bad. So okay, you can stay for the week. But be warned, there will be some ground rules.”

“Oh My God, Severus I could kiss you right now. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

If he were anyone else, I’d have definitely thrown myself at them, crushing their torso to show my sheer gratitude. With Severus though, I knew he was not one for physical forms of affection, and given that I was soaked to the bone I realised it wouldn’t be wise to subject my saviour to my same fate.

“We’ll discuss my stipulations after dinner this evening. Now you best hurry up and take a shower if you want to make it in time for your first lesson of the day.”

As I sprinted to his bathroom, I could have sworn I spotted a small smirk tugging at the corner of Snape’s lips.

He really wasn’t as grouchy as he let on.

[kalisburnerphone]

Amazing // Choi Seungcheol

Summary: Seungcheol doesn’t understand why she won’t let him take care of her when it’s all he wants to do. He has no idea how she found out about what he’s been doing every month for the past six months but he’s sure he can get her to agree with his logic.

Warnings: Idol!Seungcheol x OC!Solana, kinda one-sided situationship, a tiny bit suggestive,Seungcheol on his glucose guardian agenda, curve/plus-sized, foreigner!oc, Seungcheol calls her Sol, princess. I think that’s about it, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: This is part of an idolverse series that’ll be posted in non-chronological order. I’m not sure how many parts members will have but there might be instances of crossovers.Mingyu, Seungcheol and Minghao are the only ones that I have anything written/plotted for. I’m not promising frequent updates because I’m currently on an intensive training program before starting grad school but I have some free time starting Thursday so I’ll try to work on pieces during that time. I only just got back into posting my work in the kpop community after a break from it but I do enjoy anime as well so you may come across it on my dashboard. Lastly, I am absolute trash when it comes to titles and summaries so please bare with me in advance.

Solana and Seungcheol rarely argued and if they did, it was usually about the same thing; Seungcheol spending his money on her like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do. And in his mind, it was. Seungcheol understood that she was more than capable of providing for and taking care of herself but he felt as though she shouldn’t have to with him around.

They’d met before he’d even acquired the amount of money he had today so he knew for a fact that it wasn’t why she was with him which is exactly why he spent it on her. Seungcheol in most instances believed that actions spoke louder than words and if he felt like buying his girlfriend’s entire shopping cart on her favorite jewelry site than that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

Usually Sol wouldn’t say anything because no matter how much she told him not to, he’d find a way to justify his actions and just do it once again. This time however, she refused to let him.

“Yah!! Choi Seungcheol!” She exclaimed as she entered her apartment. His head pops out from the kitchen where he’d been peeling tangerines when he hears her.

“What’d I do?” She only ever called him by his government name when she angry or irritated with him.

“Y’know what you did! I thought we agreed that you’d ease up on excessive amounts of spending that you do on me?”

“We did, I haven’t spent excessively on you since the last time you gave me an earful for buying everything in your cart from The Jade Jewelers. What’s this about?” He asks tangerines forgotten as he follows her to the living room area, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at her rummaging through her bag before pulling out a small pile of paper.

“You’re really going to play dumb with me right now? You haven’t been spending excessively? Then explain this.” She spits out pressing the printed sheets to his chest.

Seungcheol takes the papers from her hand, looking them over before ‘shit’ is whispered from his lips. “You weren’t supposed to find out about this.”

“Well, no shit Seungcheol. Explain yourself.” She snaps as she sits on the couch with her arms crossed and looking directly at him.

“How’d you find out?”

“That’s not important. I’ve been living here for six months and you’ve been paying my rent this entire time after I told you I didn’t like you spending excessively on me especially when it came to things that I’m capable of handling on my own.”

“I know you’re capable, I do, but just because you can do all these things for yourself doesn’t mean that you have to. I’m here and I’m willing, wanting to do these things for you but you won’t let me.Why can’t I do nice things for you?”

Because it makes this feel like it’s more than what it is. It’s what she wants to tell him because as much as Seungcheol acted like it wasn’t that big of a deal, it was to her. She’d constantly have to remind herself that they weren’t in a relationship. They hooked up whenever he had free time and him paying for her KTX ticket and accommodation in Seoul was as much as she said she’d allow him but Choi Seungcheol had a way of getting whatever he wanted.

“It’s not that you can’t do nice things for me, it’s just that you have a habit of behaving like a damn glucose guardian when it comes to expenses.”

“Okay, and? If I want to behave like your sugar daddy and pay and do everything for you then you should just let me. Think about it,” he says dropping in the space next to her wasting no time in pulling her onto his lap.

“I cover all your basic expenses and necessities and all you have to do is sit pretty and get that degree. Sounds like a win-win situation to me.”

“No. Now either fix it or I’m transferring the money to your account.”

“I’ll send it right back. Play with me if you want to.” He smirks at her.

“God, you’re so infuriating.” She huffs getting off his lap and moving down the hall to her bedroom.”

“Yahhhh, we weren’t finished yet.” She can hear him pouting as he follows behind her.

“Yes, we are because you’re going to do it again regardless of what I say right now.” She responses slipping off her jacket.

“Sollllllll, are you really that upset about it?” When she doesn’t reply, he wraps his arms around her waist and rests his head on her shoulder. “If I compromise with you, will you stop being upset with me and go back to calling me Cheol?”

“Does that compromise include you not paying all my bills?” She replies sarcastically.

“Watch it, princess. Don’t want that mouth getting you in trouble don’t you? I’ve already let you slide with the sass, don’t push it.” He speaks into her ear before lightly nipping at her neck.

“I’ll let you pay your phone bill and groceries but that’s it. Despite what you say I know you only moved out from the dorms this early because of me and to allow us more privacy. The least I can do is cover your rent and utilities, I can’t help it because that’s just who I am and you know this. Now, forgive me please?” 

Seungcheol asks spinning her around in his arms. She was just about an inch or two shorter than him so he didn’t have to do much to look her in the eyes. “I don’t want you mad at me on my last night before I leave.”

“Forgive me,” there’s a peck to her cheek followed by another until Seungcheol has pressed kisses all over her face and has her a giggling mess.

“Fine, fine,Cheolll.” She laughs trying to escape him but he’s not having it.

“I can’t hear you princess, what was that?” He teases as he grasps her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I forgive you,” 

“And?” he encourages though he already knows that he’s gotten his way once again.

“I’ll let you take care of me even if it means putting my pride and independent nature aside and letting you pay my rent.” she sighs dramatically.

She’d never admit it but seeing Seungcheol be domestic had a tendency to do things to her. Things he’d never let her hear the end of if he knew. She’d seen a lot of different sides to Choi Seungcheol in the two years since they started all this but domesticated Seungcheol was her second favorite.

“Y’know what’s amazing?” He asks and she’s so busy staring at him that she misses the teasing lithe in his voice.

“Hmmm?” Her hands are draped over his shoulders, fingers playing in the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands around her waist resting on the curve of her ass as he leans in closer to her ear.

“We both know that I have no problem getting your pussy wet but when are you finally going to admit that me being all domesticated and taking care of you gets you all hot and bothered the same way it does to me? Hmmm?”

The way her breath hitches is enough to let him know that he’s right but he doesn’t act on it.

“C’mon, I cut fruit and we have new episodes to finish.” He says kissing her cheek as he leaves her standing in the bedroom like he didn’t just read her for filth. It takes a few seconds for her to recover but once she does she’s following behind him.

“Yah! Choi Seungcheol!”

[leodette]

Bowl of Cherries | MV33

fandom: Formula 1

pairing: Max Verstappen x OC (aka our darling lilli)

names/faceclaims: -

summary: one clumsy moment, and suddenly plans have to change (not that anyone compains)

warning: mentions of mild injury, possible light swearing

requested: yes / no

author's note: for our beloved lilli aka @maxlarens! Happy birthday babe, enjoy your day! ❤️

**********

They were supposed to leave. Their reservation was getting close, but neither of them kind of rushed. There wasn't a reason after all.

"I'm such a clumsy idiot that it screams problem," the woman muttered while sitting on a couch, already dressed in her little black dress and diamond necklace. The man was kneeling in front of her, a bag full of frozen peas in his hand, pressing it to her swollen ankle.

"Looks like heels will go straight to trash," she snorted, and Max just looked up and smirked.

"Do you understand that I can cancel that reservation with a single phonecall, right? No need to panic that we can't make it," he pressed the bag tighter and she hissed.

"Lils, baby, I know it hurts, but this will help it at first," he gently pressed his lips to her knee without any side intention but to comfort his fiancée.

"I know. But please, let me be angry at myself for ruining our anniversary, at least for a few minutes, okay?" she frowned at him, and he chuckled before a wrinkle appeared on his forehead.

"Wait, you think that you ruined our anniversary?"

"Well and didn't I?"

He scoffed and grabbed her hand, decorated with a timeless moi-et-toi diamond engagement ring, pressing it on the frozen bag.

"Hold it and sit still," he ordered before standing up and shrugging off this blazer, then quickly walking away from the living room.

She looked after him with a worry in her eyes. It was her clumsiness that destroyed their anniversary plans, the first anniversary they wanted to spend in their favorite restaurant as future husband and wife. Instead, her ankle was pulsing with pain, quickly turning into a size of an orange and a color of blueberries. The first drops on the window kind of woke her up from her thoughts. The sky outside turned gray, the heavy clouds full of water hanging just above the small principality they both called home. Jimmy and Sassy both patted over to their mistress, jumping on her lap and curling together, seeking warmth and comfort and quiet. She burried her fingers in their warm fur, her palm gently vibrating with their purring, and it almost made her smile. The possitive thing of the evening was that the cats came willingly to cuddle with her. And that certainly didn't happen too often.

"Okay, let's get you out of this dress."

She nearly jumped out of the couch when Max's voice sounded just behind her, Jimmy merely opening one eye to give his master a judgemental look before closing it again.

"Now you two, off to the carpet with you," Max gently scooped one cat with each hand and set them on the floor, earning a hiss and a swing by tail before both kittens marched to the guest bedroom. The comforter there apparently seemed like a good alternative.

"They plan to kill you," she muttered when her fiancé put a pile of clothes next to her and then grabbed the hem of her dress, pulling it over her head. Max helped her unclip the bra and put on one of his hoodies followed by joggers, then took off her necklace (which he left on the coffee table) and pressed a packet of cooling gel to her injured ankle.

"Okay, here we go. Let's call it a practice," he grinned at her, and she yelped when he swiftly lifted her bridal style, marching with her towards the balcony.

"I'm heavy," she murmured and burried her face in Max's neck, earning a chuckle.

"Yeah, and I'm Mona Lisa. Lils, schatje, you know I wouldn't let you fall, right?" three-time world champion pressed a kiss to her temple before opening the balcony door and stepping outside. And when she lifted her eyes, her jaw dropped. He put an air matress there, secored by few ties so it wouldn't fly away in the storm, and thrown their most fluffy blanket on it. There was the step he was using for excercise, laid with a various types of tapas and charcuterie - cheeses, sausages, crackers, olives, sundried tomatoes... and a bowl of cherries, grapes and watermelon.

Max gently laid her down on the matress and disappeared again, but just a few moments, to change himself in more comfortable clothes, before joining her again.

The rain was puring down, the wind bringing a smell of the sea to them, few lightning bolts appearing over the mountains.

"Open," Max ordered with a smile, and she opened her mouth, allowing him to put one of the blood red cherries in between her teeth. She chewed and spit out the cherrystone, before he gently took her face in his palm and pressed the softest kiss on her lips.

"Happy anniversary, Lils," he stroked her jaw with his finger.

"Happy anniversray, Maxie," she whispered back, allowing him another kiss.

[leftsidebonfire]

Pathetic loser piece of shit. Nobody even wants you here. Your OCs are garbage and nobody gives a fuck about them. You're a worthless pile of trash and the world would be a brighter place without you in it.

well good morning to you too I guess

[decadeofjoy-au]

I just remembered how one of the 3 people in Clarence had a wife what if she found his search results (or something else ) that lead to playtime co where she asks the “staff” (possibly doey) if they saw her husband and either she gets turned into an experiment or they just kill her to keep things silent or one of the bigger bodies also in the room goes “oh. sh*t.” as I have a few dumb ideas I could rework into a toy OC-type thing but are OCs still allowed? sometimes I found posts for unrelated AUs saying they allowed OCs only for someone to ruin it for everyone else with OCs no longer allowed I wanted to be sure before I did anything and unrelated to everything before this but I have an original adult OC who gets turned into an experiment it goes like this (he’s a homeless man who only recently lost everything to a horrible partner who stole I everything he had except for a necklace in an attempt to get some money to possibly buy a hotel room for a night or maybe just look presentable to get a new job he ends up breaking into playtime co to steal some rare toys (like the rejected toys which collectors would want ) they somehow make it but are caught but for whatever reason (no one but the prototype knows) instead of being fed to huggy he’s turned into an experiment (and a while after being turned into an experiment he finds his necklace in a trash pile but it’s more of a minor detail I just didn’t want to leave it open ended ) for what he looks like just an average guy blond hair, skin tone doesn’t really matter, wore dirty clothes some old work boots and a puffy jacket they found in a dumpster, green eyes, as an experiment I didn’t think of one as of typing … so it could be anything you could make … I don’t really know how to conclude this so… bye)

🪽Oh yes, she’d definitely go and look for her husband. Though…I think the Prototype would decide “You know how you made Doey kill his parents? Yeah? Mhm? Okay. Now kill your stupid wife.”

And OCs are still allowed! You can go to the pinned post to find rules for making an OC!(btw your description of the OC somehow reminded me of that one green muppet who lives in a dumpster, can’t remember his name)