#and the poetics of getting your leg blown off

[hms-lurking-latinist]

🚀

[licorice-tea]

Could I Be Loved By You?

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x reader, Roronoa Zoro x reader, Trafalgar Law x reader (separate)

Content: pure fluff<3

Word Count: 0.7k (total)

A/N: short head cannons are something i haven’t really written before, so i hope these are still good! im in class rn but i got bored so i just finished writing sanji’s lmao- please enjoy! :)

Part 2

What happens when you ask them; “Do you think we’re together in every universe?”

Vinsmoke Sanji - 0.2k

“Sanji, sweetheart-“

“Yes, love?”

You smile softly at him before continuing. “Do you think we’d be together in every universe?”

Sanji doesn't even take a moment to consider his answer- he simply blurts out; “Yes. Always.”

A giggle escapes your lips, which come to press a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know what other answer I could have expected from you.”

“I have more to say, if you'd like to hear it of course.”

“Mhm.” You nod.

Sanji clears his throat with a flourish, as if he's about to present some grandeur speech. “You are the love of my life- and of all my lives. Without getting to love you and be loved by you, I don’t think I’d be able to go on. So, naturally, we would be together in every universe. If not; it must be a world where I don’t exist.” Then, he takes your hands in his. “My love, I’d be yours in any universe you’d have me in.”

Your gentle smile grows into a full blown grin and, naturally, your lips are drawn to his.

Roronoa Zoro - 0.2k

“Do you think we’re together in every universe, Zoro?”

He shrugs, and starts fiddling with his swords. They lean against the same wall that the two of you are sitting on, his legs crossed around the spot where they hit the floor and yours pressed up against your chest.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re together here.”

You simply hum in response. It was unreasonable to except something poetic from him in the first place.

“But I hope we are.”

At this, your ears perk up. You turn to face him with wide eyes.

“I just mean… I hope I’ve done enough to deserve you in other lifetimes.”

The corners of your lips quirk up in a smile, and your arms encircle his much larger and more solid one. “You do more than enough in this one. Don’t worry about that.”

Zoro smiles too- not only at your words, but the tickle of your breath against his neck when you speak.

He really doesn’t care to imagine other universes- not when a mere moment with you is enough to take up all the space in his mind for hours on end- but Zoro will still always indulge your whims.

Trafalgar Law - 0.3k

“Law.”

He looks up from his book at your urgent tone. “Yes?”

“Do you think we’re together in every universe?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, of course.”

You tilt your head, silently urging him to continue. He doesn’t though- and he won’t indulge your curiosity without verbal reassurance. So, you give in.

“Why? I was expecting a full thesis with supporting evidence from you, smartass.”

Law shuts his book. “Ahem; Then, I believe that we would be together in every universe because… well, we’re together now. It’s the natural order of things, so why would that change in a supposed parallel universe?”

He’s such a nerd. You want to kiss him.

But instead, you just shrug. “Things happen.”

“Then I’d like to think that our relationship is still a constant.” He finishes off the topic with that. What reason could you have for wondering if you would still love each other in other universes, anyway? The answer is so glaringly obvious- to him, at least. He continues, this time teasing you. “Now, did you have a genuine question, or are we just proposing hypotheticals tonight?” Law smirks at you, but his cheeks are growing pinker by the second. It’s a futile attempt to cover how endearing he finds the thought.

With a satisfied shake of your head, you turn on your heel. “Nope! That was all.” And when you reach the hall outside his office, you poke your head back in. “Love you!”

Law pulls his hat down further, props his book up higher, and sinks into his chair. His voice is a quiet mumble as he returns the sentiment. “Love you too.” Which, he really does; he’s just a little shy.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

s.o.s, m | knj

pairing(s): namjoon x reader

summary: It's two in the morning and Kim Namjoon is at your doorstep, asking you to fuck. In a fuckbuddies way, because, as a wise man once said, "I may not know love, but I know snacks." Well, you do agree with this statement. Let's go with the flow!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, blowjob, cowgirl); friends-with-benefits and feels through fucking (classic for me, haha, maybe I fell in love with him while writing it, oops)

happy birthday, Kim Namjoon <3 #happyRMday

--

now playing – pado by bibi

“Hey!”

“Shit, Namjoon, are you trying to break my door down at two in the morning or what? What’s with you? Why didn’t you just type in the lock?”

Kim Namjoon’s large frame and big brown eyes glanced at the silver-blue electronic number pad on your apartment door. “Oh. Right. I forgot you had that now.”

“I have it because you keep losing my key!”

He rubbed the back of his now blond head sheepishly. He must have dyed it recently because it had been dark brown last week. It was shorter than before, trimmed at the sides and longer at the top. Usually it was styled, but right now it was messy and puffy like he had been running across the city on those long legs of his or, more likely, windblown from riding his bicycle on his way here.

Namjoon didn’t drive. He said it was to maintain world peace.

“Do you wanna fuck?” he asked you breathlessly.

You looked down at your massive black sleep shirt that made you look like a lump of fabric, but, well, he picked today to pop the question and what were you gonna do? Say no?

You snapped back up, smacking your finger on your left wrist. “It’s two in the morning!”

“One forty-five, yeah,” Namjoon agreed, glancing at his brown leather-banded, white-faced watch. Simple and sleek. You noticed he had a few colorful string-woven bracelets on his wrists, likely handmade by someone in the various rural villages Namjoon liked to visit in his spare time. He dropped his arm and smiled brilliantly at you with those dimpled cheeks.

“I was thinking about you. You know, that habit you do when you run your hand through your hair and flick your wrist at the end, elegantly spreading your fingers out. Super sexy.”

You felt your ears heat. “Hahah… what?”

He scratched his head and stuck his hands in his loose black pants, draping his warm gray t-shirt over his wrists. Lowered his chin and flickered his eyes to you, awkward half-smile on those full lips.

Oh.

Shit.

“D… Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, backing up and shifting your eyes. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” Namjoon chirped, stepping inside and out of his brown sandals.

“Give me those puppy eyes even though you’re built like a fucking tank.”

“I snore like one too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But none of those things really mattered because your arm was snaking up, your other hand slapping the door closed, looking down until you couldn’t look down anymore, lifting your head to playful dark brown orbs and a dimpled smile, already leaning down, his scent of warm cotton and faint florals washing over you, and then his lips touched yours and it was over.

You could say no, you could, but you never really wanted to.

Namjoon wasn’t being rude showing up so late. After all, you had already told him it was one of your fantasies, a late-night rendezvous, a bit of unexpected expected fun. Namjoon was willing to help, a game of ping-pong between casual, sometimes lovers, both too busy and scatterbrained at this point in life to commit to anything, but that worked for you and for him, or at least that’s what you told him and what he told you, his large hands now encircling your back, fingertips pressed into the thin fabric, sighing into your mouth, rhythm of those long fingers dancing up, up, sinking into your hair, tangling himself in it, nibbling at your lower lip.

“I just love touching your hair,” that deep, deep voice whispered to your lips, eyes still closed, smirking as the tip of your tongue darted out, playing with him as he spoke. “And I like messing it up a little.”

“A little? You like messing it up a lot.”

Namjoon curled his fingers inward and pulled back, your head following automatically, grinning with you as he opened his eyes, devious even with the dimples.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right.”

It wasn’t fun if it wasn’t with him.

You raised your hand and spread your fingers out, slowly running your nails up and then down his chest, smirking back at him, your tongue peeking out between your teeth.

Namjoon once said to you, let’s just go with the flow, ride the wave.

He sucked in a breath right now and pulled you close, hands letting go of your hair as he captured your lips again, deep, ravenous kisses that took your breath away, such wonderful lips that loved to travel across your body and wander that wonderland, his hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt, bunching it up as he stumbled back into your apartment, dragging you with him, you riding the wave of his passion, dragging his shirt up with yours, tossing them aside, body to body, exploring lips on that warm skin and muscular chest.

Namjoon also said things like, I may not know love, but I know snacks, so, yeah, he was always poetic like that. Full of wisdom and weirdness, arguably the best combination one could have when struggling through this nonsensical world.

You pushed him down on the bed, kissing all that tan skin, running your nails down his shoulders, walking down his defined biceps finger by finger, digging in a little harder, pairing it with kisses and drawing stars on his pecs with your saliva, making him smile and flash those dimples.

“Like that?” you teased, drawing back a little so he could watch the mastery of your tongue at work.

“You know me,” Namjoon chuckled, the sound radiating from his chest to your mouth, sending ripples through your spine. “I like cute things with a little pinch.”

“Like those tiny beach crabs?”

Now he actually laughed, that throaty, booming laugh of his, nodding with affirmation.

You sometimes wondered when the waves would stop and roll out, sometimes wondered if the tide of Kim Namjoon would go low and leave you behind, but maybe it was the moon or something, cosmic threads that sent him rushing back to your beach, bright and sparkling, always catching the light and looking good from every angle.

“Fuck, I always forget you’re huge.”

“I am not huge. You are being dramatic.”

“Dramatically sucking your dick.”

You knew how to take his breath away, how to make him gasp and his hand fly to your head, groaning as he pushed you down, your throat closing around his rapidly swelling length, tongue all over in the small window you had to wetly caress every contour and vein, bobbing your head in time with his gentle nudges, waiting for you and your jaw to adjust before thrusting a little harder, a little rougher, choppy waves and lost breath. His scent filled your nose, his toned hips in your hands, digging your nails into that muscle, inhaling and drowning in the feeling, pressing him between tongue and roof of your mouth, feeling the head hitting your throat, so you tightened your muscles.

Namjoon moaned your name, brown orbs turning darker from dilated pupils.

It filled your ears and soaked into your chest, your heart pumping faster, beating harder, drawn to the sound like a sailor to a siren.

You took him deeper, pulsing around the head, sticking your tongue out a little to lap at his balls collected in your hands.

“A-Ah, fuck… You’re always so, so good… always making me think of you…”

You watched his eyes close, his hand gripping your hair, not unkind, simply adding a little bit of force, but you were in control of the pace, riding the wave, filling your mouth with his hardness over and over, closing your own eyes, small tears collecting at the corners, unable to breathe, but you already knew you were diving and you practiced for this, holding your breath and bobbing your head fast and tight, your fingernails clawing at his sides just the way he liked, a little neediness, a little desperation, maybe an act or maybe not, honestly hard to tell with how often you had blown him, so maybe it was part of you now, just like how sometimes you would be alone and smell his scent even though Namjoon wasn’t there at all, maybe real but probably an olfactory memory, strange that it would happen just like that, a wave of warm cotton and faint florals that you drank in small trickles right now, your mouth occupied with his thick length, listening to the sloppy, wet sound of his cock being swallowed over and over again by your suffocating mouth, saliva sliding over his balls and onto your chin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

Pushing you down, forcing you to deep dive, swallowing on instinct, clamping your lips around his jerking cock with every gulp of gushing cum, the strong salty taste lingering in the back of your tongue as your throat was stuffed with the swollen head. Namjoon shuddered deeply, resonating pleasure that drifted down his torso and through your fingertips. You lapped up anything you missed, sucking it off and Namjoon hissed at the sensitivity, tugging at your hair sharply.

You hummed and retreated a little, breathing again, licking the underside of the tip, wiggling your tongue over the slit and around head, opening your eyes to Namjoon’s panting smile.

“You want me to punish you or what?”

Nah, you wanted to ride the wave, but this particular wave was pretty fucking big.

“Oooh, fuck…!”

Namjoon raised his arms and grabbed your pillows, thrusting his hips up into your pussy after you had lowered halfway. The condom wrapper flew off the bed, probably to be found in some random place in your room tomorrow morning.

A later you problem.

Hands on his chest, sinking down, gasping for breath at the forced stretch at his girth, but it was nicer that way, wet and getting wetter, spreading your knees and arching your back, your hair falling down your shoulders, rolling your body to smack down onto his crotch, fuck, so hard and so full, starting a rough, choppy rhythm because Namjoon was deliberately not letting you set up a reasonable pace and kept thrusting up a little too fast, a little too hard, hot moans tumbling out of your mouth, feeling the crashing pleasure try to overtake you, drawing your knees back in to feel all of him, your palms sliding up, grasping those strong shoulders, lowering your head to speak to those sultry brown orbs reflecting your open mouth and half-lidded gaze.

“Namjoon… please, oh, f-fuck… if you’re gonna be like this, j-just fuck me…!”

He grinned, dimples on display.

“Anything for you.”

Mayday, mayday, you needed to be saved from that teasing smile and those words.

His hands fitted to your shaking hips and held you up easily, lifting his hips up at a deep, hard pace, emphasis on strength and less on speed, the muscles of his arms tense and locked to keep you above him as he slammed his hard cock into your pussy.

“Ah, yes, yes, right there, Namjoon, yes…”

You could go deeper so you did, slapping your hips down too and making Namjoon grin under you. Shit, something about those round cheeks and bright smile while he was railing you practically to heaven was doing something to you, washing out your senses and giving you no time to think, squeezing him inside you and feeling him twitch back, something so sexy about how he could do that even while fucking you, and you saw him suck in a breath, witnessing your effect on him, his hold becoming tighter, his dark lashes lowering, hooded eyes and locking with your gaze.

Drowning in the pleasure with you.

“Come on, you want it, right?” he panted under you, voice so deep it felt like you were underwater, your skin vibrating with the seductiveness of his tone and the depth of his sound mixing with the harsh slaps of skin to skin, wet and wonderful. “Show me you want it, give it to me.”

You couldn’t say no, already tightening your core and smacking down on him harder before he could even finish speaking, the ecstasy shooting up your spine and pouring all over your scalp and mind, letting go, pitched cries and blissful moans, Namjoon moaning with you, your name on his lips and filling up your bedroom, clutching his shoulders and staring into his eyes, breathing in warm cotton and faint florals, cast away into a wild paradise.

You clenched around him and gasped, a powerful jolt rocking through you, surprised at the sudden squelch but then you felt the overwhelming rush barreling through you, sweeping you into pulsing pleasure, one of your hands losing grip and grabbing onto the pillow beside Namjoon’s head, his heavy breath and your exhaled name blowing over on your prickling skin, realizing you were accidentally closer than usual because your hand slipped, his hands tightly wrapped around your waist and slamming you down onto his crotch, groaning and tipping his head back, his eyes closing, Adam’s apple prominent against his flexed neck.

If possible, suddenly you could breathe even less.

Your pussy throbbed around his twitching cock, his orgasm spurting into the condom and your juices soaking his skin with each flinch of the aftermath, wave after wave crashing into you, your arms trembling to hold yourself up so you could absorb it all – him, the dwindling pleasure, the moment when his eyes opened, your name drifting out of those lips in a lustful haze.

“I should… go back to mine, huh…” he wheezed, chuckling slightly. “Otherwise, I’m going to snore too loud and you’re not going to be able to sleep…”

You slid down, closer, closer, seeing the mole underneath his lower lip with his rueful smile. His fingers were drawing circles on your hips.

“I bought earplugs.”

You silenced his laugh with a kiss.

--

masterpost

[duskholland]

hannah please do /anything/ based on the sink photo. sucking him off in front of the sink, getting railed over the sink, prof!tom fucking you at the sink. anything please, i need it

okay anon! after much debate about the tone, i went with loving... warm…. passionate….i missed you so much we must shag in the bathroom at the bar vibes <3 wc: 1.7k.

18+ nsfw content minors dni.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom’s been affectionate all night, his touch never leaving you. It’d started back at the house when he’d refused to let you get ready in peace, nuzzling his face into your neck as you’d done your makeup in the bathroom. His clinginess had continued all the way to the bar, where you find yourselves now, heaped together in a booth.

It’s an impromptu welcome home party for your boyfriend, who has been away filming on the other side of the world for three months. He arrived back last night, and though Tom’s made it very clear how much he’d missed you, he hasn’t yet been satisfied. He’s still affectionately smothering you, even now, surrounded by your friends. 

Tom’s hand lies on your inner thigh, warm to touch, teasing your skin every time he pulls you closer. Between gaps in the conversation, he presses his lips to your cheek, always lingering close, his cologne overwhelming every one of your senses. He’s antsy, shifting from thigh to thigh. When you take a leaf from his book and place a hand on top of his knee to play with the material of his striped trousers, Tom shifts. A moment later, you feel his mouth go to your ear, smooth teeth grazing your lobe as his warm breath fans out across your neck.

“Darling,” he murmurs. “Care to take a visit to the bathroom with me?”

You bite back a smirk as you discreetly nod your head. “Thought you’d never ask.”

If your friends find it suspicious, they don’t say a thing. You’re quick to grab Tom’s hand and follow behind him as he strides across the bar, muttering out small apologies to everyone he bumps into in his haste. He sweeps you into a private bathroom before you have a second to think about the good luck of finding an unattended room, and he pushes you up against the door as he locks it with one hand.

Tom kisses you immediately, caging you in against the door as he groans into your mouth. One of his hands goes to your waist, the other reaching up to push into your hair. You sigh against his lips, the sound twisting louder as Tom deepens the kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth. You savour everything—the press of his figure to yours, the taste of his tongue as it slides over yours, the sounds of his panting breaths as he kisses you fervently. After a while, he moves closer, and you feel his cock pressing up against your form, straining through the thin material of his slacks.

“God, love,” he murmurs, voice husky. You tilt your head to the side, and his lips dance across your sensitive spot, suckling gently until you’re whimpering. “I can’t take this. I need you again.”

You chuckle as you reach up to play with his hair, your fingers messing up his silky brown strands. He’d gelled it back earlier, but he doesn’t seem to complain as you play around with it.

“Again?” you tease, biting your lip as you reach down to cup his hard length over his trousers. Tom whimpers, grunting as he thrusts his hips closer to you desperately. “We fucked before we came out?”

Tom grumbles. “We didn’t fuck,” he murmurs, nipping at your neck lightly. “We made love.”

You chuckle. “Oh, sorry,” you say. “We made love about two hours ago.”

“Mmm, and? My appetite for you is uncontrollable.” Tom pulls away from your neck, eyes dancing darkly. He slips a hand down, easily slipping it beneath the hem of your dress. “Are you trying to tell me I won’t find you soaked and needy for me if I have a look up here?”

Your breath hitches as Tom confidently rolls two fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, his smirk telling you all you need to know. You whimper as he immediately goes to your clit, rolling his fingertips over the bud as you shift against the door. When he curves them down and teases your entrance, you groan and push at his arm.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, voice low. You surge forward, pushing away from the door as you connect your lips with Tom’s. He smiles into it, hands falling tenderly to your waist as you walk him into the centre of the room, only stopping when you catch sight of the sink. “Fuck me on the sink,” you decide, speaking quickly. You support your quivering words with a nod. “Please, Tom.”

Tom takes control, pushing you back with his mouth as you continue to kiss until your back connects with the cool porcelain of the sink. His biceps bulge as he picks up one of your legs, wrapping it around his back and then bunching up your skirt and pulling it up.

“Against the sink?” he murmurs, pupils blown wide with lust. You reach out, making light work of his belt before pulling out his length. Neither of you shed your clothes entirely—the bathroom is dimly lit and a little unfriendly, and you’re both too eager to mess around with that. Instead, you pull off the precise amount of clothes necessary for Tom to be able to slide his cock through your exposed slit. “Fuck, love,” he coos, pressing his tip to your entrance. “I fucking love you.”

A gasp leaves your mouth as he slowly eases into you, bottoming out with a grunt. Your lips go back to his as you attempt to muffle your loud sounds of enjoyment as Tom’s cock fills you to the brim. Despite being fucked two hours prior, your walls hold him tightly, and you have to throw your head back to rest against the mirror as you take him.

“Oh my god,” you groan, the words twisting higher when Tom wraps an arm around your back and holds you to him. He starts to thrust quickly, his lips going back to your neck as he holds you up against the sink. “Feels so good.”

You glance down, moaning as you watch his cock disappear inside you. It’s a welcome sight—you’ve missed Tom immensely. You know you’ll savour every time you come together like this as if it could be your last. He’s just the same—sentimental and passionate. Tom groans into your ear, voice strained, “fuckin’ love this cunt, sweetheart. Doesn’t matter how much I fuck you, does it? Always so snug for me.”

You suck in a tight breath, his teasing words making you clench around him. “Shit, Tom.”

He chuckles against your neck, holding you tightly to him as he continues to thrust into you. “Darling?”

“Hm?”

“Turn around for me. I want you to see how beautiful you look right now.”

You smile as you do as instructed, only losing his presence for a moment as you spin around. You bend over, hands gripping the sides of the sink as Tom settles behind you, standing tall. He presses you against the sink, hand massaging your ass before he slips back into you, meeting your eyes through the mirror as he grunts. His eyes stay on you, his teeth digging into his red lower lip as he watches you, mouth pulling into an easy smile.

“Look at that,” he coos. “What a stunner. How lucky am I, eh?”

You look a mess in the reflection, your hair wild and your mouth open and panting. Yet, there’s something almost poetic about the way Tom grips you, every ounce of his attention placed solely on your form. You watch the way your body shifts every time he thrusts into you, hear the sounds of skin-on-skin as they match the movements. His face is flushed, his cheeks a dark red and his jaw tensed. Fly away hairs drift over his forehead, and his nostrils are flared.

“I’m lucky,” you reply, whimpering softly as he readjusts and the tip of his cock brushes up against your g-spot. You pry a hand from the sink and reach between your legs, jerkily stroking your bud. You’re close already, your slit slick and your breath laboured. Never in your life have you been with someone who knows your body so well, but that’s the perks of being with a lover as attentive as Tom. He loves making you feel good more than he cares for his own pleasure.

“Nah, I’m luckier.” Tom’s hands shift to your hips and he pulls you back to meet his thrusts. Your eyes roll back as pleasure rocks through you with every slam. “Look at this, hmm? I want you to keep watching us. Can you do that for me, darling? Even when you cum?” His voice is soft and suggestive, but you feel the harder undertones.

“Yeah,” you murmur, forcing yourself to meet his gaze through the mirror. You lick your lips as you see him, towering above you, railing you into the sink. The ceramic digs into your front, but the ache only makes everything feel sharper. “Tom,” you whine, breath catching, “I’m not gonna last.”

“Neither will I,” he admits. You look up, watching the veins in his neck stand out against his flushed skin. “Go on,” he urges. “Pretty girl. Lovely girl.” He’s speaking in puffed sentences, on the verge. “Cum for me, babe. Want to watch you lose it on this sink.”

You spiral with him, pressing your clit and feeling your high sweep over you as Tom thrusts into you. He’s pulsing too a few moments later, spilling his seed into you with a low yelp as his hot fingers pull at your dress. Both of you moan, your sounds mixing together as your breath fogs up the lower part of the mirror.

Tom bends over, scooping your hair to the side and kissing your neck. He’s near now, image lingering close in the mirror, eyes softer and pooled with love. His body is warm, and his front soothes your back as he moves closer and kisses your cheek.

“Love you,” he murmurs, voice soft. Both of you release soft groans as his cock slips from inside you, and he kisses your cheek again calmingly.

You tilt your head to the side, standing up a little straighter until you’re able to kiss his lips. Tom’s mouth is as warm as ever.

“Love you too, handsome,” you respond, voice gentle. “You’re insatiable.”

Tom grins against your mouth. “Well, if you were dating someone as beautiful as you, I’m sure you’d feel the same way.”

[omgreally]

To Stardust

Loki Laufeyson/F!Reader

Rating: E

Words: 848

Summary: Like a star, things with Loki blaze bright, but briefly. This is how you fall.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected p in v sex (wrap before thy tap!), oral sex (f receiving), biting, rough sex, hate(?) sex, unrequited love, a lot for under 1000 words

You meet him in a bar.

A bar, of all places - it should have been poetic; it should have been grand, to match the magnificent height of his regard for you. Next to you, perhaps only his mother and even then, grudging, rare concessions to the more human side of Loki Laufeyson. 

Or Loki Odinson. Depending on what he wants to call himself at the time.

What are you? He asks you more than once, when he fails to beguile you - fails to wit and wheedle you into his bed for the fourth time. You’re not sure why he keeps coming back. You’re not sure why you keep coming back, but eventually, it becomes a kind of dance for the two of you - a back-and-forth you’re happy to see go on for as long as it  can. 

But you can’t take it. You end the stalemate one night yourself - ask him if he wants to come back to your ship. Your ship? Loki had assumed you might have an apartment on this rock - a hole to scurry off to - but you surprise him, again. Your sights are not set on anything so terrestrial as the ground.

Your kiss tastes like alcohol and smoke and stardust, and he has a sting to him, you think - a sickly-sweet aftertaste that sits on the back of the palate like poison. You can’t get enough of him, his clever tongue - though when he breaks from your mouth and trails it lower, you don’t complain.

Your clothes simply vanish, somehow, but you don’t care exactly how - you’re concerned only with the feel of Loki between your thighs, snaking his sweet, silver tongue through your folds, drenching you with a mix of his saliva and your slick.

He works you open with two fingers, fucks you slow ‘til you’re squirming. Then, when you’re on the verge of begging for it, he rises, strong and sinewy and blocking out the sun, and when he replaces his fingers with the blunt of his cock your knees fall open, weak.

He pushes inside you with one smooth stroke and you cry out, high and harsh; he smothers you with his palm and you bite him, feral for it; he holds you down and starts to pound into you with abandon. He pistons the length of his cock through your rippling walls and you wail, muffled by sweat and the skin of his palm.

When the fingers of his free hand work dutifully between your bodies and seat at your clit you know you’re doomed, destined to be lost to the pleasure in the vice of your cunt as it clamps down around him. You gasp and buck with the force of your orgasm and he holds you down, lips peeled back from bared teeth, his pupils blown to wide dark circles locked on your face.

You’re berry-burst wet and raw for him as he hauls his cock into you with every slam of his hips, his wiry frame caging you in without apparent effort; but you can see the cord of his pulse jumping in his neck and you know he is close.

You lift your knees, wrapping your legs high around Loki’s waist, your knees pressing into his ribs as the new angle sends him deeper down some dark path that makes you quake in your bones, atomise to fine sweet dust that fills your lungs with a shudder on every inhale. You come like you’re drunk on it, long and lazy, your body breaking apart in contracting waves that squeeze and release, squeeze and release.

Loki is caught in the smooth sweet slide of it - he buries himself deep and lets go, a feeling like a cool breeze speeding frission through his veins. He grinds to a halt, groaning, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched together before he releases - a spot inside you that fills with honeyed warmth, a contrast to his cool, dry skin.

You’re surprised when he lies with you for a while after - curled around you, almost sinuous - an arm behind your neck, drawing patterns on your stomach with his fingers. When they dip lower, you’re unsurprised. He keeps you going like that all night, and into the next day, and the next.

How is it any surprise this devotion arose - something like a flower in bloom between you, and you’re both caught in the snare of its roots. You feel wrong - like something held up on a pedestal that shouldn’t be, unpolished and raw. Loki loves it, your vulnerability is like nectar to him and your nerves are shaved raw. 

It’s easy to fly away in the night. It’s harder to fly away in your thoughts. 

Harder to forget those hours that stretched to days spent moving together - learning different ways to make the other come - learning their sound, their taste. 

You can’t get it out of your mind.

At first it’s bittersweet, but soon enough it’s maddening. Torture. Torture you can’t get away from - and you wonder if this is his punishment, the final laugh from the trickster, Loki Laufeyson.

[engie-ivy]

Everyone seems to think it's just the most hilarious prank Sirius was given a potion to make him think he's in love with Remus. Remus himself, however, doesn't quite like hearing Sirius say everything he's been secretly dreaming of, and not meaning a word of it. However, there might be a bit of truth to Sirius’ words. Or a whole lot of truth.

Truth Be Told

Remus is haggard. After a long day of classes, he has spent the evening tutoring a second-year Hufflepuf, and it would surprise Remus if the boy can even tell the front from the back of his wand. All Remus wants now is to drop down on a couch, and unwind with his friends. As he enters the Gryffindor common room, he spots them sitting at the back and makes his way over.

“Wotcher, Moony,” James greets. “You look bloody knackered!”

“Alright, Moony?” Peter grins. “Long night?”

“Moony!” Sirius says. “I’m so glad you’re back. Even when it’s just an hour, I miss you whenever we’re not together. You light up any room you enter, no matter how tired you look. Just the sight of you makes my heart skip a beat, as you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

The boys all fall silent and stare. Remus blinks a couple of times. Then James bursts out laughing, quickly joined by Peter. Horror appears on Sirius’ face and he clasps a hand over his mouth.

“Eh,” Remus says hesitantly, as he sits down. “What’s going on?”

James, still laughing, wipes a tear away from his eyes. “D’you remember how Sirius hexed McKinnon last week, making everything she ate taste like earwax for the entire day?”

Remus nods. As funny as the prank may have seemed, dealing with an angry and hungry Marlene McKinnon hadn’t been an experience worth repeating.

“Well, she got back at him just now by spiking his Pumpkin Juice with some sort of potion, but so far, we hadn’t figured out what kind of potion. Until now, that is!”

“A Love Potion?” Remus asks incredulously.

Sirius, face bright red, is pointedly not looking at Remus.

“The potion must have made him so head-over-heels, he’s too overwhelmed by your all-encompassing beauty,” Peter snickers.

Remus is still stunned. “Why a Love Potion to make him fall in love with me, though?”

James shrugs. “Girls have a weird sense of humour, mate.”

Remus shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous!”

James wants to say something, but Sirius cuts him off. “There’s nothing ridiculous about being in love with you!” He exclaims. “You’re the kindest person there is. You have such a good heart, and you’re always there for me, no matter what. You always make everyone feel at ease. You’re clever, hardworking, and strong. I don’t understand how everyone isn’t in love with you! And Merlin, you’re so attractive. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh is so bloody sexy.”

Sirius isn’t the only one blushing now, as Remus feels his own cheeks heat up. “Err, thanks,” he mumbles.

James and Peter, however, nearly fall off the couch laughing. “This is gold!” James manages to say in between his laughs.

Remus doesn’t agree. He finds it more embarrassing than funny that apparently, McKinnon thought making him in love with Remus was the best joke she could play on Sirius. And even worse, and Remus will take this secret to his grave, like a bloody twelve-year-old who reads too many romance novels, he occasionally fantasizes about Sirius illuminated by candlelight, holding his hands, waxing poetically about his undying love for Remus. To now hear Sirius say similar words, without meaning any of them, is definitely more painful than funny.

Sirus doesn’t seem amused by it either. “I’m sorry,” he says miserably. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this! I mean, I know I don’t have a chance with you, Moony. You’re such a good person, so much better than me. I truly don’t deserve you.”

“Merlin,” Peter laughs. “Sirius Black thinking he’s not good enough? I wouldn’t have thought it possible! What the hell did McKinnon give him for a Love Potion?”

Remus wonders that as well, as he watches Sirius hide his face in his hands. With the Love Potions Remus knows, the person under the influence at least doesn’t realise how insane they’re acting, but poor Sirius seems perfectly aware.

“Moony,” Sirius says pleadingly. “Normally, I think every minute spent apart from you is a minute wasted, but as I can’t seem to stop embarrassing myself in front of you, would you mind terribly to maybe stay away from me until the potion has worn off?”

“You really do say the most ridiculous things,” Peter agrees.

Sirius glares at him. “You calling me confessing my deepest feelings ridiculous is actually really hurtful, Peter.”

Peter blinks at him.

“Right,” Remus says, getting to his feet. “Yes. That would probably be best. Just... take care, and let me know if you need me.”

“I always need you, Remus,” Sirius says. “And I always will.”

“Err, right. Yes. Okay. Great. Eh, bye then.” Remus hurries away.

As Remus makes his way through the common room, he walks past Marlene, Lily and Mary sitting together at a table.

“Oi, Lupin!” Marlene calls, with a smug smile. “Is Black having a nice evening?”

Remus folds his arms over his chest. “You think you’re bloody funny, don’t you, McKinnon?”

Lily raises her eyebrow. “Come on, Remus. Black had it coming.”

“I suppose he had,” Remus sighs. It’s true. Marlene and Sirius are always pulling pranks on each other and retaliating. “But next time, please leave me out of it!”

“Leave you out of it?” Marlene repeats. “When have I ever gotten you into it?”

“Please, a Love Potion to make him confess to being in love with me?” Remus rolls his eyes. “I can understand how you’d think Sirius Black fancying me is just the biggest joke, but please, don’t.”

The girls fall silent.

Mary is staring at Remus with wide eyes. Lily is nervously tugging at her braid. Marlene is shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“What?”

Marlene and Lily exchange a look, then look back at Remus. “Eh, Remus,” Marlene says carefully. “The potion I gave Black wasn’t a Love Potion.”

Remus begins to ask “Then why-” But Marlene continues talking. “It was Veritaserum.”

Sirius is lying face-down on his bed, wondering if there’s a spell that can make the ground swallow him up whole. Damn Marlene and her damn Truth Potion! At least his friends, and most importantly Remus, had assumed it was a Love Potion. Luckily, James and Peter had eventually left him alone, thinking that the fun was over anyway after Remus left, so perhaps the universe doesn’t completely hate him.

He has barely finished the thought, or the door to the dorm opens. Sirius glances up, and when he sees Remus walk in, he considers smothering himself in his pillow.

“Moony,” Sirius groans. “Please. I really want to be alone.” For once, he and the Truth Potion are in perfect agreement on what to say.

Remus ignores him and sits down cross-legged at the foot of Sirius’ bed with a huge grin on his face, because, yes, the universe has it out for Sirius. Sirius pushes himself up and wraps his arms around his legs. “While normally I would be thrilled to have you on my bed,” Sirius says, because of-bloody-course he does. “Right now, you shouldn’t-”

“What potion did McKinnon give you?” Remus interrupts.

Sirius opens his mouth to say it’s the Love Potion, but what comes out instead is “Veritaserum,” which, really, he should’ve expected. He wonders if it’s too late to still smother himself in his pillow.

Remus grins brightly at him. He knew, Sirius thinks. The bloody bastard already knew.

“You know,” Sirius says irritably. “I’m so gone for you that you could probably push me out of the window, and I’d still be smitten,” has he mentioned that the universe hates him? “But I must say, Remus, it kind of hurts that you found out my deepest secret and came here to rub it in my face and laugh about it.”

Remus seems a little taken aback by Sirius’ blatant honesty, but he should’ve known that’s what he would get. “What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not laughing about your feelings! Or well, maybe I am laughing about your feelings, but because I’m happy about your feelings!”

Sirius looks away and mutters “Well, I’m glad you at least enjoy my desperate pining.”

Remus moves forward, and places a hand on Sirius’ cheek to gently turn his head back to him.

“You on my bed, sitting this close, and touching my face like that is Doing Things to me,” Sirius says, and he kind of wishes Remus had pushed him out of the window.

Remus lets out a breathless laugh. “Good, because what I wanted to say is, I’m happy about your feelings, because I most definitely return them. I’m gone for you too.”

Sirius’ eyes widen. “Really?” He breathes.

Remus smiles softly at him. “Really. I’m not taking any Veritaserum, though, so you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

Emboldened by the notion that he can’t possibly embarrass himself more than he already has, Sirius shifts a little closer understand. “You know,” he says, nervously licking his lips. “They say actions speak louder than words.”

Remus immediately understands. The hand on Sirius’ cheek moves to his neck and the next moment, they’re kissing.

Sirius briefly chases Remus’ lips as the other boy pulls away, and sighs while he blinks open his eyes. Kissing Remus is the best feeling in the world, leaving him dizzy, and rather hot and bothered. And of course, in his current state, he immediately informs Remus about this.

A flush appears on Remus’ cheeks and he chuckles. Sirius hides his face in his hands and groans. “And just like that, I turned the best moment of my life into the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

Remus grabs his wrists to pry his hands away from his face. “No, Pads, it’s okay! More than okay. I love kissing you as well.”

Sirius lowers his hands and looks into Remus’ soft, honey-coloured eyes, that look back at him affectionately. “I love you,” he breathes.

Remus lets go of his wrists and his eyes widen in shock.

Sirius winches. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I wouldn’t normally go from first kiss to full-blown love confession in like zero seconds, but that damned potion! That potion goes by the rule ‘if you feel a strong emotion, immediately speak it out loud’, and loving you is the strongest emotion I’ve ever felt.”

Remus’ eyes widen even more.

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius says. “I’m only making it worse, aren’t I? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out like this.”

“No, it’s... I mean, I...” Remus scrapes his throat. “I don’t mind. I admit, it’s all going a bit fast, and I wasn’t expecting a love confession so soon, but I think I’m... happy?” Remus lets out a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry, this is all very new to me.”

“It’s new to me too,” Sirius says softly, and then, just in case he hadn’t freaked Remus out enough, “You’re the first person I’ve ever said those words to.”

Remus nearly topples off the bed.

The universe must be having one hell of a laugh.

“Oh, bollocks!” Sirius says. “I keep saying these wildly inappropriate, way too intense things, for which it’s much too soon! I won’t blame you if you want to get away as fast as possible. As a matter of fact, you probably should stay away from me for now, before I end up telling you I’ve already been envisioning our wedding.” Sirius’ laugh sounds forced, and Remus’ sounds a little too high-pitched, and Sirius can see clear traces of panic in his eyes. Yet, Remus doesn’t move from the bed.

“You know,” Remus says a tad nervous. “Perhaps I could stay, but prevent you from speaking?”

“How are you...?”

Remus smiles shyly. “My idea was to keep your mouth... otherwise occupied?”

Sirius’ eyes widen, and then a bright smile appears on his face. “Remus Lupin, you always have the best ideas!”

Remus wakes up the next morning with Sirius’ body pressed against his back and Sirius’ arms around his waist. “Hmmm,” he hums happily, covering Sirius’ hands with his own. “I love waking up next to you.”

He can feel Sirius smile against his neck. “Me too. Waking up next to you and falling asleep next to you. Even your snoring is music to my ears.”

Remus snorts. “I gather the Veritaserum has worn off, huh?”

[retvenkos]

newfound love | t.l.

Little Women - Laurie Laurence x Reader, slight angst, fluff

tw: mentions of a dead mother

word count: 1.9k

A/N: i’m apparently incapable of writing fluff without first mentioning crushing loss, so that’s fun.

prompt: we’re going out in the cold for a walk, and I know you don’t want to get wet, but I’m trying to convince you to make a snow angel with me

The first thing (Y/n) knew was the cold. From the moment they had been born, they knew the icy touch of frigid air and the bite of snow. Winter babies were often babies who didn’t survive, but it had been their mother that didn’t last the night. Their family had mourning during the most dangerous of seasons, snow falling on their cheeks and melting at their hot tears.

Ever since, (Y/n) knew that winters often brought more problems than they were worth - from the cold, to the lack food, to the bouts of sickness that always seemed to follow, and the tight grasp of melancholy that held their heart hostage. Times were hard enough without the troubles of a changing season, and to have winter come early was simply cruel.

Already the winds had changed, and sometimes, when (Y/n) looked around at the people who surrounded them, they thought they could tell who was already blown away.

Laurie had always been rather good at convincing them that it was just worry, but the feeling never left, just gnawed a little less. 

Now, with the war being what it was, there was more at risk, and more that ate at (Y/n), devouring the very root of their being. It hadn’t taken long for Laurie to notice the strength of (Y/n)’s grief, that year, and he had grown intent on trying to show (Y/n) the beauty of winter, even with it’s hardship and death.

“You can’t just have one,” he had said, sounding much older than he usually did. “Everything is good and bad.”

“Are we?”

And Laurie had laughed unabashedly, as though the thought had never crossed his mind. (Y/n) hadn’t admitted it, then, but they resolved that if naivete was the worst of Laurie’s offenses, they could fall in love with all of him - the good and bad.

In his attempts to demonstrate the enchantment of winter (because Laurie was a true romantic, and he did insist winter was enchanting), he had exhausted every effort he could think of.

He had taken (Y/n) out to ice skate, had taken them to a winter dance, and had even stolen some of his grandfather’s seasonal wines for them to share. Although that last one was largely a success, before they were caught, (Y/n) still couldn’t shake the idea that winters brought nothing but misery. It was an instinct set deep in the fibre of their soul; something created the moment they were born, when the ice and cold had stolen them from the warmth of a mother.

It seemed, even with Laurie’s efforts, that there was one inescapable truth about (Y/n)’s experiences:

Winters were bleak and their frosts were long, lingering well after the snow had melted and the sun dared to peek out once more.

When it neared the end of winter, (Y/n) had assumed that Laurie had let his little project go. It had been a while since he asked them about their opinion of the winter months, and while (Y/n) still caught him staring every once in a while, he made no effort to speak of what he was thinking.

On a day when the cold seemed to be letting up, (Y/n) and Laurie made plans to meet the next day. He had some books he wanted them to see, and (Y/n) was in the throes of  a crisis - finding themself unable to oppose Laurie’s good, if often too forward, nature.

When (Y/n) woke to find that it had snowed sometime between night and early morning, they had sighed, but steeled themself to the reality of it. The day prior they had promised Laurie they would go over, and when Laurie had smiled, they had even promised to be in a better mood. Laurie had said that they needn’t hide their feeling for his sake, but (Y/n) put their hands over his and told them they wanted to.

“It won’t be winter for much longer.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time (Y/n) managed to speak too soon.

Bundled in their warmest clothes, (Y/n) had set out in the cold, intent to walk to Laurie’s house, no matter the weather. The snow crunched beneath their boots, and the rising sun made a blinding glare against the white expanse, but they journeyed forth.

Laurie didn’t live too far away from (Y/n). In the summer months, walking to his house was a welcome distraction and the view of the world in full bloom never ceased to amaze them. (Y/n) looked around at the snow covered world around them and tried to appraise it in Laurie’s eyes - what enchanting beauty could be found, when everything was frozen in time?

Perhaps there was something beautiful in the vastness of it - when covered in snow, the world didn’t seem to end at definite horizon. The clouded sky met the snowy land in a sort of haze - one color mixing with the other and never quite distinguishing itself. And the icicles hanging from trees seemed to shine like diamonds when the sunlight hit them, just right. The ice was sharp and deadly, yes, but it was also delicate and easily broken. 

(Y/n) stopped beneath a tree and when they looked back at the way they came, there was almost something poetic in the way their steps had made a trail - like their existence in the world left a mark, no matter how small.

(Y/n) looked down at their shoes, shaking their head at their own thoughts. If only Laurie saw them now - he might think all of this was his doing.

Perhaps it was.

(Y/n) scuffed the fresh layer of snow with the tip of their shoe, revealing some of the grass beneath - a dark green that reminded (Y/n) of the decorations Laurie had insisted on putting up, claiming that the atmosphere alone would be enough to convince them of the beauty of winter.

(Y/n) was careful to admit it, but all of Laurie’s antic - from the most simple to the elaborate - had made them feel better. Most of the time. Laurie’s presence alone was enough to coax happiness out of them, pushing down that melancholy that stubbornly clung to their being.

“(Y/n)!” A voice brought them out of their thoughts, and it took a moment for (Y/n) to realize they had been smiling.

Laurie, wrapped in a thick coat, was running over to them, his expression a blur and hair flying wild. The sun was rising with him and made it hard to focus on his nearing figure for long, but when he was close enough, Laurie blocked the glare with an amusement that seemed to shine brighter than his heavenly competitor.

“I didn’t think you’d come out for a walk.”

(Y/n) brought a hand up to tame his hair. “Well, I did promise you, didn’t I?”

Laurie nodded his head, dark hair flying once more. “I just thought that with the snow, you might have changed your mind.”

“If it was anyone else, I would have.”

“Do I really mean that much to you?”

(Y/n) felt their cheeks get hot and burrowed their face deeper into their scarf. Laurie hummed in acknowledgement, neither triumphantly nor disappointedly, just markedly.

“You wouldn’t be admiring the weather, would you? I was trying to compose a poem on my way here - something that would capture the essence of a final snow.” (Y/n) scoffed and Laurie’s teasing eyes caught their gaze. “Perhaps you have a line or two to add?”

“Maybe,” (Y/n) conceded, “but only if I can write it somewhere warm - preferably in front of a fireplace, with those books you mentioned.”

The two set off in the way Laurie had come, (Y/n) making it a point to step in his footprints from earlier so that they might avoid getting wet anymore than they already were. Despite having consented to the idea that the winter might be slightly beautiful, in its own, haunting sort of way, (Y/n) was still averse to the cold, and there was nothing worse than the kind of cold that stuck to your skin after getting your clothes wet.

It was when Laurie’s house was in sight, and closer to them than the distant horizon, that snow started to fall from the heavens, sprinkling through Laurie’s dark hair and settling on his scarf. A snowflake fell on (Y/n)’s eyelashes, and they took in a breath, preparing to sigh, but stopped themself short. Laurie looked at them from the corner of his eye, just barely managing to suppress a smile from creeping onto his lips; there was affection in his eyes, though, sweet and pure.

“(Y/n),” Laurie grabbed their hands and the party in question turned to them, snow collecting on their head like the soft down of a duckling. “Do something for me?”

“What?”

Laurie fell back into the snow, letting go of (Y/n)’s hands as he dropped so that he wouldn’t pull them with him. He fell back with an “oof” that seemed to knock the wind out of him, but he quickly recovered started moving his arms and legs, fanning outwards to create a snow angel.

(Y/n) scoffed and shook their head. “Laurie, you’re going to get all wet.”

“And so will you, when you join me.” Laurie’s smile was convincing, making up for his lack of persuasion skills. (Y/n) was able to resist, if only barely.

They opened their mouth to refuse, but no sound came. Laurie seemed to notice the falter in their resolve because he held out a hand, sitting up carefully as to not ruin his angel.

“The house is right there. We’ll be inside before the cold seeps through the layers of your clothes.” 

“Is this another attempt of yours to get me to fall in love with winter?”

Laurie smiled devilishly, despite what he had created just moments before. “You’ve already fallen in love. My schemes are over.”

Laurie was right - (Y/n) had fallen in love - but whether it was with winter or the boy who pointed out it’s beauty, was hard to tell. Maybe a snow angel would help them decide...

“Fine, for you.”

A moment after the words left their lips, Laurie reached for their hand and tugged them downward, pulling (Y/n) with such a force that they stumbled in their fall and landed half on top of him. (Y/n) shrieked and screwed their eyes tight.

They were awfully close, when dared to peek. Lauries cheeks were flushed scarlet, although whether it was from the cold or their position was hard to determine. (Y/n) shuffled away and lay down in the snow, hesitating before putting their hands out. Laurie lay back down, a little breathless, and the two stared at each other for a moment before laughing, not minding the wet snow beneath them.

(Y/n) eventually pushed their arms out and made their frozen angel, their fingers grazing Laurie’s arm. 

When the two stood up, they both looked at their creations with a critical eye.

“We ruined those pretty well, don’t you think?” 

“You were the one who pulled me down!”

“You didn’t give yourself enough space to make wings.”

(Y/n) and Laurie looked at the other challengingly before breaking out in chuckles.

“Let’s get inside. I wouldn’t want your newfound love of winter spoiled by catching a cold.”

(Y/n) nodded, but it wasn’t until they were sitting in front of a fire, books between them and blankets draped over their shoulders, that (Y/n) told Laurie, in just above a whisper, that it wasn’t winter they had discovered their affections for.

[copias-thrall]

How would Mary goore react to hurting someone he genuinely cares about? I absolutely Love your writing!💕

Hello, nonny! Thank you, I love this ask!

This was going to be  alist, but it got away from me! 😅 

Enjoy 😘 

It wasn’t anything big.

Just a few of Mary’s favorite beers (the craft kind—not the shitty beer he drank on his shoestring budget), some of that chronic shit you’d scored and have been saving for a special occasion, and a VHS box set of horror movie classics.

***

Mary comes in and out of your life at will, and that was something you accepted—knowing he was As Is or not at all. And honestly—no, really—you liked that. You had your own shit going on, and being Mary’s expected caregiver was NOT something you wanted to add to that list.

(If someone else wanted to try to tame him and pick up after him, well…kudos to them. Less work for you.)

Mary showed up on your pivotal days and he rubbed your feet and always invited you out to trivia. You'd held him when he was coming down from a bad trip and listened to his grievances and gave him a place to stay when he was persona non grata at his own. And in a way, that made you always feel like #1 in Mary’s world…and that was good enough for you.

***

A few months ago, Mary had been lying on your couch, picking the label off his beer bottle.

“I’m gonna be away for a bit,” he’d said.

“Oh?” you’d responded as you’d mashed the controls on your gaming controller.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll be around…but I got some shit going on.”

You’d paused your game.

“Bad shit?”

He’d waved you off.

“Neg. Just tryna get myself out there. Signed up for open mics and shit.”

He’d shifted, his long legs receding from around you and folding under him.

“So, like…I got my job at the bowling alley…but nights and weekends are kinda shot.”

You’d tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. You supported Mary’s dreams, and that meant not making an issue that he was finally trying to do something about them.

This wasn’t against you. It was for him.

When you’d taken too long to respond, his face had scrunched.

“But if you want—”

“It’s fine, Mare,” you’d said as you’d made yourself smile. “This is important to you, so it’s important to me.”

You’d unpaused your game.

“Just don’t expect me to not beat this game without you.”

He’d grabbed the controller out of your hands with a snarl, causing you to cry out when you died.

“Fuck the game.” His hand had fisted your shirt. “Give me a night to remember.”

You had. Twice.

***

Mary had texted you occasionally over the next few weeks—a few memes, a few drunken key-smashes, a dick pic, and 2 grainy videos of his performances for critique—but such contact was sporadic, and you’d never seen him in real-time. 

He’d blown in one night, five weeks in, with a box of pizza just as you'd been heading out to meet your crew. When you’d told him you’d made plans, he’d looked so crestfallen that you’d caved and canceled on them.

While he’d been there, he’d given you a date in 3 weeks.

“That Saturday I have nowhere to be,” he’d said as he’d chewed. “I can spend the whole day with you.”

You’d been careful not to seem too eager.

“Oh yeah? Should I plan shit?”

He’d crammed the whole crust into his mouth and had given you a doughy grin.

“Why ’’ya think I told you?”

You didn’t know what you’d expected, but when he’d had to bounce 90min later, you were still surprised. (That was hardly enough time to digest!)

“Sorry,” he’d winced. “I gotta be on a bus in 45min.”

He’d left, and you’d been too embarrassed to join your friends who were only just going to the second bar.

Having fun with your man ;) ? one of your friends had texted.

What do you think? You’d texted back before changing into your pjs and turning on Netflix.

***

So maybe you were low-key excited about your day with Mary.

Perhaps you’d spent those 3 weeks figuring out the perfect date—something that said, “I missed you,” without saying “But in a clingy way.”

Beer and horror were two things the both of you were totally into, and you knew he’d be exhausted, so it seemed perfect. You’d bought the boxed set off of eBay and splurged for expedited shipping; you’d borrowed your brother’s old dual TV/VCR from his college days; and you’d forgone your weekly Chinese takeout for the craft beer funds. (And if things got steamy, well…even better.) 

***

A few days before The Date, you’d run into Mary on the bus. You were coming home from a shift, and he was going to his.

He’d brightened and waved you over—as if you weren’t already on your way—and you’d plopped down beside him with a tired grin. You’d told him of the latest entitled asshole, and he’d showed you another clip of him on guitar.

Before your stop had come up, you’d tentatively placed your hand over his.

“We still on for Saturday?”

He’d blinked at you a few moments before grinning.

“Yeah.”

“Should I plan a whole day for us, then?”

His arm had crept around your shoulders before pulling you into him to kiss your temple.

“Yeah, why not.”

***

That morning, you wake up happy. 

Mary will be over soon.

You roll over and grab your phone.

When should I expect you? :-* 

It takes him an hour to respond. You aren’t surprised—Mary isn’t known for being a morning person—so when your phone dings, you grab it up excitedly.

An excitement that dies when you read his text. And reread. And re-reread.

not 2day 

goin upste 2 show 

You blink.

What show? Didn’t we confirm? 

yeah. got me thinkin 

why no show? 

so i chked 

i missed one 

gotta do it 

Rage blooms hot, then cold behind your eyes and down your cheeks.

But you said we had the whole day. I made plans. 

save em 

ths is impt 2 me 

We’ve had this planned for weeks. 

i thot u suprted me 

on a bus cnt tlk 

You send a few more irate texts, but he doesn’t respond, and you toss your phone across the room with a shout of frustration. You scrub the hot tears from your eyes before they can fall.

And…on paper, Mary isn’t wrong. Nothing you had planned won’t keep: movies, beer, takeout.

But…

It gives you a stark look at what you mean to Mary. He gave you this date and confirmed it. He knew you were making plans.

How long was he going to wait to tell you he wasn’t even in the city anymore?

You fight the urge to kick the VHS tapes across the floor, but you open the fridge and grab a beer. If Queen Elizabeth could have beer for breakfast, then it was good enough for you.

Once you’ve downed all eight, you move on to the jug of vodka you keep for cleaning.

When you empty only liquid from your stomach into the toilet, you grab your frozen fries out of the freezer. You roll a handful of the cold ones in your mouth as you wait for the others to crisp in the oven, and once you’ve consumed the cooked ones, you go right back to the vodka.

***

Opening your eyes the next morning is a mistake, so you take a few deep breaths and go back to sleep.

When you wake again, your heart is fluttering, your stomach turns, and it feels like there’s an ice pick behind one eye. Shuffling slowly, you make your way out to your kitchen where you take some painkillers, drink some pickle juice, and eat two slices of plain bread.

The sense that you did something awful stays with you, but you’re in no condition to find your phone and see what you’ve done. Instead, you go back to bed. It takes more deep breathing to settle yourself, but once you do fall asleep, you’re out for hours.

You don’t feel amazing when you swim to consciousness again, but you feel at least like a human being. 

Your phone is dead when you find it under the sink, and waiting the 5 or so minutes for it to charge feels like waiting to face the executioner.

It’s both better and worse than you expected.

You breathe a sigh of relief to see that there are no vague social media posts, and you didn’t drunk dial any of your friends, but…

The texts to and from Mary are ugly.

Apparently, you’d managed not to send him angry texts until he’d sent you another clip of his performing. But then the floodgates had opened.

You’d started with telling him you didn’t give a shit about the show, how he was an inconsiderate ass, and then you'd devolved into incomprehensible, typo-ridden texts that accused him of using you, that you were only something to do when he didn’t have anything better to do, that he was an entitled man-child and if he didn’t apologize, you were done.

Mary’s texts in response range from him being angry at your disregard, to heated retorts you were blowing this out of proportion (and he didn’t appreciate your “ad hominem” attacks), to a cool detachment that this wasn’t working over text and he’d finish this in person.

You put your head in your hands but are too dehydrated to cry.

***

Mary doesn’t text you again during his self-imposed time frame.

You don’t text him either, but that’s more out of self-preservation than pride. There’s no point exacerbating the situation…and you’re pretty sure there’s no coming back from this, so why speed up the inevitable?

The horror tapes taunt you every time you walk by them, and you wonder if you can return them (you can’t). You give the TV back to your brother, and when he asks you how it went, you plaster a smile on your face and say, “Great!” with forced enthusiasm you hope comes across as genuine.

The primo weed goes over to your friend’s house, and the two of you wax poetic all night about existential claptrap as you devour two cheese pizzas and a bag of bbq chips. You talk about Mary without talking about Mary, and you get a heartfelt, “Sorry, dude.”

You beat the video game anyway, but it’s mostly because you needed something to occupy your mind and less out of spite (though that’s there as well).

***

Despite waiting on tenterhooks to hear anything from Mary, you truly don’t really expect to. You know you’d been atrocious, even if it had been prompted by his careless disregard, and you know Mary isn’t really the kind of guy that troubles himself with relationships that are hard.

Not that you’re in a relationship.

So when there’s a knock on your door a week later and Mary’s behind it, you’re genuinely surprised.

You gape through the peephole in shock.

“Fuck. If you’re there, just let me in, ok?”

Fumbling with the chain, you unlock the door and crack it open.

“Mary?”

“You gonna let me in?” he rasps.

You shrug and step away from the door, and he shuffles inside. He looks around like you’ve changed anything (you haven’t), before turning around to face you.

You close the door and stare back.

He folds his arms. “Breaking up with someone over text is tacky.”

What you think is, So you’ve come to do it in person, but what you say is, “Can’t break up if you’re not together.”

He winces and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Yeah…apparently I’ve ‘taken advantage' of you.”

This…isn’t what you’re expecting.

“I…what?”

“Can we sit down?”

You nod, and Mary sits rigidly on the edge of your couch. You curl up in the chair on the opposite side.

He rubs his palms down his greasy jeans before he speaks.

“I mean…you pissed me off, ok?”

You nod.

“But, like—you weren’t wrong, ok? I kinda knew that deep down, but I’m a dumbass, you know?”

You don’t nod.

“And I kinda bitched about the whole thing…but the resounding response was that I was the asshole.”

He angles his body toward you.

“I guess I’ve kinda been treating you like my best friend that I fuck sometimes.”

Your entire face flushes—you’d always thought you’d maybe ranked a little higher than that—and you duck your head so he can’t see the tears that you blink back.

There’s a swish of fabric, and you startle hard when Mary’s hand is at your chin. He jerks back with a Sorry.

“Shit—that’s not what I…” he blows out a breath and puts his hands behind his head before looking back up at you.

“But you aren’t, and…fuck this is harder than I thought.”

So this is it.

Waiting for him to do the deed is clearly going to be excruciating, so you take charge of this whole shit-show.

“I understand,” you say flatly.

“You do?”

“It’s ok, Mare-Mary. It’s my own fault for reading too much into it. I just…I saw what I wanted to see, I guess. I know you don’t need…” you look down into your lap, “…my shit in your life.

He makes a noise low in his throat, and then he’s squatting in front of you, his hot hands planting on your knees.

“But I want your shit in my life.”

You squint your eyes at him.

“But what I said…”

He grasps your hands in his.

“Pissed me off, yeah…cuz I wasn’t fucking thinking, ok? You’re like one of the only people who gives a crap about what’s important to me. And all I could see was you suddenly…not.”

Anger wells up in you again, and you yank away your hands.

“Weeks, Mary…weeks of you all over the tri-state area, and you thought I didn’t care because of one night?! A night you promised to me?”

He sits back on his heels. “I know…fuck. Ok? At the time, it just felt…like the show couldn’t be rescheduled. Our night could.”

Because you’re what he does when he’s bored.

You curl in on yourself.

“Shit.” He leans forward again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, ok? I’m fucking on my knees here.”

You blink at him. 

What? 

“Please, please don’t break—say we’re done.”

“What?”

“Look, we can go into my shitty fucking psychological profile on why I fuck around later…but right now I need you to know that I knew it was you before I fucking knew it was you.”

You uncurl.

“That…’what’ was me?”

He knees forward and presses your hands to his face.

“The one I wanna spend my free time with. The one whose opinion means the most. The one who was the first person I wanted to share all my good shit with. You’re the one I missed, and—after that awful fucking night—everything felt pointless because I knew I couldn’t come over and jam about it.”

“Mare—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a fucking dumbass. I’m saying I thought I was pissed at you, but I was pissed at myself for fucking it up.” He sighs. “I’m saying no fucking one was on my side and they all told me to get my shit together.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, and for the first time, you can see how they’re outlined in red, his subtle crow’s feet more pronounced.

“So, you’re not done with me? I’m not…too much trouble?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “What? Shit, no. I’m asking you to not be done with me. I’ll give you all the nights you want. Fucking text me, and my ass’ll be here posthaste.” He shifts up, and his thumb ghosts over your lips. “Anything to get you to give me that secret smile again.”

“Secret smile?” you ask while trying to perform the action.

Mary actually blushes.

“Uh…yeah. You get this…” he makes a motion across his face, “…when you’re giving it back to me.” His fingers shove back through his hair as he casts his eyes down. “You don’t give it to anyone else.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve made a study of it.”

You’re a swirl of emotions. Mary’s apologized—has admitted he was wrong and has asked for…more—but you’re still hurt. And embarrassed.

But he’s looking up at you with wet, hopeful eyes.

“Do you…” you start carefully, “…do you know why I got so mad?”

That statement was clearly not what he was expecting, and he blinks at you a few times before nodding and looking down at the floor.

“I made a…uh, commitment…to you. And I treated it like it didn’t mean anything.”

He gives you a look like, Did I get it right? and that’s close enough—even if he’s missing some of the nuance.

You nod. “And I know I…wasn’t…the best.”

His face contorts, and your heart sinks.

“You…” he shakes his head. “You said some awful things…some hurtful shit—and it really got in my head.”

Mary gives you a complicated look.

“Shit that you’d been pissed about for a while.” He traces your knee. “Shit you could’ve said to me…but shit I should have noticed. Fuck.” He presses his forehead into your knees, and you can’t stop yourself from sinking your fingers into his hair.

He takes it as encouragement and presses into you before looking up again.

“I just kinda wanna put that whole night behind us. It feels like a fucking ouroboros of fault. And like maybe I created it. But let’s agree to like…not do that again.”

You look down at him, and his eyes search your face.

“Ok…but what does all this mean, Mare? I can’t…I need to be something to you, ok? More than just your friend.”

Mary nods emphatically, and he takes your hand and curls his into it.

“No more fuck-ups, and no one else…can we start there?”

He’s saying all the right words, but you’re still trepidatious—you know Mary, and he doesn’t like constraints.

“I…just…how can I believe you?”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe you even have to ask. He rises and awkwardly reaches out to touch your face before drawing his hand back.

“Cuz you’re important to me. I care about you, and I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

And yeah. Ok.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Soul On Fire•

Summary: Just cheesey porn with a dash of plot. Very mushy, very chick flick feeling. Hitoshi and reader try to decorate for Christmas but get distracted, Hitoshi has a BIG surprise for the reader.

Pairing: Pro Hero Hitoshi Shinsou x FemReader (both aged up)

Warnings: Oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, light spanking, lots of romantic feels, a sprinkle of praise kink.

Word Count: 3,307

A/N: This is DIRECTLY inspired by that one scene from Tom and Jerry that's going around tiktok when Tom tries to romance that pretty white cat. I wrote this after three cups of hot chocolate at 2 am entirely manic and full of gooey romcom feels.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"You're going to fall."

"I am not."

"Right on your ass."

"Toshi. Stop."

"You're totally gonna eat shit."

"Hitoshi!"

You're on the last step of the pitiful, three step ladder you borrowed from your neighbor, reaching with every inch you have left to place the star on top of the Christmas tree that's tucked into the corner of your living room.

Decorating is happening late this year… late being Christmas Eve. With you being a full time student, and Hitoshi being a full time hero, hanging tinsel and trinkets kind of ranked low on the priority list. This is your third Christmas together, but your first while living together after moving in this past spring. Toshi insists that the decorations aren’t necessary, but you want to have a tree up at the very least.

It’s nice to see him relax, though, so you’re okay with throwing a tree up with some lights and calling that Christmas. You both agreed to keep gifts minimal this year, trying to make it as easy going as possible, but a part of you does want to partake in some of the cutesy festivities, especially with him.

"You could always get off your ass and help me, oh great lanky one." You grumble, finally securing the star on the highest branch, pouting when it tilts over from the weight.

"Oh, of course, how insensitive of me." His voice is dripping with sarcasm as he lazily stands up from his spot on the couch. He gently sets his coffee cup down before sauntering over to you.

You don't like the look in his eyes, all lavender and mischief as his mouth twitches into a smirk.

"Don't." You say shortly, lifting on your toes so you can fuss at the lopsided star.

"Don't help? You're giving me mixed signals, love." His arms loop around your waist from behind. Even with your elevation, he's a decent amount taller.

Against your will, you melt into his arms. He nuzzles his face into your neck before blowing a fat, wet, raspberry against the skin. You reach for his hand and yelp when he hoists you into the air and off the ladder. You want to protest, but all you can do is giggle as your chest fills with fondness and warmth.

He falls back onto the couch with you, landing with a huff as he squeezes you against him.

"It looks marvelous, darling." He says in a mock trans-atlantic accent. He's learned that funny voices and terrible accents are the way to your heart.

"You're hopeless." You laugh as you squirm around a little so you can turn. Once he realizes you're trying to face him instead of escape, he loosens his arms enough for you to turn.

You place your knees on either side of his legs so you can straddle him as you tangle your fingers in his wild, violet waves.

"I very well may be, but whose fault is that?" He says with his velvety voice, leaning in to kiss your nose quickly.

"Did I mention cheesy?" You laugh, letting him shower your face in soft kisses.

"Oh, do you want cheesy?" He says, sitting up suddenly as he slides his hands to hold your back so he can lean you backwards slightly.

The sudden shift makes you cling to the front of his shirt as more laughter tumbles from your lips.

You look up into his enchanting eyes, the soft glow from the lights make them twinkle like brilliant gemstones.

"Oh, mademoiselle." He says in a terrible french accident.

"Oh no, Toshi, please don't." You protest between giggles.

He plants sloppy, dramatic kisses along your collar bones. As comical as they are, the feeling of his mouth on your body makes your skin run hot.

"Baby, I want to finish decorating for Christmas before it is Christmas." You breathe.

"Perhaps I can change your mind with a bit of… romance, my dear?" He wiggles his eyebrows as he continues with his dreadful accent.

You can't help but throw your head back and laugh into the air as he chuckles against your neck.

"That is so bad." You say with a playful slap to his chest.

He slides one hand up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping the other wrapped around your waist. He plants a kiss on each cheek in a melodramatic fashion.

"Oh how you set my soul on fire." He continues despite your criticism, his lips are relentless against your neck.

"Am I taking a break from decorating?" You ask, hands slipping to the back of his head so you can play with his hair.

"Please?" He drops the accent when he says it, eyes darting to yours in hopes you'll relent.

"Hmm… convince me." You say with a teasing grin, knowing he'll catch your implications immediately.

He doesn't waste one second before pressing his lips into yours. As always, you're filled with a wonderful, buzzing sensation as his mouth works against yours. Behind closed doors, Hitoshi is a hopeless romantic, all gentle touches and poetic confessions of love.

You break for just a moment, foreheads pressed together as you both drink in the dazzling atmosphere.

"You taste like coffee." You whisper, still grinning like a fool.

"Good thing you like coffee" He says, lips brushing yours slightly.

"I love it." What a pair of cheese balls you two are, but you wouldn't change it for the world.

"I love you." He breathes before kissing you again.

Slowly, he pulls you back up so you can straddle him again. Your lips move more boldly, hands grab with more urgency. You both take your time undressing each other, kissing newly exposed skin and whispering praises.

Soon he has you laid out on your back, panting beneath him as he slides his lips down your body. First between your breasts, them down your stomach until he's just below your belly button. He flips one leg over his shoulder as the other dangles over the side of the couch.

"Gorgeous, gorgeous girl." He muses, mostly to himself, as he grabs at your hip with one hand and the top of your thigh with the other.

The hand on your hip moves inwards towards your lower stomach, his touch is feathery and taunting. His eyes dance with mischief as his thumb traces lower.

"You're a tease." You sigh as you card your hands into his hair.

"You just lack patience." He whispers before pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh.

"Relax, sweet girl. Let me have some fun."

His jaw drops and his tongue lolls out before he dips down to lick so slowly up your lips, he just barely flicks your clit with the tip of the muscle. Tease.

Your head flops back and you focus on relaxing the rest of your body like he taught you. Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his hand leave your hip, knowing exactly where it's going.

You feel two of his fingertips slide over the hood of your clit, pressing in gently before moving in lazy circles. The stimulation is so faint, just a hint of what he's capable of making you feel.

Then he moves lower.

Fingers slide down to gather the slick leaking from your aching hole, just to slide back up and start his lazy circles again. This time he gets right on your clit, pressing just slightly harder.

"Shit- Toshi, right there." Your voice breaks as your head shoots up, you shift up onto your elbows so you can watch him work.

The sight sends you reeling, sweat turning cold as you meet his lust blown, calculating eyes. Without looking away, he presses his mouth into the soft skin of your thigh again.

With a devilish look, his tongue pokes out so he can lick a long strip upwards while his fingers continue their teasing. Your walls flutter around nothing while he does this, your breath leaves you lungs in a shuddering sigh.

"Please, baby-" Anything else you might beg for is stolen from you as he slides his hand back down to your hole, only this time they press in with his middle and ring finger.

He twists his hand so his palm is facing the ceiling before he curls his fingers towards himself. The pads of them rub right along your sweet spot, your legs twitch as you sob gently, hands grasping at the couch beneath you.

"Please what?" He starts to pump his fingers in and out of you so damn slowly.

"Please, put your mouth on my pussy." You gasp as he pushes his fingers all the way in.

His eyes turn even darker before he bites the skin of your thigh where he was kissing.

"I love it when you talk like that." He mumbles before dipping his mouth down to tongue at your clit immediately.

You can't rip your eyes away from him while he licks at you. His fingers maintain their lazy pace as he flattens his tongue and moves it in slow up and down strokes.

All of you starts to wind up immediately, your walls tremble and pulse as your abs tighten and your breath hitches.

"Oh my god, Toshi." You whimper as the tension in your core builds.

He doesn't stop, he doesn't increase anything, he just keeps going.

The hand that isn't knuckles deep inside you reaches up to play with one of your nipples, tweaking and tugging. Your back arches at the added stimulation, small cries rip out of your throat when the fingers inside you crook just right.

You feel so hot, so full, so worked up. His tongue massages your sensitive bud as his fingers hit every single sweet spot inside you. You cry out and twitch as you finally fall over the edge. Falling doesn't seem right though, you don't feel any pull from gravity. You feel weightless, floating and flying through all of the sparks that twirl around you as you clamp down on his skilled fingers. He stays put between your legs, tongue and fingers guiding you through your climax.

“Perfect baby, that was perfect” His praise makes you dizzy, his fingers slow inside you before he pulls them out just so he can take them into his mouth with a sinful look in his eyes.

“-And so fucking sweet.” His eyes roll back as he licks his fingers clean.

“You’re incredible, Toshi.” You smooth some of the hair away from his forehead.

He scoots up to rest his chin on your stomach, he looks up at you with unusually bright eyes. It’s probably the warm wash of the christmas lights, but the bags that typically sit under his eyes almost look nonexistent.

“Get up here." You say with a weak voice.

"Yes ma'am." His voice is syrupy and enchanting, making you feel impossibly warm from the inside out.

He scoops you up into his arms with ease, settling you both back onto the couch so you can straddle him again. You feel him everywhere, in your chest, your bones, especially between your legs. Your hips grind down on him, hands needy and selfish as they find any skin they can.

“Wanna feel you, please, let me feel you.” His words all mush together a little, almost drunk sounding as his hips press up into yours, his heavy length stuck between your bodies.

You just nod and whimper against his neck when your head falls forward as you lift yourself up slightly, inviting him to shoot his hand down so he can line himself up at your entrance.

“So good, so fucking good.” He pants as you settle back down, taking him in easily as you do.

You don’t think the feeling of Hitoshi pressing into you like this will ever get old. It’s all so perfect, so quiet, so safe. Your nails dig into his pretty skin as you settle onto him completely, enraptured in the dull stretch he provides, mesmerized by his tip kissing your deepest sweet spot.

His arms snake around your waist, lifting your torso up just slightly. He holds you in place as he presses a kiss into your temple. Your hands find his hair again and you gather as much as you can. You both moan against each other when he rolls his hips up the first time.

“You’re so good for me, kitten, so damn tight.” He whispers before nipping your ear.

You can’t respond, you don’t even know how.

His hips keep rolling, then he's thrusting, then he’s fucking.

He keeps your torso locked against his as he snaps his hips up into yours, hot pants of breath fan against your neck as you whimper and tremble in his lap.

“You always like it when I get going, don’t you darlin’?” His voice rumbles against you, deep and full, punctuating his words with the snap of his hips.

You sniffle and nod, maybe answering somewhere amongst the string of moans and whines leaving your body as the pleasure builds inside you.

His palm cracks across your ass suddenly, then he grabs at the meat of your hip afterwards. It’s not a show of dominance, definitely not punishment, when you finally meet his eyes you know it’s all passion. All consuming, delirious passion.

“More, Toshi, please.”

“You got it, love.” He buries his face in your neck and lets out the most gorgeous, strangled moan as he starts to fuck you even harder. He spanks you one more time as he takes every inch of you, intense and dedicated.

With every thrust in he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. He angles his hips up just a bit more, rubbing your insides just right.

“There- fuck, baby- right there, right there.” You cry out into the room.

“Shit- let me look at you, let me see that pretty face.” He fists his hand into your hair so he can pull your head up, again the movement lacks any possessive bite, he’s just guiding.

“You’re such a good girl, so fucking good.” He’s close too, he always gets mouthy when he’s close.

Your walls start to pulse around him as he pounds away at your insides, his fingers sink into your hip as the other pulls your head back a little bit more.

“Oh kitten, I felt that, you close? You gonna cum for me?” He lures you in with his filthy words and his rich voice.

“I’m- Toshi, oh fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck.” You sob out each word as your body seizes completely, heat settles between your legs as your walls start to clamp rhythmically around him.

“That’s it, cum on that cock, cum on that fucking cock.” With a few more deep, sloppy thrusts he stills inside of you, spilling into your cunt as he groans in the back of his throat.

You both moan and twitch and whimper against each other. Your bodies shiver and grind, hands cling as breathing slows and you both just feel everything all at once.

“So good, so beautiful.” He mumbles into your damp neck.

As you both roll through your aftershocks as you slide your hands up to cradle his face.

“I love you, bad accents and all.” You kiss his forehead, his nose, his chin.

He just chuckles and stays still, letting himself be loved.

“I adore you.” He beams up at you, that mischievous glint dances in his eyes again.

“Don’t move.” He says before depositing you onto the couch.

You plop down with a small yelp of protest which he promptly ignores. You shake your head as he dashes off down the hall. You assume to get a washcloth or something, but why so abruptly?

You shiver a little bit, your damp body making you feel a little too cold now that you’re not moving so much. You scan the room for the discarded clothing, eyes locking on his shirt immediately. You throw it over your body and let the black fabric drown you, the long sleeves swallow your hands as the length of it meets the middle of your thighs.

Hitoshi thumps down the hallway and rounds the corner with a little too much speed and certainly no washcloth. He’s thrown on a pair of basketball shorts, they hang off his toned body so well, making your mouth water and your thighs rub together even after you’ve been so satisfied.

“Shirt thief.” He laughs before walking towards you lazily.

He settles on his knees in front of you, hooking his hands under your knees so he can pull you towards him. He moves so your thighs are around his ribs and his arms are around your hips.

“Round two already?” You tease, running your hands through his messy hair.

“Bet you’d like that, little minx.” He pulls you in and lays his head against your chest.

You giggle as you soak up his warmth, hands twirling his wild strands as he lets out a long sigh.

“I do adore you, you know that, right?” He asks as he brings his head up so look at you.

“I do, are you going to tell me what that weird exit was about?” You ask, bringing one hand down to caress his cheek, curiosity digging at your brain.

He settles back a little, putting just a bit more space between you so he can look you in the eyes completely.

“I love you, you make me feel alive and awake and aware. You make me feel seen and known and so fucking loved. I want to keep feeling that way, and I want to make you feel that way.” He says, his words make your heart soar and tears well in your eyes.

Then he’s reaching for his pocket.

Then he’s pulling out a little black box.

“You really do set my soul on fire, so… would you please, please marry me?”

He pops open the box and it’s perfect. It’s your favorite stone set beautifully in the metal you like, nothing over the top, simple and stunning. There’s not even a second of thought, every inch of your being loves Hitoshi Shinsou. It’s been that way since you first met him, that lanky mess of purple hair and bad jokes. This is all you want, it’s all you need.

“Yes, duh, absolutely, yes, yes, yes!” You sink off the couch so you can kneel with him, throwing your arms around his neck and knocking him onto his back. You attack his handsome face with kisses, grabbing the sides of his head to hold him in place.

“Who’s cheesy now?” He laughs as he grabs you by your sides and flips you over, between giggles and kisses he somehow gets the ring out of the box, he pulls you up to your knees as he mirrors you on his.

You offer him your left hand, when did it start shaking? Slowly, like he’s scared you’ll run away, he slides it onto your ring finger.

“Toshi, it’s so pretty.” You breathe.

“Well, then it matches you, love.”

He kisses you again, long and deep, hands on your waist as yours fly to the collar of his shirt, wishing to pull him closer and closer.

“Merry Christmas.” He mumbles against your lips, both of you grinning so much you know your cheeks will hurt.

“Hell yeah it is.” You reply, filled with the love you feel for your person, for the man that will be your husband.

[citydreamgrls]

a simple favour - part one

fred weasley x fem!reader 

summary: it was all in her best interests, fred never meant to catch feelings for her. it had started as a simple favour.

words: 3,371

warnings: swearing , tw: stalking / stalker , smut in later parts (18+)

find part two here

It had started off out of the blue one morning, a letter waiting for me in the great hall when I came down for breakfast. I had been fixing my hair when multiple heads turned towards me, I frowned as I sat down.

“What?”

Hermione held a letter in her hand, passing it over to me with a weirded out look on her face. I shrugged, recognising my name on the front but not the hand it was written in.

I laughed to myself as my eyes scanned over each carefully thought out word, describing my appearance and how ‘entrancing’ I was. Whoever had intended this letter for me was confessing their feelings in an oddly poetic and creepy way, my only conclusion being that it had to be one of the others playing a trick on me.

“Very funny guys, which one of you wrote this? I can’t recognise the writing.” I threw the parchment down carelessly, letting expectant eyes read over it as Ron grabbed it for himself.

“Doesn’t it say?” Hermione asked me, trying to read it over Harry’s head. “It was already here when we came down.”

“Yeah… this isn’t any of us.” Ron scoffed.

“I think you have a secret admirer y/n.” Harry added, handing it back to me.

I squinted, drinking some of my coffee and eyeing up their faces, expecting one of them to snap and laugh. But all I got was stone cold confusion from each of them. If only the letters had stopped there, then I may not have minded. Little did I know, it would only get worse.

-

The letters came every single day, sometimes multiple times. What once was harmless words of my beauty and desire turned sinister, now whoever was writing also seemed to know my whereabouts every day. He would depict times when I thought I had been alone, or claim he’d watched me go for my morning shower. My every move was documented, all with a perfect description of what I had been wearing even days after it had happened. The most disgusting part was the anonymity, the knowledge that this person was getting away with being a massive pervert and torturing me with it day in and day out. Whoever was obsessed with me was keeping it a secret and successfully stalking me from the sidelines.

The day that I found flowers on my bed I screamed like I’d been stabbed, making Ron and Harry quickly race up to the dorm thinking that I’d been attacked. Both of them had cringed at ‘gift’ with the realisation that he’d been in my room, sat on my bed and possibly done worse.

“Make sure nothing’s been taken.” Ron had said grimly, making me shudder at the fear that they could have something of mine.

“Jesus what a creep.” I’d whispered, stomping over to the bed and throwing the flowers out the window with a furious shout.

Since that day Hermione tried putting a curse on the bedroom door, meaning that only those who knew the counter-curse could enter, and those who didn’t would be blown all the way back down to the common room. Poor Ron had ended up being the test subject, which he wasn’t happy about in the slightest, but we had to make sure it worked somehow.

However, even that didn’t work. The letters kept arriving as usual, and the gifts would still appear neatly in my room every day. Not that it stopped me from discarding them in the most public way possible. My anger was growing by the second and throwing them away didn’t feel finite enough, so one night after watching the boy’s quidditch practice when Hermione and I found a teddy bear on my pillow I finally lost my cool.

I could hear voices in the common room, but that didn’t stop me. With the bear in one hand I stormed down, pushed past the small crowd of people laughing and chatting, and threw it into the fire with a grunt. They all fell into silence, Hermione catching up just in time to see its fur crackle away.

I sighed in relief, it felt good to watch the flames engulf around it. Whispers started up from behind me as my friend came over, her hand holding mine gently as we both just stood there. The bear's eyes began to melt, the plastic dripping down its face.

“Come on,” She murmured, taking me back upstairs where I screamed about how horrifying it all was and whether this ‘sick fuck’ thought he was being genuinely romantic.

-

“Who do you think it could be?” Hermione asked me the next night, as I ripped up yet another letter. The sight of my own owl was beginning to instil fear within me.

“At first I thought it could’ve been the twins, but even they’re finding this too much.”

Fred and George knew pretty much everything about everyone at Hogwarts, but when Ron had shown them the extent of this person’s doing, they too drew up a blank, mentioning how weird all of it was.

“They’re not like that,”

“This isn’t a harmless prank anymore is it?” I asked the girl, who wanted desperately to help me solve this twisted mystery.

“I don’t think it ever was,” She hummed to herself, sighing in defeat at the knowledge that the letter I was destroying was in no means the last of its kind.

-

It quickly became common knowledge that I had a stalker after my meltdown in the common room. Professor Mcconagall even offered to help, but there wasn’t much she could do without knowing who it was. Honestly I was weirdly glad she couldn’t, all this frustration had made me determined to deal with the fucker myself.

Hermione didn’t let me go anywhere by myself anymore, with the fear that the creep could pounce while I was without one of them. Most of the time it was fine, I had classes with at least one of them at all times and we had meals together as it was. But it meant that whenever I needed to study, one of them would have to go with me to the library. Hermione also made the rule that she’d sit outside my cubicle every time I showered, especially since the stalker had mentioned it before, keeping watch in case he tried to show up while I was vulnerable.

Despite it making my life a little more complicated, I was glad the others were so willing to look after me. If it wasn’t for them being with me 24/7 who knows what could have happened?

-

It was Harry’s turn to be on y/n watch, as he and Ron had called it, when Fred and George came running into the common room breathless. We had been looking over the most recent letter and discussing more theories on who it could possibly be when they’d burst in. We let them get their breath back, Fred hunching over as George did his best to get his words out.

“We know who it is y/n..” He’d just about managed. I jumped up, letting him sit down.

“Wh-at? Really? Who- how?” I stuttered.

Fred stood up straight, having finally gotten his heartbeat back down.

“Katie bell said she’d seen Cormac Mclaggen writing some letters this morning, then Lavender said something about him buying a teddy in Hogsmeade last week.”

“But they both saw him coming down your dorm tower last night.” George finished, cutting his brother off from the kicker of the story.

“Oi I was getting to that.” Fred grumbled, but I had zoned them as soon as I’d heard Cormac’s name mentioned.

My fists clenched up with absolute aggression, I could kill him. Now I had a disgusting, smug face to put to all the fear and loathing he’d caused and all I wanted to do was break said face.

“That fucker!” I shouted out into thin air, heading for the door. But Fred was the one to catch me before I reached it, dragging me back again without a second thought.

“Y/n it could be someone else,” Harry tried to reason, but it had to be him. It only made sense. The twins didn’t seem too convinced but argued another point against me going to find him myself.

“Besides Mclaggen is a big guy, if you go alone there’s no saying what he’d do to you.” George nodded in agreement with his brother and, as much as I hated to admit it, Fred was right. Cormac had been keeper on their quidditch team for a while now, and didn’t hide how much he liked to work out when flirting with girls. So why was he choosing me to be so creepy and mysterious to, not that I would’ve appreciated him doing it face to face either.

We decided to have a secret meeting later that night with everyone after telling Hermione and Ron what we’d learnt. Ron was mad, wanting to confront him immediately similarly to how I had reacted, but like the others Mione agreed that we should plan something.

“Guys like that are too proud, he won’t listen to y/n if she rejects him in person,” She had explained, cross legged at the end of my bed. I was propped up against my headboard, my knees tucked up to my body with multiple means of murder running through my mind.

“Not to mention you’d be giving him the satisfaction he’s always wanted,” Fred added, sitting on the windowsill beside me. One of his feet was hanging off the edge near me, swinging ever so slightly. Some weird part of me wanted to reach out, just for something to hold onto.

In the end it was decided that Ron, Harry and the twins would go and talk to him in the morning while they were at quidditch practice. This meant that I could go down to breakfast without the worry that he would be there, watching me from down the table. I tried to hide my fear of him, but with so many of them looking after me that night it was inevitable that at least one of them saw the tears in my eyes, if not all of them.

-

Hermione, Ron and Harry needed to go to the library to do homework after we discussed Cormac, leaving me with the twins as bodyguards which could have been worse. They did their best to take my mind off of the boy who had been writing to me about his deepest fantasies, but I wasn’t in the mood for it.

George played around with the perfume bottles lined up on the dresser, using his wand to make them dance. He had always been good at keeping himself amused. Fred had remained on the windowsill the whole time, his foot still going back and forth even when I laid on my side and found it right in my face.

He laughed lightly as I poked it away wordlessly, only to push it back into my face again. Admittedly, our little game of him swinging his foot to me so I could gently hit it away kept my mind busy for a while. Obviously it had sent me to sleep too, as I woke up when Hermione came back to let the twins go. Half asleep I groaned a thank you to them, Fred rustling my hair as he passed by and George slapping my leg in recognition.

-

Breakfast the next morning felt tense, Lavender had told people she thought it was Mclaggen which meant everyone kept coming up to ask if it was true. Some of them even tried to convince me how nice he really was, and that I was lucky to be wanted by him. Hermione of course sent them all on their way, keeping a hold of my hand as I struggled to finish even one slice of toast. All the while, my eyes remained glued to the great hall doors, hoping I wouldn’t see him turn up early from practice. The thought of seeing him at all had kept me away from the common room, a sickly feeling bubbling in my stomach knowing that the boy’s would probably be confronting him right about now.

I felt like throwing up on the spot, my friend’s hand getting crushed in my own as I saw him saunter in, his eyes immediately catching mine and giving me a smug smile. All I wanted to do was go over to where he sat down without a care and break his nose off with one punch. That would stop him from smirking so much like a pervert.

“What happened?” Hermione asked the boys when they finally arrived.

“”He’s a huge git you know.” Ron grumbled, glaring the boy down but the whole time it was me he was watching. I stopped looking after a while, my eyes glossing over as I listened to the twins explain how he’d reacted.

“I don’t think he even cares that we know,” Fred said.

“He’s proud of it really.” George added, making that sickly feeling somehow intensify.

“Even with these two around he wasn’t bothered,” Harry pointed to the older Weasley brothers with a huff.

“Yeah, and we were threatening him quite a lot.” George laughed, no one else really responding to his attempt at a cheery comment.

“We better go,”Hermione said, checking the time and taking my hand “Come on, if we don’t go now he might wait all day.” She whispered to me and I nodded, standing up with her. “Just ignore him.” The girl reminded me as we got nearer to his end of the table, his eyes following my step.

I broke from Mione’s grip, leaning across the table to him with a glare on my face. The fear had turned into anger all over again now that he was in front of me.

“You’re vile Mclaggen.”

“What’s wrong y/n?” He asked, that smirk never faltering. “Didn’t you like my love letters?”

People around him were confused, now learning that he’d been the one to stalk me these past couple of weeks. While some of them were his friends, none of them jumped to his defense.

“You need to get a fucking life, and leave me alone you freak.” I spat, standing up straight again to see a shocked Hermione waiting for me. I just smiled and took her hand again, leading her out of the hall as if nothing had happened.

“Christ y/n..” she scoffed “Well done.” I leant against the windowsill in the hallway, laughing hysterically into my hands.

“God that felt good.” I breathed a sigh of relief, not sure whether it worked or not but glad that I at least got to embarrass him for just one moment.

-

It was my mistake to let my guard down and expect nothing more from Mclaggen that day. Because what happened that very night still is the very reason people check that every door and window is locked before they go to bed.

The commotion had woken me up first, shouts and panicked scuffling coming from two different people. Then the lights were turned on, dragging me out of my sleep in a single second just to see Hermione standing in the middle of the room with her wand outstretched. At the other end, Cormac Mclaggen was backing away slowly with his hands in the air, finally a frightened look on his face. He looked over at me, now awake and frozen with fear, giving Mione a chance to shout out for help.

“RON! FRED!” she screamed, knowing just one of them had to have heard from their beds. With this Cormac ran off, Hermione shooting stunning spells after him but he dodged every one of them as he descended the tower.

“Oh my god,” I finally gasped, swallowing down hard. I broke out into a burst of tears just before the boys turned up at the door George and Harry with them, all of them with wands out for whatever was going to be inside. Hermione wrapped her arms around me, looking up at the boys but still reassuring me that it was all okay now.

“He was in here,” She said slowly, making Ron and Harry race down to the common room to see if they could catch him.

Fred and George came to my side, each taking one of my hands and holding it tight. They sat with me all through the night, letting Hermione sleep for a while. Neither of them dared drift off themselves, certain that this wouldn’t be the creep’s last attempt to get close to me.

“You can sleep if you want,” Fred whispered to me, my head leaning on his shoulder. I shook it slightly.

“I can’t.”

-

{third pov}

When y/n whispered to him that she couldn’t sleep, despite all the people there to keep watch for that dick Mclaggen, Fred decided he wanted to see him dead. There had to be more he could do, something that would make him leave her alone for good. Threats hadn’t worked on him, neither had the girl he wanted so badly confronting him. So the boy felt at a loss, yet fuelled to stop the onslaught of fear that y/n felt.

So he waited until his brother was in the shower to sneak off to the courtyard, hoping to catch the pervert on his way to his daily run by the lake.

“Oi, Mclaggen!” He called across the empty bridge, seeing him appear from the castle.

“You alright Weasley?”

“It’s Fred. And I know what you did last night?” He stood tall over the boy, but nothing seemed to waver his confidence.

“And what would that be?”

“You were there, in her room. You sick fucker.” The boy huffed, feeling himself growing more and more frustrated at Cormac’s arrogance.

“You missed quite a party,” he scoffed, raising his eyebrows. Fred reached forward, grabbing his shirt and pulling it up to his chin.

“You listen to me, Okay? Leave y/n alone.” The boy swore that the pervert’s smile grew.

“And what’s it to you Weasley.” He all but hissed.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

The words had come out quicker than he’d really had time to think over their repercussions, but seeing the look on Mclaggen’s face drop in shock made up for whatever he was going to have to do from then on.

“She.. l-likes you?” Fred dropped him again, making him stumble slightly as he thought it over.

“Afraid so buddy.”

“How long has she been yours?” He hated the way it was phrased as if y/n was a possession for one of them to own.

“Two weeks.” Fred lied yet again, the anger he’d felt pushing him continue this story. At least it seemed to bother the other boy enough.

Cormac had sent one last glare at the ginger, before going off in a huff. Finally something had worked, maybe not for good, but it at least had gotten a reaction out of him. As Fred headed back inside the castle he realised that the only way the creep’s obsessive ways could be stopped, was if y/n’s attention was somewhere else.

Now he just had to find a way to explain that to her, without her getting too mad.

-

My room was now my safe place, somewhere he couldn’t turn up without consequence. Harry had brought me some breakfast from the great hall, and Ron was doing his best to keep what little spirits we had amongst us high. Hermione and George had given up trying to convince me to tell Mcgonagall, as I assured them nothing could be done unless he was caught inside the dorm.

“It’s just our word against his,” I huffed. We were all sitting around wondering where Fred had disappeared to when he appeared at the door, an awkward smile on his face when we all looked over at him.

“So…” He started, his voice wary as if we all might snap at him for what he was abou to say. “I might have done something bad.”

[talktomeinclexa]

Mend The Heart You Broke (Heal The Wounds You Caused)

By: TalktomeinClexa

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Status: WIP (1/9)

Summary: Clarke and Lexa led the perfect life. Married, two children, a big house, a group of reliable friends. Until Lexa cheated on her wife and the idyllic picture was smashed to bits. Three months later, Clarke is still trying to put the pieces of her heart together when Lexa slowly comes back into her life. The path to forgiveness will force the artist onto a self-introspection journey that won't leave anyone unscathed. But isn't true love worth the fight?

***

Chapter 1: Broken Hearts

Who do you think you are?

Runnin’ ’round leaving scars

Collecting your jar of hearts

Tearing love apart

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a woman with a battered heart, must drown her sorrows in depressing songs. Clarke muses over the thought as Christina Perri’s ballad voices the pain eating her bit by bit. Outside, rain is drenching the garden and obstructing the windows with thick, endless drops, completing the cliché. It would be almost poetic if it weren’t so ridiculously tragic, and she can’t help but chuckle humorlessly at the dramatic scene.

She stands in front of the sink after lunch, drying the plates, glasses, and cutlery while her children play in their room. The perfect picture of the suburban mom, with shoulder-length blond hair curling at the ends, baby-blue eyes, an attractive figure despite having twins, and close to no wrinkles to mark her almost 37 years on this earth. A former aspiring artist turned full-time stay-at-home mom whose career is finally taking off now that the kids are in school and she has time to paint. What more could she want?

Distracted by her rumination, she loosens her fingers half an inch too much. The plate, too happy to add insult to her still-opened injuries, slides off the dish towel and comes crashing into the sink. With unmistakable irony, it breaks right in the middle; two parts forever split where they used to be only one. Just like her heart, she thinks, breaking into heavy sobs in the middle of her kitchen.

“Mama? Are you crying?”

Clarke discreetly wipes the tears rolling down her cheeks before turning around to face her son. Her little boy, the one man in her life she loves to the moon and back. She hopes it will be many years before he learns to recognize a genuine smile from the fake one she flashes at him.

“No, honey. I had something in my eyes. What are you doing here? I thought you were playing in your room.”

“I heard noise. And Madi is mean. She don’t want to share the pencils with me.”

Despite the rivers of tears flowing under the surface of her eyes, Clarke can’t help but smile at his pout. Her life has been turned upside-down. Her marriage has been blown to pieces. But her kids? They are so goddamn amazing; nothing will ever change that.

“She doesn’t. And that isn’t very nice, indeed. Come on, mister. Let’s see if I can convince her to share.”

A sigh is her undoing, and she grabs her son under the armpits before pulling him close to her chest. His short legs wrap around her waist, and his arms circle her neck like the heaviest noodles in the world. He’s getting too big for this, and she needs to exercise more. Pale green eyes stare at her when she ruffles his blond hair, a shade darker than hers already.

“Are we going to see Mommy today?” he asks in a whisper.

It tears her heart apart all over again that he has learned not to voice anything regarding his other mother too loudly lest she breaks. Another fake smile and a kiss on his forehead buy her the time necessary to unclench her throat.

“No. I’m sorry, honey. You know she works hard. Soon.”

What’s one more broken promise, after all, if not the summary of her marriage? 

With an extra bounce in her step to make him laugh, she heads for the twins’ bedroom, across from the one where she has lain alone for three months. The pillows don’t smell like Lexa anymore, and the indentation of her wife’s shape has disappeared from the left side of the bed. Still, Clarke struggles to fall asleep every night, her traitorous hand looking for the warmth of a body that is no longer there.

Keep Reading

[artificialqueens]

Something More (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - Hi Ortega, love you xx

Here’s a cheeky little girl band au in which A'Whora is sort of in love with her bandmate, Lawrence is sort of in love with her makeup artist, and Bimini has no idea what’s going on. Enjoy, bing bang bong <3

Death by a thousand cuts lingers on A’Whora’s mind. There seems to be a million ways to express how she’s feeling; the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final tipping point. The way that little things just build and build and build until their crushing weight is suddenly made noticeable to the poor fool trapped beneath them, already without any hope of survival.

Maybe she’s being dramatic, maybe poetic. Maybe that’s why she’s good at writing lyrics, why she scribbles them down in glittery notebooks that Lawrence makes fun of her for buying. They can hardly use what she writes in her free time, the need for fun, relatable and light-hearted lyrics far outweighing the demand for her emotional ramblings, but nevertheless she’s still alright at it.

More than anything, it’s the numbness that bothers her. This pain isn’t jarring, soul destroying, artistically tragic like she wishes it was. She mostly feels an ever-present nothing, with the occasional empty hole like a vacuum in her stomach that weighs on her late at night, alone in bed. The feeling is heavy and cold, but she can’t describe it any better than that. She’s tried, and the scrunched up paper and furiously crossed out words provide more than enough explanation as to how that endeavour went.

Is she ridiculous to be angry over wanting a little communication, knowing she herself hasn’t done it either? Is she hypocritical for internally begging Tayce to explain when she knows full well she’s not explained her side?

Whatever the answer, she’s an idiot for hooking up with her bandmate.

Sighing frustratedly, she throws her pencil across the room, likely to never be seen again, and shuts her notebook. The pencil flies through the air and hits the wall just as Lawrence enters, missing her head by mere centimetres. She reels backwards out of shock and then clings onto the doorframe, one hand on her heaving chest.

“Fuck me! You trying to kill me or something?” Lawrence demands, her expressions every bit as big and blown up as they are on stage.

A’Whora flops onto her bed as Lawrence sits on hers - they’re sharing the hotel room, Tayce and Bimini paired up across the hall.

“Not you, babes.” She rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs out as her head crashes into the pillow.

Lawrence snorts. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s far from fucking paradise and you know it, you nasty bitch.” A’Whora shoots back, relieved that neither of them are stupid enough to interpret any malice in the harsh way they speak to one another.

Truth be told, A’Whora and Tayce’s hooking up is probably the worst kept secret in all their band management. Tayce seems to think nobody knows, and she’s all the happier for it, but A’Whora knows for a fact that Lawrence, the entire style team and their management all know what’s going on - it’s really only Bimini, bless her, who’s in the dark about it. The second worst kept secret is Lawrence and their makeup artist, Ellie, but that’s the farthest from A’Whora’s mind currently.

“It used to be fun, you know what I mean, like? Like it’s just me and Tayce and we’re having a good time and everything, there’s no pressure for dating or nothing like that, ‘cause she weren’t ready for it.”

Lawrence blinks. “Am I supposed to be sensing a problem here, or?”

A’Whora groans. “Shut up, bitch, I’m trying to do a fucking monologue for you! Anyway, it’s just weird because I swear like I haven’t done anything and nothing’s changed at all but her texts are really friendly rather than like flirty now?”

“And you haven’t sent me off to Ellie’s room in a while so the two of you can fuck like rabbits.” Lawrence finishes, a sly grin on her face knowing that she’s just pissed A’Whora right off by interrupting the aforementioned monologue.

Crude as she is, she’s right - and A’Whora probably would’ve worded it in a way more disgusting manner herself. It’s a decent system that they’ve rigged up, honestly. Whenever Tayce texts, or A’Whora texts her, she sends Lawrence off to go find Ellie, makes up some lie about why their bandmate isn’t sleeping in their room tonight, and then they can spend some quality time together. It’s simple but efficient, hence its brilliance.

“Sorry babes. You know you can still go see her even if I’m not seeing Tayce?”

Lawrence snorts. “Nah, you’re fine. To be honest she’s fucked me right off recently so I’m not in the mood to see her.”

It’s horrible, but A’Whora’s secretly glad that she’s not the only one entangled in some kind of romantic or sexual turmoil. “Aw, what did she do?”

“None of your business, you nosy bitch!” Lawrence half-yells, but bizarrely, she’s still not mad. “You were ranting about your secret lover?”

“Fuck off,” She shoots back, “I was done, anyway. She’s just, like, reset. I don’t get it.”

She’s not strong enough to confide what she really thinks. It clouds her mind constantly, a small part of her brain daring her to just come out and say it in the malicious hope that she’ll find out how it feels to broadcast. Her stupid, selfish brain is worried that Tayce has met someone, someone she likes, someone she’d be willing to, or interested in, pursuing a romantic relationship with. Because romance has never been part of their deal, something they’d agreed on. Romance was off the table for Tayce because she wasn’t ready, and A’Whora was fine with that.

Maybe she was in the wrong for going along with the hook ups and flirting under false pretences. A’Whora had hoped, secretly, that over time, Tayce’s aversion to love and commitment might begin to soften, and surely the most natural, safe way to ease into it would be with someone who she already knew could have a fun flirty rapport with her, not to mention a metric fuckton of sexual chemistry?

Behind every flirty text held the secret hope that Tayce’s feelings would one day find the strength to break out. A’Whora hadn’t meant to get attached to her bandmate like she had, but there seemed to be fuck all she could do about it now.

“Well,” Lawrence announces, rolling onto her back and gesturing up in the air with her arms, “You’re fucked off, I’m fucked off, I say we go and get absolutely steamin’ and forget that we’ve ever felt a positive emotion towards someone who doesn’t give a fuck.”

A’Whora closes her eyes, heart sinking. “I’d actually love to, but we can’t just go the two of us, because then we’re leaving out the others. Bims’ll wanna come, and if Bims comes we have to invite Tayce and I literally don’t wanna see her because it’s so weird that I’ve been like, demoted to friend.”

“She removed the benefits,” Lawrence nods understandingly, “In many ways, we could compare her to the Tory government.”

“Could we fuck,” A’Whora laughs in spite of her own heavy misery. “You’re literally insane. Loz, what the fuck do I do about this?”

Lawrence shrugs. “I told you, my best solution is to go and get smashed! If we just drink here then we didn’t go out without anyone so we didn’t break any friend rules and they’re none the fucking wiser to our collective romance issues.”

The word romance makes A’Whora tense - it’s uncomfortable to think about it like that, almost embarrassing to dwell on her own feelings as having a romantic nature about them from a purely sexual relationship. Luckily for her, a sneaky or perhaps Freudian slip catches her attention and drags it away from her own issue, A’Whora bolting upright to stare at her friend.

“Lawrence Chaney. Did you just say collective romance issues? I thought you and Ellie were just fanny friends!”

Understandably, Lawrence is horrified at her turn of phrase, but A’Whora doesn’t miss the telltale reddening of her ears that suggests she’s said something she shouldn’t have. An eye-roll powerful enough to induce a tsunami follows Lawrence shifting herself up, glaring at A’Whora, and then scowling.

“First,” She replies, one finger wagging in front of her, “Never fucking say fanny friends ever again. Second…”

A’Whora gasps, already anticipating some gossip.

“You’re gonna get me a fucking gin if you’re gonna make me talk about this.”

-

More intelligent girls, or perhaps just less heartache-y ones, would know better than to get wasted in their hotel room the night before a show, but A’Whora and Lawrenced have never been the best at smart decisions. Ironically, it’s the deceptively smart bimbo Bimini who usually is able to reign them in, though she often chooses not to. Left to their own devices, there’s a lot of gin and a little bit of lemonade that seems to mysteriously disappear as tongues get looser and inhibitions get lowered. Before they even know what’s happening, both girls are sitting on the floor between their beds, legs stretched out before them, bemoaning their woeful, humiliating love lives.

It’s almost as if they think that if they don’t get it right now, they never will. To some extent, in A’Whora’s mind, that’s true, even when she knows, realistically, that she’s only in her mid-twenties and life goes on. But really, what is love if not an agony freezing you in time, a force that makes the past a mere blur and the future non-existent? Love is present and now, and if she misses her chance, who says there’ll be another?

(Almost everyone says there will. But A’Whora is drunk and her words are happy and her mind is sad.)

Luckily, Lawrence has been talking for long enough that A’Whora doesn’t have to spill all her thoughts into a drunken spiel that she knows wouldn’t make a lick of sense. She keeps swearing and avoiding the point, but somewhere in her long-winded ramble confessions start to unravel themselves, and a good scandal is enough to distract her for the time being.

“So I fuckin’ - aw fuck, hen, do me a favour and refill me?” Lawrence asks, A’Whora just passing her the bottle and gesturing for her to continue. “I fuckin’ asked her, y’know, are we just doing this or are we something more, like, fuckin’ stupid thing to ask honestly and I regretted it as soon as I did but then she answered and fuck me.”

She makes an effort to impersonate Ellie - a slightly higher pitched, slightly less intensely Scottish accent with something of a mockingly nervous whine to it as she repeats, “I’m keeping my options open. Fuckin’ options! I’ve no’ had anyone since her and I wouldny’ fuckin’ want to either and she’s fuckin’ got A, B, C or D all the fuckin’ above! It’s fucked.”

A’Whora gasps. “Bitch, you proper like her! You like Ellie!”

“Say that any louder and I’ll box your fuckin’ ears,” Lawrence threatens, only half kidding judging by the glare in her eyes. “Am I wrong to feel fuckin’ betrayed that I didn’t know she was seeing others as well as me?”

She snorts. “Loz, babes, I’m losing my mind at the very idea that Tayce has found someone, look who you’re talking to.”

Lawrence shrugs in agreement. “Makes me feel sick.”

There’s a pause. “Actually, that might be the gin.”

Another pause. “Oh, it’s the gin.”

She all but launches herself up and towards the bathroom, A’Whora instantly going into a flap. If Lawrence is sick on the carpet she’ll literally never forgive her, but she needs to help her friend, but fuck if she’s gonna stand there in the bathroom gagging at her. She decides, vaguely last minute, to run out into the corridor and grab some cold water from the machine, panicking and shouting her plan in the general direction of the bathroom before dashing outside. Embarrassing, but at twenty five years old A’Whora still can’t handle someone being sick.

A brief but unwelcome thought flits into her head - I’d help Tayce. She shakes it away, tells herself she wouldn’t, but a sad stupid part of her knows she could sit there and painfully gag her way through helping Tayce if she needed to, because she’s a spineless idiot who fell for her bandmate. There’s a flash of guilt for the fact that she wouldn’t do the same for Bims or Lawrence, but reasons that she has to draw the line somewhere.

The hotel has this awful chintzy carpet, a weird swirly print on a red base that reminds A’Whora of weird-smelling care homes and outdated grandma’s houses. Just looking at it makes her head spin uncomfortably - maybe she’s a little drunker than she thought. Perhaps she’ll get two cups of ice water instead, sober herself up a bit and all.

Then Tayce is standing in front of her all of a sudden and A’Whora has no idea how she’s got there.

(Did she… summon Tayce? Manifest her presence?)

“Girl, you alright? You look a state,” She greets, her accent charming enough to rid the words of their potential offense.

A’Whora vaguely points ahead of her, aware of how dumb she probably looks. “Goin… getting water for Loz. She’s absolutely pissed.”

Tayce laughs, baffled. “Babes, what are you playing at getting drunk the night before a show? Gotta make sure you shake off the hangovers before or else you’re done for!”

“Water fixes all.” A’Whora has no idea what to say. Why would she? She’s been lamenting this girl’s very existence for the past…. God knows how many hours, and now she’s here and she has to slip the besties facade back on except she’s a bit too drunk to remember how to do it properly. Sober A’Whora is going to cringe for days over this, she already knows.

Unsurprisingly, Tayce starts to follow her to grab the water, declaring “Well I’m coming with you, sounds like you’re gonna need someone sober to put you both in bed, you absolute lunatics.”

They’re just walking next to each other and yet A’Whora has never analysed her own way of walking so much in her life before this moment. Are her steps too large? Her arms swinging too much, or too little? Which foot comes next? Is Tayce thinking about how weirdly she’s moving? Should she be trying to keep pace with her or will that be even weirder and she’ll realise what a creep she’s been hooking up with all this time and fully decide against any possibility of something more between them?

They’re just walking. Just one foot and then the next.

Ahead of them, the water cooler glistens like a mirage in a desert, a tantalising goal signalling the end of their journey. A’Whora almost feels like she’s been trekking for hours next to Tayce, unsure of what to say, unsure of what her own act to keep up with is.

Naturally, she fumbles in her attempt to get a flimsy plastic cup from the stack, and then all come crashing down before she can even realise what’s happening. She turns to look at Tayce, the both of them momentarily stunned.

“Oh my god, you absolute beast!” Tayce screeches, her voice hushed for the sake of the late night but laughing all the same, clutching the cooler for balance. “We gotta pick all these up now!”

They do; A’Whora thinks about accidentally brushing her fingers over Tayce’s as they scramble to get everything, and then doesn’t. She thinks about abandoning the water and fumbling keys into locks until they fall into one another and forget everything else. She thinks about just blurting out the truth.

By the time all of the potential scenarios have flown dizzyingly through A’Whora’s drunk mind, she finds herself with two cups of water in her hands, Tayce with the same, leading her back to the hotel room and giggling as she instructs her not to spill a drop. A’Whora laughs, pretending like she’s not struggling to figure out how tightly she should be holding them.

Pretend is easy and she’s always been good at it. Pretending she’s a real rockstar with her Sing Star microphone and Playstation 2 in the living room. Pretending she’s not nervous the day before the biggest audition of her life. Pretending she’s a real musician in a band and not one of four girls shitting themselves backstage at the biggest arenas in the city. Pretending like Tayce might fall for her one day.

Once they get inside - it takes four swipes of A’Whora’s key and brief panic that she’s somehow got the wrong one - it’s clear that Lawrence is done with throwing her guts up and has settled herself in a chair, furiously typing on her phone.

“This room smells like a minibar, you hounds!” Tayce half admonishes, her grin entirely downplaying her words and making A’Whora’s heartbeat jump into overdrive. “Lawrence, what are you doing?”

“Communicating-my-feelings,” She answers through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a particularly aggressive stab at her screen.

Out of curiosity, A’Whora peeks at the screen, and upon seeing a horrifically large wall of text typed out in the chat box with no end in sight, snatches the phone immediately. “Tayce! Hide it! She’s writing a fucking essay!”

Whether A’Whora’s drunk coordination is better than when she’s sober - hopefully not - or Tayce is just talented, she deftly catches the device and locks it.

Lawrence all but springs up, incensed. “Fuck off with that! Ellie needs to know- I’m fucking pissed!”

“Ellie?” Tayce pauses, looking down as if she’ll still see the message. “As in, makeup artist Ellie?”

“Who fuckin’ else?!” Lawrence lunges and misses.

“Knew it.” She’s adorably smug, so much so that A’Whora decides against telling her that literally everyone knows. Her perceived victory makes her face light up and she’s already so beautiful that ruining childlike glee like that should be considered blasphemous. It would be a sin to wipe that smile from her face using anything other than her lips.

She holds the phone up in the air above her head, unreachable. “Right. Well, Lawrence, you can have this back after you’ve drank this water here, brushed your teeth and got into bed, okay? I think that’s a fair deal.”

“Get fucked,” Lawrence responds, totally deadpan as she snatches the plastic cup, spilling half of it down her front and not noticing. “I will drink your magic water and then you will fuck off and I will tell Ellie that she’s a slimey wee bitch.”

Tayce laughs, unfazed. “On second thoughts, darling…” She tucks the phone into her bra and gives a little flourish. “Sort yourself out and I’ll get it back to you in the morning. I’m not having you abusing our lovely Ellie ‘cause you’ve had a lover’s tiff.”

Lawrence squints. “Fuckin’… A’Whora will get it for me. I’m sure you won’t mind feeling her up, eh hen? Though I bet your girlfriend might have something to say about it. OOP!”

A’Whora feels her face flushing, and the panic slams into her like a wave hitting the beach full force, washing over everything. At first she was glad Lawrence was drunker than her, hoping to make less of a fool of herself in front of Tayce and direct the attention onto their favourite Scottish menace, but Lawrence being drunker means Lawrence with an even looser tongue, and for someone who loves to crack a joke and make a cheeky observation at the most inopportune moment, A’Whora finds herself wishing she’s passed out snoring instead. Tayce just laughs and manages to mother hen her into the bathroom, where A’Whora spots her in the mirror, grumpily brushing her teeth like a petulant toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

“Tell you what, I could never have kids, this is bloody exhausting!” Tayce explains, her big bright smile distracting A’Whora, thankfully, from the bulge of Lawrence’s phone. At least, it’s easier to pretend, even mentally, that that’s why she keeps looking at her chest.

“God, I know!” She laughs back, faking it harder than ever and sipping her cup of water. She feels sobered up already, though she’s sure she’s probably not, all too aware of her red cheeks and Lawrence’s loose tongue and terrified something else will be said.

“I mean, what on earth was that? I don’t have a girlfriend, I can tell you that.” She chuckles as if the idea’s ridiculous. A’Whora wonders if she genuinely thinks that, if she doesn’t realise just how many beautiful men and women would fall down at her feet if she so much as paid them a glance.

Lawrence stumbles out; in the two minutes she’s been gone, she seems to have forgotten entirely about her phone, and she looks at the pair with lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ shattered, girls.”

Tayce beams at her. “Get your arse in bed, then!”

A’Whora finishes her water, and Lawrence is asleep in seconds. For good measure, they poke her a couple of times, but since she’s very clearly breathing and seems fine, they decide to stop tormenting her and to just let the poor girl sleep. Tayce sets down Lawrence’s phone on the nightstand next to her, making sure to plug in her charger so it won’t be dead when she wakes up, and the tiny act of thoughtfulness makes A’Whora’s heart swell in a manner she’s wholly embarrassed of.

As if she’s swooning at a girl charging her friend’s phone? It’s ridiculous and she knows it.

“Shall I walk you to your door?” She offers, holding her arm out. Tayce laughs and takes hold of her elbow, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ooh, promenade!”

“You’ve been watching far too much Bridgerton, you have,” A’Whora teases her, jabbing her side as they make their way back down the empty corridor. “Do I have to start calling you My Lady or something, babes?”

Tayce swats her away. “In bed, maybe. Oh, I’ll happily be a Duke or a Duchess, I mean have you seen the pair of them? Bloody gorgeous!”

A’Whora’s chest seizes up at the casual mention of being in bed together. Is the stalemate over? Is Tayce about to explain why she’s suddenly frozen on her and decided she no longer wants to hook up? What the hell even is the reason if there’s no girlfriend? She’s just gone off A’Whora now?

“Oh my God. Tayce, I can’t do this.”

It’s out there. She can’t go back now, can’t reel it back in. She’s fucked.

Tayce stops mid-hallway and frowns, worried. “You alright? If you don’t feel well you can go back, you don’t have to walk me to my room.”

“No, not that,” A’Whora massages her temples, trying to encourage some kind of eloquent thought to help her out, trying to stimulate the part of her brain that writes lyrics, to no avail. “This, us, the weirdness, I can’t do it. I have to know what’s going on, I’m literally going spare over it.”

“I don’t- I don’t get what you mean.”

“Us!” A’Whora cries, then shushes herself, acutely aware of her volume and the people sleeping adjacent to their conversation. “You- you don’t text me the same, and we haven’t- in ages, and I just… Tayce, do you like me?”

Tayce frowns even deeper. “Of course I like you, Rory.”

“Do you proper like me? Do you like me like I like you?”

She feels like a child, enacting a schoolgirl crush with a scribbled note that asks them to tick a yes or no box drawn in pink felt tip, the kind fuzzy from little fingers pressing too hard. If anything, it’s worse than that; at least some prior planning went into those, and a clear question with a yes or no response indicating some kind of confidence. A’Whora has no idea what she’s doing, where she’s going, anything.

“Rory… do you-”

A’Whora cuts her off. “Lawrence thought you might have a girlfriend because I thought you might have one because I was ranting about us to her and how shit I feel that you’ve lost interest in me. We got drunk to ignore how shit we both feel and it didn’t work because she almost blabbed to Ells and now I’m here blabbing to you but I literally can’t help myself. I never can when I’m with you.”

It’s only when she’s finished that she realises Tayce’s expression is full of fear, and her heart sinks like a lead balloon.

“You told Lawrence about us?”

She swallows, guilt seeping in like cracks in a dam. “Tayce, I… We’re not the big secret you think we are. A lot of people know, or suspect. Is… Is that the issue?”

Tayce chews her lip, eyebrows furrowed. Every millisecond that she doesn’t speak is agony, each second another stab to A’Whora’s heart, tiny needles of time cutting into her as she waits and waits for the ugly truth. This is it, now, the swirling nausea in her stomach tells her, this is when it all ends. This is where you scare off the love of your life.

The… what? The fucking what? The who of her what?

Too late now.

“I haven’t lost interest in you. I don’t think that’s even possible. I’m like, obsessed with you.”

A’Whora freezes, expecting virtually anything but that. “You- what? But- huh?”

“Yeah!” Tayce laughs nervously, unsure of how to react - they have that in common, at least. “I mean, girl, look at you, you’re gorgeous. I was getting freaked out by how much I, like, feel, so I just shut everything down and denied it all. I mean, I figured if I was freaking myself out, you must think I’m a right old weirdo. Have I got this all wrong?”

The ice melts. A’Whora can feel the shards shrinking, the wounds closing up, the warmth returning to her in a blossoming not unlike the flowers of spring, freshening the air and sweeping away her anxieties.

“I’ve never been so happy to call you an idiot in my life,” A’Whora tells her.

Tayce cocks an eyebrow. “You dirty liar, you love calling me an idiot,” She bites back, not leaving room for A’Whora to reply before kissing her right then and there, in the middle of a hotel corridor, leaning up against the wall for support. A million chemical reactions spark off all at once, a frenzy of activity rendering her incapable of doing anything but wrapping her arms around her bandmate, her best friend, her everything, and kissing her until she can’t breathe.

When they have to come up for air they do, all gasping and pink cheeks and dazed eyes. Every cell, every nerve, every neuron in A’Whora’s body is awake and alive, drawn towards Tayce like a magnetic pull. She can’t ignore it, and can’t think why she’d ever want to.

-

“Will you fucking stay still?”

“I haven’t moved an inch, hen, your shaky hands are not my problem.”

Ellie huffs, big pink earrings dangling from her ears swinging as she moves her head. They’re shaped like hearts, the word ‘doll’ in cursive across the middle in sparkling letters, and it’s adorably Ellie Diamond in every way possible. Even irritated, she’s oddly cute.

“Lawrence! I’m not trying to make you look ugly, stay still for me!” She pleads.

A’Whora watches from her chair, face already expertly done. She woke up pleasantly early, nestled happily in Tayce’s arms after everything. They’d decided to go back to A’Whora’s room, just in case Lawrence woke up and tried to send reams of abuse to Ellie, and ended up laying together cuddling until they fell asleep. No matter how sober A’Whora swore she was, Tayce just giggled and told her there was no chance of anything more than a cwtch, at least until the morning.

Thankfully, they’d kept Lawrence’s phone away from her, but there was nothing she could do but watch helplessly as Ellie and Lawrence engaged in a battle of attrition while doing makeup.

Lawrence rolls her eyes so hard A’Whora can practically feel it from across the room. “Not to worry hen, there’s more than one girl in the band, I’m sure you’ve got options on who can look pretty and who can’t.”

A’Whora winces at the low blow, and judging by Ellie’s expression, all pouty lips and big sad eyes, she’s hurt. More than anything, she wants to rush in and fix things for them, help them do the big talk and work it all out, but she knows it’s not really her business. They have to do this for themselves, so she sits quiet and prays that they will.

“Oh my god.” Ellie sets down her brushes and stares Lawrence in the face, awfully bold and completely unexpected. “Are you gonna hang this over me forever? I just - didn’t want you to think I was too forward! I’ve been regretting it all night, I regretted it as soon as I even said it! I can’t stand you being upset with me.”

Lawrence’s expression softens. “What?”

“You’re, like, the best person ever. I look up to you so much, I don’t think I could admire anyone more than I admire you. I really didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

There’s a pause - A’Whora holds her breath, and notices that just across from her, Bimini is suddenly paying attention, her phone long since abandoned in her hand as she gapes at the two of them, dumbfounded.

Lawrence throws her arms around Ellie, squeezing her in an embrace that seems too tender to be looking at, the next best thing to a kiss when in the middle of painting someone’s face. Ellie squeezes back, her lips mouthing words that the other girls can neither hear nor try to. This is for them and them alone.

Tayce enters just as they break apart, throwing herself into the seat next to A’Whora and grinning. “Hiya, gorge, what’d I miss?”

She leans over and kisses A’Whora’s cheek.

Bimini’s eyes pop open. “You and- and then her and- what the fuck? Babes, I think we skipped a few chapters!”

“You just haven’t read the book,” A’Whora winks at her.

“Right, right,” Bims nods understandingly, ever one to just go with the flow. “And is the big lesbian orgy before the concert or after?”

[thepencilnerd]

Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap. 

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks. 

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead. 

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around." 

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.  

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!” 

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail. 

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull. 

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this. 

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this. 

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this. 

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night? 

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases. 

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked. 

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone. 

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey. 

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit. 

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.” 

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!” 

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.” 

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.” 

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.” 

This time around, his demands were very clear. 

“Pay attention to me.” 

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water. 

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee. 

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked. 

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day. 

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss. 

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas. 

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress. 

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong. 

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight. 

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life. 

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world. 

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying. 

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light. 

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him. 

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts. 

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask. 

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him. 

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping? 

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?” 

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly” 

"Edamame," Theo says. 

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer. 

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.” 

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows. 

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates. 

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one. 

Did he clean his room? 

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it. 

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge. 

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning. 

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour? 

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them. 

“She’s always early when she’s excited.” 

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare. 

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?” 

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks. 

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. 

“Hello—woah!’ 

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go. 

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!” 

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…” 

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!” 

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two. 

“EDAMAME!” 

“NOT PASTA!” 

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being. 

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust. 

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail. 

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff. 

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest. 

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked. 

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb. 

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm. 

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side. 

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.” 

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar. 

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities. 

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.” 

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness. 

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty? 

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends. 

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?” 

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection. 

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall." 

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Deep Blue Fantasy Part One

Pairing: Merman!Tamaki x fem reader

Warnings: None

{Pt. 1}  {Pt. 2}  {Pt. 3}  {Pt. 4}  {Pt. 5}  {Pt. 6}  {Pt. 7}

Author's Note:

It’s here! Finally! An AU by me! Yay! This is just part one of a little mini-series I decided to do. I had a lot of fun writing this and exploring the concept! I played around with different ideas and I think I might do another mermaid/man AU with a different character (because I like recycling ideas). Feel free to leave your own ideas, requests, and suggestions!

Btw, this whole story is going to be x fem!reader.

Also, after much thought I decided NOT to make Tamaki half-octopus (even though I thought about it and I love that idea).

I would like you to know that my friend calls him Tomato.

Enjoy some fun times with Mermaki and Merio!

-Sugar

くコ:彡くコ:彡くコ:彡くコ:彡

You inhaled deeply, the sea breeze perfectly filling your lungs. Salty water sprayed itself over your bare legs, droplets collecting and running down in cool rivulets that tickled the surface of your skin.

Every morning you came out on the beach, watching the tumultuous waves crash over each other in the distance. Every day it was different. The sky might be a deep gray, reflecting upon the sea, turning her waters a mysterious black. Others the sky was clear and blue, and the ocean looked bright and inviting. But you knew her secrets. The ocean was one to be respected. No one dared enter her. The people of your island only looked on, scanning her depths. She was never benevolent.

You couldn't help but be drawn to her, however. The breeze flooded your senses, the sounds of the waves calmed you, and her sight hurled you into an almost poetic state. You began to hum, the music intertwining with the curls of deep green water. The form of a bird caught your attention, and you watched it catch the cool updrafts of the ocean breeze.

While you stood there, distractedly humming, something else was watching you. Someone.

Pale arms hugged a black rock protruding out of the water as the dark-haired figure watched your form, skirt fluttering in the breeze. He sighed, watching you, your gentle voice carrying over the water into his pointed awaiting ears. Tamaki Amajiki had a morning routine of his own, and that was watching you follow yours. Every day he would show up early to wait for you by the rocks, watching your angelic form as you gazed out wistfully at the sea.

Tamaki had decided that what he was doing was not spying, or at least, he detested thinking of it as such. He just . . . enjoyed watching you. He had no ill intentions behind it. He simply found you to be the most wonderful and interesting thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

There was only one problem. Well, maybe two.

One. He was shy. Even amongst peers that he didn't idolize as much as he did you, he often found himself struggling to speak. He had no idea how to approach you. What if you didn't like him back? What if you weren't interested in being friends? What if you thought the two of you were too different?

His second problem: he was a merman. You were a human. How could that even work out? The existence of his kind was one of the most closely guarded secrets of the ocean. He wasn't even supposed to be this close to shore.

Tamaki had always had a fascination with humans. He knew his part of the empire was close to a human settlement, but it had taken him up until a few months ago to work up the courage to go take a glimpse of the island's shore for himself. That was when he had spotted you, and upon cautiously swimming closer, heard your voice.

Ever since, he'd come back every day, just to see you, to hear you. He longed to speak to you, to learn more about you and your kind, but he simply wasn't ready yet.

He watched your chest rise and fall as you heaved in a final sigh of sea air. Tamaki pushed himself further down into the crashing waves and longingly watched you turn and go. What he would give to be able to follow you where he could not.

Once you were gone, he never lingered. As the sight of your (H/L) (H/C) hair disappeared over the crest of the hill, he would depart, not wanting to be spotted by another member of your species. With a few flicks of his powerful deep indigo-black tail, he was once again under the waves, alone in the comforting cold wetness. He sped through the water, making his way home.

Just as he saw the soft glow of the little town he'd grown up in, he was jolted to the side, being grabbed by a pair of strong arms. Tamaki made a little squeaking noise in his throat in surprise, squeezing his eyes shut.

Bubbles tickled his cheeks as they marched across his face, desperate to reach the surface. He opened his eyes again to be met with clear blue ones, still crinkled in the aftermaths of laughter.

"Got you!" Tamaki's best friend, Mirio, signed to him.

Tamaki rolled his eyes, relaxing his shoulders slightly. He had thought he had been discovered by one of the town leaders. He tried to make his visits to the surface as discreet as possible, but someone had to question his routine absence each morning eventually.

"I guess you did," Tamaki signed back.

The merpeople communicated in a combination of sign language and high pitched squeaks and clicks, much like dolphins. While their voice boxes had difficulties speaking like we humans do, they could manipulate them to create an eerie, haunting music, just as the ancient legends of sailors described.

"Where were you?" Mirio asked, his face changing from bright and humorous to nigh concerned.

Tamaki faltered slightly, trying to think of how to answer. "Just looking for shells for my collection," he lied.

Mirio looked down at his empty arms. "Didn't find any?"

"Nope."

He looked into Tamaki's face again, suspicion settling over his features. The two had been friends since they were very young, and Mirio had learned Tamaki's ways better than even his own parents.

"Do you want help finding some?" he asked, wiping the expression off his face and changing it to a more cheerful one. He'd let it slide, just this once.

"No, thank you," Tamaki responded. "I think I'll just head home."

"Okay." The blond merman watched his friend swim off. Something wasn't right, and he knew it was up to him to find out what it was that his friend was up to.

✤✤✤✤✤

The next morning, Mirio went straight to Tamaki's house. The blond was used to waking up early, but he usually spent his mornings with himself; working out or some other such self-improvement he allowed himself to indulge in in order to make himself the strong, cheery merperson he was. Today, however, he decided to check up on his friend.

Sure enough, just as he was approaching the mound of stones and sea mud that was the home of his best friend, Mirio saw the retreating dark purplish-blue tail of Tamaki. He subtly began to follow him, keeping a distance just enough so he would still be able to see the flashing of his friend's tail ahead of him. After about ten minutes, Mirio began to suspect where they were going.

Isn't that island in this direction? What are you doing over here, Tamaki? he wondered to himself.

Another fifteen minutes or so later, the water became more shallow and littered with black rocks. Mirio sped up, occasionally utilizing the new terrain to hide from his unsuspecting friend. Now that they were so far away, Tamaki had completely stopped checking behind him, and Mirio watched as he hoisted his waist out of the water, pulling himself up above the crashing waves.

Mirio stared at him, confused for a few minutes as his friend propped himself against the rock, clearly watching for something. He suddenly noticed him stiffen, now clearly more alert. It appeared as though whatever he had been waiting for had arrived. But what was it?

Mirio couldn't take it anymore. He swam the few lengths of distance that he had kept between them and popped his own head out of the water beside Tamaki.

His black-haired friend jumped at his sudden appearance.

"What are you doing?" Mirio signed.

Tamaki fearfully glanced toward shore before tackling Mirio, pushing him back underwater.

"What are you doing?" Tamaki frantically signed back.

"I wanted to know what you were doing."

Tamaki glanced up towards the surface, unsure of what to do.

"What's on the beach?" Mirio asked. "That's what you were looking at, right?"

Tamaki suddenly felt his cheeks begin to warm, color flooding his pale skin. "There's a human over there," he finally signed, deciding to tell his best friend everything.

Mirio stiffened, now uneasy. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"You know how dangerous they are, right? They're stupid but they'll kill you if you get too close. It hasn't seen you, has it?"

"No no." Tamaki shook his head, an uncomfortable feeling of annoyance settling in his chest. "I just stay over here and watch. Besides, I don't think she'd hurt anything."

"She?" Mirio asked, incredulous.

"Do you want to see for yourself?" Tamaki asked. "She should still be there."

Mirio narrowed his eyes warily.

"She hasn't noticed me yet," Tamaki went on, trying to soothe his friend. "I've been coming here for a while now. If you just make sure you're behind one of these rocks, it's like you're invisible."

Mirio slowly flared his gills in the merperson version of a sigh. Of course Tamaki would figure out how to be invisible.

Tamaki turned and hoisted himself out of the water again and Mirio did the same, pulling himself against a bigger rock a length away from his friend. He spotted you immediately, the light fabrics of your clothing contrasting the black sand beach. The two mermen watched as you gazed up at the sky, studying the white puffy shapes of the clouds above, being quickly blown about by the wind.

Mirio had only been to the surface a few times, and each occasion he was startled by how different the air was from the water, yet somehow almost the same. He knew that wind was the same as currents, birds an equivalent to fish, but clouds always amazed him. He liked their shapes and colors, each one decorating the atmosphere in its own unique way.

He found himself looking up too, and soon he spotted a cloud whose shape reminded him of a conch shell. He looked to Tamaki, prepared to point it out when he saw the expression on his friend's face.

He had never seen such a look of soft love swimming in his dark eyes. A small wistful smile had spread across his lips, and a light shade of pink dusted over his cheeks.

Beginning to catch on, Mirio looked from him to you and then back to his friend. He liked you, that much was blatantly clear. A grin of his own rose to Mirio's features, his sharp teeth flashing in the morning sun. He leaned over to Tamaki and nudged him, giving him a knowing look.

"You like her." Mirio signed, stating the obvious.

Tamaki blushed further, shrugging.

Mirio opened his mouth to click something, but Tamaki halted him by shoving a finger over his lips.

"Wait," he signed, pointing back to you.

As if on cue, music began to float over the water, carried by the breeze. They were lucky that the wind blew so, although it was still a bit of a strain to hear your voice.

Tamaki melted back against the rock, closing his eyes to fully take in the sound of your aubade.

Mirio watched him pityingly. His friend was hopelessly in love with a human; the most dangerous species on the planet. How had Tamaki, the cautious, sweet, shy boy he was, taken such an interest into something like a human?

It was no secret that the vast majority of the mer population had at minimum a mild interest in humans. There was an odd kinship in the blatant similarities between them, so there was an undoubtable draw to their kind. Merpeople also knew, however, of the dangers humans held. Ships, plastics, fishing nets, things called labs and circuses; each one posed its own horror story against the species, driving merpeople further away from the shores.

"I wish I could talk to her," Tamaki said, his fingers softly forming meaning with their nimble gestures. He finally turned to Mirio. "You haven't seen what I have. She's kind and smart and pretty. Maybe some humans are no good, but I'm sure she is."

Mirio pushed his lips to the side, torn and thinking. "Why don't you just go up to her, then?"

Tamaki almost fell back underwater. "I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Well, first of all, I can't even speak Human."

Mirio glanced over at you, then back to Tamaki. "If she's so smart, she should be able to figure out something."

Tamaki slumped. "Yeah . . . ."

"So just go then! Say hi!"

Tamaki looked back at Mirio, horrified. "But that's so against the rules! Besides, weren't you saying how awful humans are a minute ago? What made you change your mind?"

"How you look at her," Mirio stated simply, causing Tamaki to blush all over again. "Just kill a fish or something and swim up and present it to her. How different can she be from the mermaids back home?"

Tamaki had never really flirted with any girls, primarily keeping to himself and hanging around Mirio. It was completely foreign territory to him, and the fact that you were a human only made it worse.

"She wouldn't even like me—"

"Nonsense!" Mirio countered, now beginning to grow frustrated with his friend. He knew Tamaki struggled with anxiety, but sometimes he simply couldn't understand why his friend couldn't just go out and take what he wanted.

The boys noticed that the music had stopped. They turned back to shore, watching as you stood and brushed yourself off. You left the beach, taking one final look at the waves before disappearing onto land.

Mirio slumped back in the water. "Now she's gone. You said she comes here every day?"

Tamaki hesitantly answered. "Yes."

"Well, come back tomorrow and confess your love!"

"I don't love—" Tamaki faltered, realization flooding his being. He did love you. Or, at least, he admired you. He wanted to get to know you enough to eventually love you. "How do I even have a chance?" he clicked sadly. "We're so different—"

Mirio put a hand on Tamaki's shoulder. "Love finds a way," he said. "I'm going to help you."

"You will?"

"Of course. What are best friends for?"

Tamaki allowed himself a small smile. "Thanks, Mirio."

Mirio gave his back a firm pat. "No problem. Now come on, let's go home and plan."

Apprehension welled in Tamaki's chest. What had he gotten himself into?

...

The two had found themselves at the library, digging through scrolls to find as much information as they could on the landwalkers. Most of it was fiction and unhelpful; children's stories warning against getting too close to boats and land.

They found a few history texts about human alliances with the merpeople, most of them occurring thousands of years ago.

"What happened?" Tamaki quietly clicked, running his fingers over artwork of the deity Poseidon.

Mirio shrugged, glancing at it over his shoulder. He picked up another scroll, this one newer. He unrolled it to find a little leaf of seaweed paper, text scrawled on its surface.

"Tamaki, look at this." Mirio nudged his friend, gesturing towards his discovery.

The Sea Witch, Tamaki read. Ancient artifacts to make your dreams come true!

"Want to give her a try?" Mirio asked. "She only lives a few leagues away."

"That's still a lot of swimming," Tamaki said, his fingers hesitant.

"It's for love," Mirio countered, waggling his eyebrows.

Tamaki bit his lip. "Okay. I guess it's worth a try."

Mirio pumped his fist in the water. "We're going on an adventure!"

...

To be continued . . . .

[Part Two]

くコ:彡くコ:彡くコ:彡くコ:彡

Taglist: @inumorph​ @engel-hageshii​​ @basicaegyo​ @iiminibattlehero​ @pyrofanatic​ @sokkasangel​​ @xoxopam4​​ @kingtamakimurder​​

[colemacgrathtkz]

My contribution to the Broken! Luz AU

Empress' coven leader, Amity. Never directly aiding the rebellion, she let everyone believe her loyalty to the empress.

Luz, filled with corrupting magic, wanted to proceed with Belos' portal. She wanted to travel between realms and rule with Amity at her side.

Her coven leader was well aware of how close that was coming to completion.

She brought Luz a plan to increase her power. A way to never be separated from it. The empress channeled the remaining power of the titan through Belos' former staff. Losing her staff  meant she couldn't use her overwhelming magic.

Amity proposed a way to harness all the power from the Boiling isles.

Upon discovering Amity's proposal, the owl house made their move to stop Luz from being forever lost.

The enchantment prevented the caster from receiving the power. It would require two people to make it work. Amity had Luz's complete trust.

While the empress' coven fended off an attack from interlopers, the empress and her coven leader brought their plan into motion.

The portal was complete. It seemed poetic to make this spot historic. Just above their heads is where Belos was overthrown. While lurking below, two feats of great magic were about to occur.

Even after making it past the guards, the rebellion was too late. Once again- Eda, Lilith, Willow, and Gus- found themselves losing any hope of saving their Luz. King had been kept as a "pet". Still in a cage, he sat watching from above.

The enchantment complete, Luz didn't know you could feel this charged. Every cell in her body was packed with an unknown height of power.

Not realizing she hadn't picked up her staff, she turned towards the intruders.

Empress Luz: " That's twice I've won."

Pride began to rise. She hadn't projected much of any other emotion, other than rage.

Raising her hand, she casted a fire attack. A simple spell became super charged. The wall may have been blown away, but the others survived long enough to gawk.

For a moment, Luz appeared remorseful.

Empress Luz: " That was supposed be for Lilith. Let's try again."

Fist in the air, she prepared for a second attempt.

But she found herself frozen, magic paralyzed.

Almost everyone was dumbfounded at the empress just standing there, motionless.

Empress Luz: “I don't understand. Why can't I..."

Amity: "Because I can't watch this anymore!"

Finally, all eyes were on Amity, holding the staff.

Amity: “The reason no ones heard of this spell before is simple. The cost is too great. You've become the conduit for all the titan's magic on the isles. It's bound to your soul. No one can take it away from you, as long as you live. But you're not really free anymore. The staff used to be a tool for you to summon magic. Now, you're its weapon! And anyone who wields the staff; has complete say over you."

The leader of a once powerful coven moved her fingers and started up the portal. A bright light manifested no more than 10 feet away.

Amity: “Do you even remember what you used be like before Belos? Before all of this? You were the light that everyone here looked forward to, every day. Now, you're just snuffing out any light we could have."

She had been fighting back tears throughout her mutiny.

Empress Luz knew if she didn't do something; her reign would come to an end. Permitting their Luz to rise to the surface, this might get Amity to put down the staff.

Luz realizes she has once again control of her own body.

Luz: "Amity, it's me!"

Amity created a barrier for them. Keeping anyone who might fall for that out.

Amity: "I know. But I also know that monster...is still in you."

She couldn't help but cry now.

Amity: " I'm so sorry, Luz! I couldn't get it out of you."

Luz almost heard her whisper for forgiveness. She tried to step closer. After being trapped for so long, she just wanted to reach out to her.

Luz: "Amity..."

Amity steadied herself.

Amity: "No!"

She raised the staff in the portal's direction.

Amity: “I need to send you back. You have to go back to your realm. It's the only way you can go back to being that girl I love."

Panicking, the former empress looked for any objection. King shrugged away in a corner of his cage. On the other side of the barrier, only fear and pain could be read on those faces.

Amity didn't want the portal to stay open for long. Coven reinforcements could be on their way, by now.

Amity: "I'm going to destroy this door after you go through it. I won't let the other coven members try to bring back their empress. You should be cut off from the isles reach over there. No more magic turning you into a monster. You'll just be who you used to be. Our Luz."

Luz felt tears rising.

Luz: " Amity, please, don't do this."

Remembering everything just before they charged Belos' castle, she knew this was to keep their Luz. This meant sending her away, forever.

Amity: "Luz Noceda, I order you to leave the Boiling isles!"

Luz couldn't stop her legs from walking. Reaching out for her green haired friend, she couldn't notice a whisper trying to keep her here.

Luz: “Amity, you have the staff! You can keep me here, without any worries!"

Amity: “That’s the power talking."

Luz: “No! Remember? If there's anyone who can do it, it's you! It's always you!"

Amity almost lowered her arm.

Amity: "Yeah, I have to do this, for you."

Luz: " Is this really what you want?! To never see each other again?"

Amity: “Stop trying to make this harder than it is."

Only a couple more steps to go. This feeling of loss was reaching its breaking point.

Luz: “But I heard you. I love you, too."

The last thing she would see, just before stepping over; was Amity turning away.

Standing in that room, this was it, where she first chased Owlbert to. Seeing the light from the other side, Luz tried to rush back in. But she felt her strength leave her in an instant. She tumbled onto the floor and watched the room become dark. In that moment, she felt truly disconnected from the Boiling isles.

All alone, she cried out a single name. Over and over, she played out her time with her other family. Defeating Belos was supposed to save them, not cheat them.

[Some time later]

Red beanie and green jacket, Luz made her way through New York.  Indeed, her mother thought she had died. The camp was under investigation. But rather than return, she spent her time on a new path. The wandering girl grew out her hair so she'd be harder to recognize. Even with no access to magic, Empress Luz was bound to her soul. Appearing as a hallucination at times, she was her only companion now.

If Luz went to her mother, there'd be no way to explain anything. Worse yet, her mother might have her institutionalized with talk of magic and demons.

The only way to get back to her is with proof. She needed to find a way back to the isles. And there's only one clue on this side; on how to do that.

Pretending to deliver a package, she set up a trap for the red head in her apartment. Tasing her as she opened the door, Luz quietly sat her down.

Luz: "I saw this book back when it was a draft. Imagine my surprise when the author of the ‘Good witch Azura’ released it."

Stepping deeper into the apartment, she saw her prize, gazing at her with uncertainty.

Luz: “I knew you were a fighter, not a hider."

This small guest had expected for the intruder to run upon seeing her.

Luz: "Hey, Tiny nose! It's been a while."

Finally, a solid lead to being reunited with what was lost.

Author’s note:

If you happen to have figured out where I took “heavy inspiration” from, I hope you still like what I came up with.

This is for @johnnysfire . It was inspired by an “evil prompt” I read on their page.

I hope others enjoy my unofficial continuation to their work.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 6: A New Hope

by @dracusfyre

A week or so later, Bucky met KT up for their usual shift and was surprised to see that the normally taciturn man was visibly excited, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. “What’s up?” Bucky asked, curiosity driving him to jog across traffic to see what had KT so worked up.

“It’s Community Appreciation Day,” KT said, jerking his head towards Tony’s garage a few blocks away. His legs were shorter than Bucky’s but excitement was making him walk fast enough that Bucky had to make an effort to keep up.

“Community Appreciation Day?” Bucky repeated incredulously. "What is that?"

"What does it sound like, doofus?" KT said, but he was in too good of a mood for his words to have any heat.

Bucky shook his head. Of course Tony had community appreciation days. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if Tony had an EEOC office and regular OSHA inspections and celebrated Office Professional's Day. "I'm just surprised I hadn't heard of it before now."

“Yeah, they're usually on real short notice. The Engineer brought in a shipment late last night so the Boss spread the word that we were having a party.”

Now Bucky was even more confused. He knew from the case file that the Engineer ran Tony’s chop shop operations, stealing high end automobiles and helping them disappear, whole or in pieces, on the black market. What that had to do with appreciating the community Bucky had no idea; it’s not like Tony was giving away the cars he stole…right? 

When they nodded to Tony’s guards and pushed open the door to the garage, Bucky’s jaw dropped. In the wide open space, where there was usually a variety of half-built classic cars, there was instead half a dozen sleek, low slung cars that looked like they were breaking the speed limit just sitting there. He recognized the logo for Ferrari and Lamborghini but the rest he’d never even heard of before. Most of them had their hoods up for car enthusiasts to drool over the high-performance engines and Bucky felt his heart start to beat faster as he left KT behind to look at the Lamborghini. He hadn’t really had his hands on a car engine since he joined the Army, other than doing his own routine maintenance, but looking at the ridiculously high-powered engine on this car was like seeing the face of God.

“Look at you, you sexy beast,” Bucky murmured, running a hand over the gleaming engine block. It was like it had barely been driven, it was so clean. “You’re sex on wheels, that’s what you are.”

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just really into cars?”

Bucky turned and his heart flipped when he saw Tony smiling at him, wearing a suit with an AC/DC shirt underneath. Tony pushed his glasses up onto his head and leaned his hip on the car’s bumper, hands in his pockets as he studied Bucky with what looked like fond amusement. “This thing is like the Mona Lisa of cars,” Bucky said, feeling strangely shy. This was the first time he’d seen Tony since the night of the ball and he suddenly, stupidly, wished he had shaved and worn his nice jeans.

“This one is nice,” Tony agreed, “but that one is my favorite.” He gestured with his chin towards the bright red Ferrari across the room, scissor doors opened up and away from the car like fiery wings.

“I can see that, it’s definitely your style.”

“Follow me, one came in that I think is your style,” Tony said, pushing off the car.

“Yeah?” Bucky was intrigued and flattered as Tony led him through the crowd of people. “Which one- Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker,” he blurted when they stopped in front the most goddamn beautiful car he’d ever seen.

“The Bugatti La Voiture Noire,” Tony said, but his eyes were on Bucky’s face, not the car. “0 to 60 in 2.5 seconds, with 1,180 pounds of torque. Top speed of 261 miles an hour.”

Bucky whistled, long and low. “It looks like the Batmobile,” he said, smiling when he surprised a laugh out of Tony. “If a ninja was a car, it would be this car.”

Tony started to say something, but at that moment came the sound of someone tapping on a microphone. “Hello?” Bucky heard someone say. “Mr. Stark, are you ready?”

With an apologetic glance to Bucky, Tony jogged up to where they had made a makeshift stage out of a metal table. Tony climbed on top and took the microphone. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he said, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes as his grin grew wide and polished. “Are you ready for everyone’s favorite day of the quarter?” The crowd, which had quieted and turned to face Tony, cheered. “I know, me too. As you can see, there are six cars, so there will be six MVPs named today. As your name is called, winners, come up to take a bow and tell us which car you will be taking for a test drive before they all move on to their new owners.”

“That’s the reward?” Bucky said with surprise to no one in particular. “You get to drive the cars? Where?”

“The Boss rents out a racetrack,” the guy next to him said. “You get to drive it for thirty minutes. Or you can just take the cash prize, if you aren’t interested in the cars or don’t know how to drive.”

“Let’s take a minute to get to know our guests,” Tony was saying. “The sexy red beauty is a Ferrari LaFerrari, a lame name for a nice car. This particular one used to be owned by Mark Zuckerburg, purchased for $1.4 million with the proceeds of selling Facebook user data to over 150 companies. Proceeds from its resale is going to the Free Internet Project.” There was enthusiastic applause, then he gestured towards the Bugatti. “This fucking amazing car is a Bugatti La Voiture Noire, the most expensive car on the planet at $18 million. Jeff Bezos commissioned this car even as workers in Amazon warehouses were passing out from exhaustion while working for minimum wage. Proceeds from the sale of this pinnacle of human engineering will go to help Amazon workers unionize for better working conditions.” Each car in the warehouse had a similar story, and Bucky couldn’t help booing and cheering with the crowd as he heard each story.

“But enough of those assholes,” Tony said, waving for the crowd to get quiet. “Let’s hear about our heroes. First is Harley Keener, who has worked tirelessly to set up our own free neighborhood broadband using satellite dishes he made himself; it’s making ISPs in the city big mad, as the kids say, but we’ve got higher and more consistent speeds than they provide so they can suck it, right? It’s not like they were laying fiber here anyway.” As he spoke, a teenager came up and Tony gave him a hand to help him climb onto the table. There was applause, and the kid picked the Lamborghini, and hopped down off the table with a check and a certificate from the Maria Stark Foundation. The rest of the projects were in the same vein: a woman who set up a program to encourage stores and restaurants to donate excess food to soup kitchens and shelters to reduce food waste ("I know it's against the law, but it's a stupid law so we've elected to ignore it"); an older Black man who got the city to put in new solar-powered bus stops at safer and more convenient locations; and a principal who had a 100% graduation rate for the first time in the school’s history, among others. “And every senior was registered to vote as they got their diploma,” Tony added. “Great work, everyone! Winners, I’ll see you soon for your test drives, and for everyone else make sure you eat all this food, boxes are at the end of the table for you to take some home.” There was another round of applause, the biggest one yet, as Tony handed the microphone to Happy and climbed off the table.

“You’re just a regular Robin Hood, aren’t you?” Bucky said when Tony found him again, this time holding a plate full of chicken wings, donuts, and assorted fruit. “Stealing from the rich to give to the poor?”

“I like to think of myself as an instrument of poetic justice,” Tony said around a mouthful of food. “I used to steal them and wreck them, but I realized this was more fitting.”

Bucky knew he shouldn’t be quite so amused about six counts of grand – very grand – theft auto, but it was hard not to smile at the smug look on Tony’s face while he had powdered sugar in his goatee.  As someone pulled Tony away with a question, Bucky felt his phone buzz with a notification. He moved closer to the wall as he pulled it out to check his messages.

Gonna be a party tonight, his Discord contact had written, along with an address. A very familiar address, since he was standing right at it. You gonna be there?

Bucky stared at the message and sagged against the wall as his stomach sank. Glancing up at the cars, he realized that the police must have gotten a tipoff that the cars were incoming and were planning to raid the garage tonight, before they disappeared again. The message wasn’t an invitation, it was a warning for him to stay away so his cover wouldn’t get blown. “Shit,” he said, and wiped a hand over his face as he thought furiously.   

“What’s up?” Tony asked, licking wing sauce off his fingers. “You look like you got bad news.”

Bucky stared at him for a moment and realized that there was no way he was going to let Tony get arrested, no way he was going to let him go to jail or let his name get dragged through the mud and see everything he'd built get torn apart by rival gangs. “Want to go on a date?” he blurted.

Tony’s face went slack with shock. “A date?” He blinked at Bucky for a long time, mouth quirking, before his face suddenly fell. “I can’t. You’re an employee,” he said regretfully.

“Seriously?” This guy, for crying out loud. “Ok, uh…” Bucky thought fast. “What about an employee counseling session? With food? We can talk about my, um, five year career plan.”

“Five year plan.” Tony stared at him with amused disbelief. “Ok, sure. Let’s do some employee counseling. When?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Tony repeated, clearly fishing for an explanation but Bucky couldn’t think of a good one so he just shrugged. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Far be it from me to discourage people from having life goals. Let’s say 8:00?”

“Sounds great,” Bucky said, trying and probably failing to keep the relief out of his voice.

“Ok, I’ll pick you up.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” Bucky stood around awkwardly for a moment, then nodded stiffly and walked away. If he was going to have an identity crisis and second guess every decision he’d made in life that had led to him asking an organized crime boss out on a date, he should probably do it in privacy and hopefully get it done with by 8.

Baffled, Tony watched Blue Eyes hurry away, running the conversation over in his head until suddenly realization dawned. Then he found himself smiling so widely his cheeks hurt; joy was like champagne bubbles in his chest, making him want to laugh for no particular reason. He tossed his half-empty plate of food into the closest trashcan and threaded through the crowd until he found Rhodey leaning against the door, typing something one handed into his work tablet.

“Rhodey,” Tony said, beaming.

“Tony,” Rhodey said, looking up warily.

“Blue Eyes wants to have dinner with me. And it has to be tonight.”

Rhodey frowned. “But tonight is-”

“Exactly.”

Rhodey took one look at the beatific look on Tony’s face and started shaking his head. “Tony, no,” he said in warning.

“Tony, yes. He’s trying to protect me, Rhodey.” Tony felt downright giddy.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do! He knows the police are going to raid the garage tonight and he doesn’t want me here when it happens so I don’t get arrested for possession of stolen property. It’s so goddamn romantic I can’t stand it.” Brooks, or whatever the hell his real name was, couldn’t know that Tony had contacts inside every major law enforcement organization operating in the city and had known about the raid almost as soon as they had applied for a warrant. The stolen cars were already being prepared to be moved to a separate location, and in their place were going to be the exact same models all purchased legally and in Tony’s name. Pepper and her army of lawyers had already prepared righteously indignant press releases and harassment lawsuits and were just waiting for the cops to show up. Tony had even picked his outfit for his brief stint in jail, but apparently now he had other plans for the evening. “You know what this means, right?”

“I know what you think it means, Tony, and I still think you should be careful. He is still a cop.”

Tony planted a loud, smacking kiss on Rhodey’s cheek. “You can’t take this from me, sour puss. I might get to keep Blue Eyes after all!”