#and this fic touched briefly on a fair amount of it but NOT ALL

[thebluester2020]

[GI] Kinktober Day 3: "Sharing"

Summary: As a secretary to the revered Il Capitano, you expected your job to consist of intense movement while keeping things on schedule simultaneously without a single missed beat. However, when Tartaglia arrives on the scene, you hadn't expected being shared between the two Harbingers to be on the job description as well!

Warning(s): Porn with plot, Threesome, A touch of assplay, Anal, Rough sex, General filthiness (but that's kinktober for ya), Slight favoritism for Tartaglia (he's my fav, I cant help it), Hint of Monster! Capitano, Some spit play (a touch of it, I cant stress that enough).

Side Note(s): If you can't tell via this fic. I like Capitano and Tartaglia a normal amount <33

You knew that the life of being a secretary to Capitano wouldn't be easy.

The constant moving from area to area. If the frigid snowstorms, scorching heat and violent storms didn't kill you then your feet simply falling off from all the movement would! When you announced to your family that you would be serving the honorable and righteous Il Capitano, your family warned you that the first Harbinger had achieved that title for a reason, he was rumored to be strict and brutal with how he ordered people underneath him! In his eyes, everyone was an expendable soldier to further serve his purpose of pleasing the Tsaritsa.

But you understood the risks when you sent in your hiring application. You accepted the fact that, as his aid, he'd expect nothing but the best from you as you aimed to make sure that his schedule was free and that he was kept up-to-date with any meetings he may have had or wanted to have in the future!

Yet...it's been four months now.

And still, he failed to adhere to the rumors that circulated about him.

Strict and brutal? Yes, but he was fair. He expected his soldiers to keep up on their long marches but he didn't make them walk until they started to bleed from their pores! He gave his soldiers a lot of time to rest, to make up for the constant walking and he definitely didn't starve them for months on end like you had heard other rumors say! Il Capitano was also relatively kind and heeded his soldiers' words attentively, taking their worries and concerns into consideration.

Earlier in your service, you remembered how one soldier came to him stating they were too weak to continue the march. You had expected the Harbinger to dismiss them and tell them to either "keep up or die to the frost" but...Capitano's actual response shocked you.

"If you are too weak...then we shall continue to rest here for a little while longer, make sure to eat and stay hydrated. Avoid training."

Your eyes nearly formed into the size of a moon at his gentle words to the soldier.

And as you and Capitano became more familiar with one another, your shock at how he treated his soldiers died down and instead shifted towards realizing that...you were steadily growing a crush on the Harbinger. Especially as you and he would continue to be around one another, eventually coming to a place where you two would talk and you could even joke with him (even though his responses to your jokes would be dry).

"Today was colder than usual..." You commented once you had finally retreated inside of the tent Capitano and you shared. You slept on one side of the tent while he slept on the other.

Capitano with a gruff noise that you had learned over the months was a sign of him agreeing. "When we come across another town, can I stop briefly to get some more coats? I think my current one is wearing away."

"Do not bother, I will have a couple sent here. We will be in this spot longer than usual." Your brow rose at his words before you took out your notepad to check if he had any meetings.

"Is there a meeting that I missed? Apologies that I didn't write it down and remind you, sir—"

"No, Tartaglia will be joining us in a day with his own soldiers."

Your kept your lips sealed at the reveal that the Eleventh Harbinger would be joining the war party for...goodness knows how long. Although you heard that he was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, you had also heard here and there that he was a...loose canon to say the least. But, you'd try to approach the situation with an open mind. You had gone into this situation believing that Il Capitano was a monster but was surprised to see that he was a reserved sweetheart, perhaps Tartaglia would be different!

. . .

And come to find out, he was.

But...for reasons different than what you were originally expecting. Tartaglia, when a bunch of soldiers had suddenly announced that the Eleventh and his party were approaching. As you stepped out of your and Capitano's tent, you wouldn't deny that a spark of fear shot into you as you witnessed the scene of a bunch of soldiers being led through the violent snowstorm by their bloodied leader. A hydro spear being lazily carried by him, all the while his eyes were distant, as if he had seen countless wars and lived to tell about them.

You opened your mouth to voice your concern to Il Capitano, although...with how quickly he ordered the doctors and nurses of the camp to tend to him and his soldiers. You figured he was used to the Harbinger popping up bloody and beaten. "Follow him," He said to you, leaning down a little to better whisper into your ear. "Introduce yourself and get details of the battle he came from the northeast."

Without a second of hesitation, you quickly followed the trail of bloody footprints until you reached the larger part of the camp which was dedicated mostly to keeping prisoners and where the medical stations were set up, you spent the next few minutes peeking into tent after tent before you finally found the one that housed Tartaglia. As you stepped into the tent, however...a blush immediately coated your cheeks as you walked in on him shirtless and being bandaged. "Sorry!" You quickly said, your hands rising to cover your eyes.

All before the Eleventh laughed. "It's fine!" He said, his surprisingly charming voice not matching how he first arrived at the camp. "You must be the Captain's secretary." He continued. "I'll go ahead and assume he wants to know about what I saw?"

You nodded your head.

For the next few minutes, there was silence besides the movement of the doctors and nurses as they bandaged him and seemingly checked to make sure there weren't any other wounds or spots they may have potentially missed. "Hm...I'll tell him myself tomorrow." He eventually answered.

Your brow rose as you slowly lowered your hands, your cheeks still an obvious red color. "I'd assume that Capitano would want this information as soon as possible sir."

Tartaglia let out a snicker as he sat up, grabbing his jacket to throw it over his shoulders before his attention quickly returned to you. "And he will! I'm just more curious about his secretary. Being a part of Capitano's warband isn't easy." Your eyes narrowed slightly, trying to keep on your toes around him. You weren't looking to get on his bad side and the way that his eyes looked over you...it reminded you of how a fox would circle and toy with a rabbit before eventually going in for the kill.

"It isn't but I've managed." You eventually came to answer. "You get used to the cold."

"Every soldier does, it's a way of life when you work for us Harbingers."

It was then that you felt a familiar presence, a brief look behind you quickly making you lower your head in respect when you saw Capitano. "Captain!" Tartaglia greeted. "I'll go ahead and assume you want to know what I saw? It's what your cute secretary was asking about just moments before." You blushed at the sudden compliment, all before Capitano made a gruffing noise.

"Refrain from giving my secretary any problems Childe."

"Don't worry, don't worry." He said dismissively before a heavy hand suddenly placed itself on your shoulder.

"You may leave," Capitano said, and you didn't waste a second to retreat from the tent, your heart pounding in your chest from the sudden influx of compliments you received from the two Harbingers. It seemed that, with those two around simultaneously...things were bound to get more interesting around the camp from now on.

. . .

Since then, you've been caught in a weird "tug n' pull" between the Harbingers. One moment you'd be finishing paperwork for Capitano and then the next? Tartaglia would suddenly tug you away from your work in order for you to do some tasks for him! (Which, typically, wasn't even work at all but him just using you as a listening ear for ranting about his day). And Capitano caught Tartaglia dragging you away, he'd quickly intervene to bring you back at your side, sometimes even scolding the younger Harbinger in the process.

Although it was highly entertaining, in the process of being dragged away by Tartaglia a couple of times. You've been pleased to find out that he was sweet-hearted and a devoted older brother to his siblings, you couldn't remember a time where you were with him and he didn't mention his family at least two times. The way he'd wonder aloud about what gifts he would send them, about whether or not they were eating properly...it warmed your heart to where...you developed a crush on the ginger before you had even realized it.

"You know milashka...you could always work for me," Tartaglia suggested suddenly one late evening as you sat in a chair in his tent your eyes flicking up from your work to him looking over at you from his desk.

"Aren't you supposed to be finishing paperwork?"

He groaned dramatically. "It's hard to! Especially when you're right here in front of me." You rolled your eyes at his flirtations but, you couldn't deny the smile that found its way to your face before you could command your brain to keep it hidden. And that smile emboldened the Eleventh Harbinger greatly. "It can't be too fun to constantly march in the cold, at least with me, I'd bring you along to much warmer places."

"I don't mind the cold."

"No need to play tough, you caught a bad cold last week."

You huffed at Tartaglia's words, neither disagreeing nor agreeing with him as you watched him slowly rise from his seat behind his desk and walk over to you. You were familiar with that glint in his eyes, a glint that spoke of him planning something but...this time, it was more clouded with a certain hunger. "...I'm loyal to the Captain, he needs me here." You said with as much determination as you could muster up.

Tartaglia scoffed. "I know the Captain best, he's all business and no fun. The moment you prove that you'll slow the entire war-party down, he'll send you home." He said. "I've seen how you look at him milashka...he doesn't return your affections."

It was like an arrow pierced your heart right then and there at his words, your eyes widening at the information as you struggled to find a rebuttal. But...you couldn't give him one, although you haven't made your crush to Il Capitano extremely clear, you thought you made it obvious enough that you liked him and hoped that he would reciprocate your feelings. You've delivered gifts, given him compliments here and there, and even tried to initiate a conversation about whether or not he was in a relationship!

He shot it down so quickly, you didn't even think you got your entire sentence out.

Suddenly, Tartaglia's hand slipped to rest on your shoulder as he leaned down a little to coo into your ear. "Aww, don't pout. It's just not his thing to appreciate what's in front of him. Using only brute force and strategy doesn't work for more delicate things such as a pretty girl like yourself." He whispered. "I know how to approach things more delicately though, maybe you'd allow me to show you?" He continued before his hand steadily began to travel to rest upon your breast. Your mind raced with thoughts, switching between Capitano and the situation you were in now.

You wanted Capitano but...if he didn't want you back. You were playing a one-sided game, at least with Tartaglia, he was actively showing you that he wanted something with you. And it didn't help that he was handsome. Charming and good with his words, and seemingly even better with his fingers as he undid your button-up blouse with a single hand before he slowly parted it to reveal your chest. A quiet whistle left his lips at the sight before he slowly moved to stand in front of you, kneeling down with that same carefree smirk on his face that made you weak in the knees. "May I?"

Slowly, you nodded your head.

. . .

Both deadly on the battlefield and with his tongue. Such a combination was a force to be reckoned with. The moment you had nodded your head, Tartaglia wasted no extra time before he sank to his knees and pulled down your pants, pulling aside your already soaked underwear to reveal your waiting pussy to him. "Tartaglia..." You quietly moaned as the eleventh harbinger had your legs currently propped onto his shoulders, his tongue exploring your sex eagerly with a particular focus on your clit.

You watched how his eyes glazed over with lust, a deep groan reverberating in his chest as you gasped at the stimulation when his tongue began to move back and forth. Instinctively, your legs parted further for him, your chest beginning to fall and rise quicker and quicker as you fell deeper into the pit of pleasure that Tartaglia was giving you. "You're so pretty like this," He moaned against your lower lips, giving your clit a kiss before he pulled back to look at you, his index and middle finger moving to rub your clit back and forth as he looked at your face.

You arched forward as he rubbed your clit, his other hand moving to gently insert a finger into you. "Fuck!" You cried out when his finger touched a spongey spot inside of you.

A fox-like smirk crept onto his lips as he poked at that spot with more precision. "Oh~?" He whispered, his head lowering back to your pussy, his eyes still focused on you as his tongue teased your cunt with innocent kitten licks. "Is this your favorite spot?" He teased.

You struggled to keep your eyes from fluttering closed, hot tears brimming your eyeline as you looked down at the ginger as a whine left your lips. "D-Don't tease..." You whispered.

He nearly came untouched at your plea but it was just soooo much fun to mess with you a little, to make you beg and say exactly what you wanted him to do! After all...Il Capitano's favorite little secretary, crying and moaning on his fingers for him to give you more, he couldn't think of a more blood-pumping scenario. "It's so much fun to tease you though!" He finally said before his tongue went back to fully tending to your throbbing clit. A choked-up moan just barely escaped your throat from the sudden pleasure, your hands traveling to grip at his hair.

He groaned deeply at the twinge of pain, his inserted finger speeding up as he sucked and licked at your clit even faster, your body jerking and twitching in response every time he did something good with his talented tongue. "Fuck—! R-Right there...!" You gasped, your nails scraping and combing through his hair as his tongue ran down from your clit to begin prodding and poking at your entrance. Tartaglia let out a whine in response to the continued twinges of pain from you running your hand through his scalp, the whines eventually transitioning to groans as the sound sent intense vibrations through you, making your body unconsciously jerk against his mouth.

Then, he stuck his tongue out more, starting to poke and lick against your warm inner walls, a sensation unlike anything you've ever had the pleasure of experiencing in your life, only increased by the way he started to tongue-fuck your hole. The sensation made you dizzy, and keeping yourself from passing out from the pleasure was beginning to increasingly and increasingly difficult. A lewd mix of spit and cum started to run down from your twitching pussy and down his chin as he added another finger to try and fuck you more open. "Tartaglia!" You whined. "I-If you keep going—" the harbinger interrupted you by suddenly pressing into a completely new and more pleasurable spot than the one he had been pressing against before.

"If I keep doing this, you'll do what milashka~?" He smirked against your soaked cunt. "You'll cum for me?" He whispered. "Please do...I wanna feel this cute pussy throbbing in my mouth first before I fuck you silly with my cock next." A tight feeling started to form in your stomach at his lewd words, your moans growing louder and louder as pleasure-filled tears started to stream down your face. You were so close to the edge...his tongue felt so good to where you clenched, almost afraid to have this end so soon despite the promise that he would give you his cock next.

That is...until, you felt a brush of cold air against your skin, and Tartaglia stopped with an annoyed huff. "Captain," He greeted, the name making your eyes shoot open, your blurry vision moving to see a dark figure at the entrance into the tent before the curtain swiftly closed.

Feeling a sudden sense of shame wash over you, you attempted to close your legs...until Tartaglia forced them to remain open as he stood and moved to the side. "Jealous?" He purred, rubbing the side of his face against your own like a possessive cat. "Your secretary has such a cute voice...you must've heard it, seeing as you came to this tent."

"I expected my secretary to be back at my side an hour ago Tartaglia, only to find out that you're playing games with her." Your cunt clenched at the raspiness in his voice, a sound that you've never heard from the first harbinger before.

"Oh? Then why don't you play with us?"

Your eyes widened. "W-What?" You said in confusion.

"Your secretary here admitted to me that she harbored a crush on you! How cruel of you to not reciprocate her feelings, Captain."

Tartaglia was met with a tense silence. You were so embarrassed that you wanted the ground beneath you to open and swallow you whole, that is...until you felt another larger hand place itself on your thigh, spreading you open a little more. "...I'll play your little game Tartaglia," Capitano said.

"If she cries out my name, you'll proceed to leave my secretary alone from now on."

"And if she cries out mine...I'll be taking her with me."

Archons above...what had you gotten yourself into?

. . .

The sound of frantic plapping noises could be heard throughout the tent as the two harbingers fucked into you simultaneously. After the three of you had moved to the full, Il Capitano manhandling you into a full nelson as he currently fucked into your weeping hole, Tartaglia was left to slowly finger and prep your second hole with a cocky smirk on his face. "Good girl—" the Captain grunted into your ear, practically panting like a dog in heat against you as he effectively left you breathless on his cock. He was thick, the prominent veins on his cock pressed against every sensitive spot along your walls whilst his dick kissed at your cervix repeatedly.

Drool began to dribble out from the side of your mouth as your hands were locked in place with how hard your thighs were clenched to your torso, in an effort for Capitano to not only better fit himself inside of you but also for him to look over your shoulder to see how good he was making you into a cock-drunk doll.

"I think she likes being played with down here too Captain," Tartaglia moaned as he scissored your ass open, letting spit drip from his mouth and onto your hole as his other hand gently stroked his twitching cock. Through your blurry vision, your mind getting foggier by the second as Capitano didn't even think of slowing his pace to give you a moment to adjust to the preparation of Tartaglia sinking his cock into your hole. You clenched at the idea of being stuffed by two men, a particularly loud moan leaving you when the eleventh harbinger's cockhead pressed against the rim of your ass.

"Patience milashka," He smirked wickedly as he steadily sank into you.

"Fuuuck—!" You cried out, the sheer pressure of his dick entering your ass forcing your first orgasm out of you, much to both of the mens' surprises as Capitano's thrusts stuttered and slowed considerably.

That is, until Tartaglia let out a cocky laugh. "I'll be taking that win Captain!" He said confidently, a moan escaping his lips as soon as he was fully inside of you. "S-She did cum when my dick entered her after all..." He continued breathlessly.

"We'll see if she does that again, Tartaglia." And then, without even allowing another second to pass. The two men both began to fuck into you, the sheer feeling of being full sending you into an almost trance-like state as the lewd sound of squelching and skin slapping against skin filled your ears, your throat being ran raw from the amount of screaming and moaning you did as your head fell to rest on Capitano's shoulder. Until Tartaglia suddenly gripped your chin and forced you to look at him that is.

"Don't be so unfair secretary and give the Captain all your attention...give me some to..." He licked his teeth like a wild animal before his lips pressed against yours, swallowing up your moans as his hands ran up to begin massaging and pinching at your nipples. Capitano groaned at the sight, waiting patiently for Tartaglia to give his fill before his head dipped to kiss and lightly bite at your shoulders. The sharp feeling of teeth nipping at your neck...you had no clue what was hidden behind Capitano's mask but...as he whispered a soft "Look at me" into your ear before his mask pressed closer to you. You were shocked at the long tongue that licked at your lips before it entered your mouth, prodding and tasting at every crevice and corner as even more spit slipped from your mouth.

"S-So tight milashka..." The ginger moaned, his hips beginning to stumble in their rhythm as he felt his orgasm approach.

Capitano parted from your lips to laugh breathlessly. "Already?" The sound of his cocky voice made you tighten against him, the first harbinger clenching his teeth at your cunt tightening around his cock. "I...I thought you'd last longer..." He continued.

"So did I with you." Tartaglia shot back with a huff, pressing himself closer to you as his thrusts increased, the knot from earlier starting back up against as you keened in at the feeling of your approaching orgasm.

"Make sure to scream my name milashka..."

"No, mine."

Their continued pleas and begs for you to say their names fell on deaf ears before you threw your head back to let out a loud cry, a gushing noise just barely reaching your ears before you suddenly felt something hot flooding your insides. "F-Fuck..." Tartaglia whispered against you as he collapsed against your body, still taking care to keep some of his wait off of you to avoid crushing you. "T-Think...your tight ass milked me completely dry..." He giggled drunkenly.

The two men stilled, tremors and pleasure still zapping and coursing through their veins as they allowed themselves to catch their breath whilst keeping themselves snug inside your holes. Soon, however, their attention was drawn back to you as your walls started to clench them once more. "Seems like my secretary wants a little more," Capitano whispered.

"Seems that way," Tartaglia smirked. "A round two does seem to be in order...I didn't quite catch whose name she screamed first." A gasp left your lips when you felt the two harbingers' cocks twitch inside of you.

They'd gladly fuck you until you knew whose name to moan.

[vixstarria]

Intimacy

Hello friends, have some soft Act 2 Astarion.  

Astarion’s struggle with sex and intimacy. Connected with my other fics but is a standalone, per usual. 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, soft Astarion 

Hurt/comfort, some fluff if you squint, love, angst, mutual pining, Act 2 spoilers, some fairly softcore smut 

Approximately 1,600 words. 

AO3

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he told you. You’d replayed that conversation over and over countless times in your mind, since.  

You had no idea what you were doing either. Oh, navigating an ordinary relationship was simple enough, and you’d had your fair share of those – even if they’d all ended in disappointment at best, so far. Being with someone who’d just escaped 200 years of abuse, however... That was something new.  

“I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex.” 

Well that was a fuck-up. He was walking sex. ...Most likely due to sheer force of habit, so necessary for survival over all those years, but still.  

“I love you.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...  

You were in over your head too. Completely. Hopelessly. In love with this catastrophe of a man.  

What were you to do with him now?  

Wait for him to take the lead in every physical interaction? It wasn’t in your nature to be so passive. He knew this. And you were sure he would love to be treated like spurned glass all of a sudden.  

Continue as you were? Even though now all you could think about was whether a touch might bring up a repulsive memory? Assume that you could singlehandedly overwrite centuries of disgust and loathing, overnight? How presumptuous and overbearing that would have been. 

Communicate? Ask? Listen? Sure. Absolutely. You did. Or tried, anyway. You were about as good at talking about these things as he was. And you didn’t really trust him to be completely honest at this point. Whether with you or his own self.  

And so you explored. Slowly, cautiously and attentively.

 

The most innocent touches seemed to bring him an inordinate amount of joy. You weren’t surprised.  

Passing him a vial of poison for his weapons and letting your fingers brush and caress one another’s, briefly. Wordlessly running a stray hand along his waist and planting a quick kiss under his ear while you walked past him as he stood talking with someone. Lingering with your foreheads or noses touching lightly after a kiss.

 

He leaped at any opportunity to massage your sore muscles or help you apply a salve, and you let him. It seemed he wanted to take care of you, and was working out all the ways how.  

He still pleasured you in different ways, at times.  

“You don’t have to...” 

“I want to,” he said. 

He just chose to keep his own pants on, now. You weren’t sure about his motivations. Could it be guilt? Or a misguided sense of self-worth? Did he still think this is all he was good for? Or, maybe you were completely overthinking it, and he was still just desperately horny, even if taking a step back. He was more present than before though, you could tell that much. 

You considered his reactions to other forms of touch, careful not to make your observation obvious. 

He hated being scratched. The entire area of his back covered in scars was off-limits for anything but embraces. He enjoyed playful bites, both giving and receiving. And more than anything, he loved holding you close, feeling as much of your body at once as possible, basking in its warmth.  

In turn, you were more than happy to wrap yourself around him when you could. 

“Why do you even like this?” he asked, apprehensive about it at first. “You don’t need to pretend for my sake. I can’t give you any warmth.” 

“I can give you mine,” you said, simply. “Besides, you obviously don’t remember what it’s like to lie in a puddle of sweat with someone who runs hot. This is a nice change.” you added after a moment of contemplation.  

You meant what you said, but you were dying to drag him into a hot bath, just to know what it would feel like for him to be warmed through. Maybe you’d get the chance once you got to Baldur’s Gate.

 

There happened to be a private room available at Last Light Inn that night. The group unanimously agreed that you and Astarion would take it, while the rest of your companions bunked in the common. 

“For Shar’s sake, piss off, none of us want to see or hear you two,” were the exact words of their blessing, delivered by Shadowheart. Karlach sanctified it by throwing a (deftly dodged) half-eaten apple at Astarion’s head.  

“Especially not hear!”

 

“I know this may come as a shock, but I’m actually not too fond of beds,” he said. 

“New memories, Astarion,” you shook your head. “Beds are non-negotiable. I wasn’t too fond of rutting in the dirt either.” 

“I’ll never grow tired of how poetic you are,” he smiled, unceremoniously throwing his gear on the floor. “New memories, you say?” 

A while later, you were straddling Astarion’s hips as he sat shirtless on the edge of the bed. 

“You know, you never did tell me what you like,” you sighed, your fingers in his hair as he kissed your neck.   

“Oh, what does anyone like? It’s all the same in the end,” he said, running his hands along your thighs. 

“That’s not true,” you murmured in his ear. “I can show you some things that are pretty unique to you right now,” you said and ran the tip of your tongue along the lower inner edge of his ear, making him shudder and let out a small moan.  

“You little devil, when did you figure that out?” he breathed.  

“When I happened to brush your ear a while back, like this,” you giggled, repeating the hand movement on his other ear, making him catch his breath slightly again, “and you just about started purring.” 

He just chuckled in response. 

“So what other secrets are you hiding?” you purred, kissing around his ear. “I might just need to kiss and caress every inch of your body to find out.” 

"Sounds like a terrible chore,” he said, falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. “You don’t want to do that.” 

“Shut up and let me cherish you.” 

You kissed down along one side his neck, slowly, taking your time, pausing to lightly lick or nibble on any spot that made him hitch his breath. He was putty in your hands by the time you reached his collarbone. 

“Just don’t go any lower,” he said breathlessly. 

You hummed your agreement. You couldn’t handle going any lower yourself – you were completely intoxicated with the scent of his skin and the sound of his sighs of pleasure, if you went any lower, you would keep going, and you didn’t think it was a day for that yet.  

You continued up the other side of his neck instead.  

You hesitated for a moment before your lips reached the bite marks left by Cazador, but Astarion made no indication that he didn’t want you to keep going, and so you continued. He let out a soft whimper as your lips brushed the scars. 

“No?” you pulled back slightly, your hot breath still on his skin. He was lying with his eyes shut, head thrown back, neck completely exposed to you. 

“Yes...” he whispered, hoarsely. “Very yes... Softly...” 

You continued, lingering with your lips on the scars, as his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, snapping them against his own and grinding you against an unmistakable erection. 

“I want you to make those marks your own... Yours and no one else’s...” he rasped. 

This is probably a mistake, you thought, but you could barely help yourself as you moaned into his neck and ran your tongue over the scars, making him growl and grind you into himself harder. The friction, the knowledge that he wanted it too was driving you mad.  

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop that,” you begged. 

“Go ahead,” he groaned. 

“Not without you.” 

Something in the energy changed then, and you lifted yourself off him, sitting up. Astarion stayed on his back a moment longer, before exhaling and also raising himself into a sitting position. You were still on his lap, facing him.  

“Listen,” he took your face in both hands, looking into your eyes intensely. “I want you so fucking bad, it hurts. I want to tear your clothes off and ravage you until you’re speaking in tongues. I do.” His voice was hoarse. He paused, before continuing. “But even more than that, I want to remember this, remember you, and not have any of the dirt from my past mixed into it. It’s difficult enough to keep it at bay as it is.” His eyes teared up at that. “And right now, for now, this is the only way I know how to do that.”  

“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang from your eyes. 

“No, you sweet idiot, you haven’t done anything wrong. I love you.” He gathered you in his arms, kissing away your tears as his own started to roll down. He sighed. “Great, now no one is coming, and everyone is crying.” 

You both burst out laughing as soon as those words were out of his mouth.  

You held each other a while longer, him stroking your back, before you broke the silence. 

“So the bite scars are pretty erogenous then?” 

“Extremely. Use that knowledge at your own risk and peril, darling.” 

He lifted your chin for a kiss. 

“Shall we go piss everyone off for a while, maybe steal Lae’zel’s boots, then come back here for more ‘memories’?” he asked.  

“Sounds childish and dangerous. I’m in.” 

You needed to clear your head too.  

Maybe tomorrow would be the day one of you would get closer to knowing what it was you were doing, and tell the other. Until then, at least you were in it together. 

~~~~~ 

The “I love you” is not canon for Act 2, but it is my headcanon, damnit.  

Like what you just read? Huzzah, there’s more! - Series master list

Next in series - Communication

AO3

[thatsdemko]

love thy neighbor - t.wolff

masterlist

pairings: Toto Wolff x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of ideas not intended for minors + next door neighbor trope + NO age gap!(for the sake of the fic both reader and Toto are relatively close in age)

a/n: been working on this one for a hot minute! hope you enjoy xx

you never hated your neighbor. to be fair, to hate someone you have to know their name and all you know is he has a extravagant life style to afford vintage Mercedes Benz cars and have shelves full of trophies. call yourself a snooper, but the man across the way was never good at hiding his life from your window.

his lifestyle was far different than anyone in the cul de sac you live in. half of them being retired home owners, plus you two. middle aged adults with paychecks able to afford the expense of a home in Monaco.

you don’t question why he has so many trophies, and you’ll never have the time, but it doesn’t stop your morning coffee imagination at the dinning room table. you have the perfect view inside a part of his space.

yes, whoever created these two houses must’ve been complete creeps or family, because nobody ever has windows that are directly into another persons house. but you never questioned it, you just closed the blinds at night or whenever his light was on too early in the morning for you.

today was a morning he was dressed to the nines. a blazer, white dress shirt(typical fashion of his), and dress pants. he lays two ties out and you watch him decide which one to wear. you feel awfully embarrassed when his eyes catch yours, but he sends a slight wave, and you hold up a finger indicating which option was best.

you can’t hear it, but all you see is him laugh and it makes you wonder what it sounds like. is it husky? more from the belly? is it contagious?

you need sleep, these thoughts about your neighbor are certainly overpowering any senses that coffee can’t seem to help.

—

he’s gone most weekends. his vintage Mercedes sits in the driveway, top on in case of a rainstorm, but his lights in the house are off. he’s got endless amounts of packages piling up outside his doorstep that would have you eager to rip them open if they were yours.

a long day of grocery shopping and dinner at your parents in town took a lot out of you. you shove your key into the lock of your door, hearing the rumble of the infamous neighbors Mercedes speed around the cul de sac until he pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine.

your door is half open, you’re halfway in it, but it’s like you’re watching something out of a movie scene. the way he gets out of the car is like in slow motion. his rolled up white dress shirt sleeves have creases across the arms. his brief case sits on the top of his car as he slams the door shut behind him rudely awakening your little stare.

a blush forms to your cheeks as you quickly slam your door behind you once you’ve shoved yourself inside. your back rests against the door, heart beating against your chest it’s almost as loud as the knock that comes next.

you jolt away from the door, moving yourself onto your tippy toes you see him. he’s holding one of your bags of groceries you left at the door step, he’s got one hand clutching his brief case, the other gripping the plastic bag full of embarrassing items (ie: tampons and other toiletries).

if you could hate one person right now, it’s you. how could you let yourself get so immersed in him that you literally dropped what you were doing and stared like a little girl in a candy shop?

you swallow the little pride left in you and slowly open the door up a bit. you get a peek at the lines across his face, most likely due from stress, and the way his brown eyes find you. you can feel the thudding of your heart against its cavity.

“I believe you dropped these.” he extends the bag outward towards where you stand, you’re sandwiched in the little space you gave yourself. you extend your hand out, skin briefly touching before you pull away.

“I’m Toto, I don’t think we’ve properly met. and you are?”

his accent. it’s so unfamiliar to your ears. you never would’ve expected his voice to be as deep but light as it was. it was smooth like butter on toast to your ears, it made the hairs on your arm stand up, your back straighten.

“y/n.”

a sparkle shines in his eyes. it’s one you notice once you’ve said your name. he repeats it softly back to you in a question, like it’s not what he was expecting, and he likes it. he always pictured you with a unique name, or maybe one that was a bit basic, but yours fits you perfectly.

“well I better get going. it’s nice to meet you.” he waves you off before he slips into his own house and both of your doors slam in sync.

now that he had a name, there was no stopping your imagination.

—

mornings were the same. they always were.

freshly brewed coffee in front of you, as you watch Toto dance around his kitchen balance a smoothie, a laptop, and a muffin. the man was always busy once the sun shined through his blinds. you wonder if he ever truly gets sleep.

like usual, your mind shifts to him. does he drink coffee in the morning? how many of those white dress shirts does he own? what does his house smell like? does he make a good smoothie?

these questions, once again, couldn’t be drowned with a cup of caffeine, but when he glances over his shoulder and flashes you a wave, the questions silent themselves.

he’s handsome.

you knew this, your heart knew this, your mind knew this, and certainly your body knew this. the hum between your legs was never going to stop when he looked your way.

you lift your coffee cup into the air before taking a sip from the hot contents. it soothes your brains rambles down and puts the energy you need right back into you. the work day was just beginning, and Toto was just heading out the door.

what a shame, you wished he could’ve stayed. oh the things he missed when he’s gone.

—

the evenings are a bit lonely when the sun goes away and the stars crawl in, you watch the rest of Monaco get ready for lavish celebrations while you stick to a movie and a snack.

he’s just arrived home. you hear the rumble of his car in your quiet cul de sac. he kills the engine and before you know it there’s a knock at your front door. it’s rare, you never get visitors, unless for the elder neighbors begging to help you with your garden, but even then they knew to never knock and just help themselves. so this knock was awfully unusual.

unlocking the door to see Toto was a surprise. he stands there, brief case in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, with a goofy grin.

“I don’t really drink wine, did you want this?” he asks, extending the expensive bottle of red outward towards you. he’d noticed in your bag of toiletries the bottle of cheap red wine, and when he’d been gifted the rather expensive one from George for his birthday, he knew someone who might enjoy it more.

“you didn’t poison this, did you?” you take the bottle, and push open your door further to invite him inside.

“it was a gift from work, he would know better to not poison me.” he steps inside your house and allows you to close the door behind him. he gets a good look inside your place, the endless amount of candles, minimal paintings hung on the walls, and your infamous kitchen. the one he’s stolen many glances across at.

“and who is this he we should be blaming if we die?”

“George Russell.”

you chuckle at the name, “he sounds very posh.”

you quickly pull out two wine glasses while he begins to undo the cork; once opened, he pours the liquid into the glasses for the both of you.

“with the money he gets, darling he makes posh look silly.”

you feel the butterflies rumble around your stomach, a blush creep across your cheeks as you take the glass from his hands, skin once again touching for the briefest moment.

“and how much is he making exactly?” you ask leading him to your deck where two Adirondack chairs are placed looking out at the sky. you don’t tend to come out here often, as the chairs were a gift from a friend, but the stars were shining just bright enough to enjoy.

“six million euros.”

you spit out the wine in your mouth, luckily it landed back into the glass, but it wasn’t a very classy move to make. not around the man you’ve been crushing on since you’d moved in. this was the most he’d ever spoke to you, and at this rate, he might not again.

“he could buy Monaco.”

“I could buy Monaco.” he corrects you with a mischievous smile that makes your heart pick up, and your stomach do a back flip. he looks good like that.

“alright what are you mr. Forbes?”

he laughs. it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. it answers your own question, the laugh sounds like it comes from his heart and his belly. it’s a genuine emotion.

“well I have been on Forbes, but is money really a concern to you?”

you shake your head violently at the question. you lean closer to the edge of your seat, legs crossed to try and tune out the hum in between your thighs, “no, never.”

“but I must say, you have to make a lot to afford those vintage Mercedes Benz’s that you drive.” you add to your statement. watching him nod, he takes a look up at the stars, it gives you a chance to take in his side profile. the stress creases across his forehead, the smile lines around his mouth, the dimple in his cheek. every part of him is jaw dropping.

“you don’t come out here very often, why’s that?” he turns to you, it’s his turn to take in your beauty as you stare up into the stars. they were much brighter away from the city, you always liked that the most.

“I didn’t notice you watched me that closely.” you joke, a smile forming to your lips that reaches your eyes. he’s never seen you smile much, you’re usually grumpy in the morning or lost into your thoughts while drinking your morning coffee. he enjoys this much more than the toiletry run in where you both were a bit on the edge of anxiety.

“I’m not home very often. I try to get out when I can, and you should too. I grill, I know how much you enjoy looking at me.” he says, and hesitantly places a hand against yours. his palm is warm, but nothing like clammy, just the kind that heats up your skin in the middle of winter. the skin to skin contact ignites the flame in you to burn like a warning signal, one that he notices. this man did many things to your brain.

“I’ve never seen you in anything but this shirt.” you remove your hand from underneath his and reach over across your chair to the plastic buttons holding the dress shirt together.

your fingers carefully undo the second button, the top one had already been undone since he doesn’t like to wear it that neat anyway. you can feel his breath hitch, his heart beat is pounding against your knuckles that gently glide against his skin.

“do you wear this all the time?” you pull away, resting back against the chair and watch him fix himself.

“it’s work attire.” he finally breathes. you both can hear him exhale all the pent up emotions. he turns to you, fingers reaching towards your collarbone where the charm of your necklace sits. it’s his turn for payback.

“and who bought you this lovely charm?”

“my mother.” it comes out a bit snippy. his knuckles against your collarbone slip away and for a moment you curse yourself for being so hostile to such an inviting man. one you’ve wanted for so long to get to know.

“who taught you how to talk to your neighbors like that?”

“my father. he was an ass.”

he barks out a laugh taking the last sip of his wine. you don’t want this to be over, and you’re thankful it’s not when he offers to pour refills for you both.

you watch him walk inside your house leaving you alone with the beautiful stars of the sky and your tempting thoughts. having him this close wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t any good. you’d want him as much as he was making the efforts to show, and the buzz in between your legs was loud enough for him to hear. he wanted you too. but what would this do for your friendship? truthfully, nothing. Toto Wolff wasn’t a friend, just a neighbor who sometimes gets your mail instead of his. you could live looking across the window knowing he fucked you senseless.

what drama this cul de sac would have, and it seems they haven’t experienced this much since you two came around and played ding dong fuck every other night.

I guess you both took loving thy neighbor a little too seriously, but you’re sure Jesus wouldn’t mind the kind of love you were making.

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa

want to be apart of my taglist? let me know here!

[bright-molina]

you are in love

synopsis there is absolutely no doubt in chad's mind that he is so very in love with you, as much as you are in love with him, and he can't help but silently tell you in the way he knows best

a/n you know when artists film one take music videos and just go with it? that is exactly what this fic is <3 (ps recommended song for this one is, you guessed it, you are in love by taylor swift you cannot tell me that this doesn't give off the same vibes, it absolutely does)

Chad couldn’t hear a single word anybody was saying. He hadn’t heard them in a long time and they had yet to notice. To be fair, though, he wasn’t really making an effort to listen. He was much too preoccupied with his current situation.

He’d gravitated to you instantly, as he always did. The two of you had walked through the door of Sam and Tara’s apartment and it took a good amount of effort to unwind his arms from around your waist. And even then it was only after promising you’d be right there in just one second.

You’d been able to see him sitting on the couch perfectly clear. Once every twenty seconds he’d glance into the kitchen, where you were talking to Anika, like clockwork. Whenever you happened to catch Chad’s eye he’d give you the biggest grin ever with this little sparkle in his eyes but never once did he rush you. He did, however, start getting just a little bit more antsy and you could tell.

It’d been over two hours since you sat down next to him and he hadn’t moved at all. Chad was convinced now more than ever that this right here with you was his happy place. He was curled into your side, body scrunched into a little ball, with his head on your shoulder. He wasn’t too sure how long it’d been since he had zoned out of the conversation, and frankly everything else around him, but he couldn’t be more content.

He held your hand closest to him in his lap. One of his hands held yours gently while the other wandered. His touch was light as a feather as he traced up and down your arm first before moving to your hand when he saw the glint of your rings under the living room light. He twisted one of them, a pretty little one with a sun in the middle, one he’d bought you not too long ago after you lost your previous one, around for a while before moving on to playing with your fingers.

All the while you kept talking. Chad listened as you laughed. He could feel the way your body shook and glanced up only to watch your head fall back and your eyes crinkle, to see the way you smiled and giggled through whatever you had to add to the conversation. He let out a gentle and completely lovestruck sigh, before smiling himself and resuming his previous motions.

He let go of your hand briefly only to turn it so your palm was facing up. His touch turned a little heavier as he traced the lines of your palm back and forth. He followed the way they criss crossed and rose and fell and got deeper and eventually he felt the way you shivered a bit. Chad smiled again.

You moved for the first time since you’d sat down and it was only to turn and look at Chad a little closer. There was no doubt in your mind he was beaming down at the way he was holding your hand with not a single thought in that head of his. You let go of him and his movements stopped completely as he watched you move.

Really you couldn’t help yourself. You hooked a finger under his chin, slowly and gently tilting his head up so he could look at you. The two of you were so close in proximity that you could both see and hear the way his breath hitched when you held him and started gliding your thumb across his cheekbone.

And then you dared to make a move. You shifted a bit, giving you slightly better access to lean in and kiss him once. Twice. Then three times, each one soft and barely there as you looked right at him and his reactions the whole time. He chased after your lips with his own when you pulled away but you shifted, just out of reach again. But still, you never let him go.

Instead you traced his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb before smiling at him and declaring, “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

Chad almost forgot where the two of you were. The living room lights and the sound of your shared friends still talking all around him tore him back down to reality. He didn’t move and he could almost swear he was able to feel your heart beating as fast as his.

His hand, the one that had been holding yours for so long, reached up to cover yours. It felt almost empty without the weight of your hand in his anymore. And then he let his eyes flicker. They shifted across your features, ones he had memorized long ago, before flashing down to your lips and lingering there for a second. He almost leaned in again and it took every bit of control to not give in, knowing exactly what he’d do if he did.

Instead Chad looked into your eyes again and let out another soft sigh, along with the involuntary echo of this little noise. One that made you grin wildly at him. He kept staring at you. He was lost for a second before finally remembering how to form the words he so badly wanted to say. “Can we go home now?”

There was no other option than to give in to his request, there really, really wasn’t. You kissed him one more time. Harder, deeper, and slower. One that told him exactly what he was in for. Exactly how you felt.

You stood as quickly as you’d kissed him and took a step backwards, pulling him from his dazed position on the couch. “Hey, I think we’re gonna head out for the night.”

You paid no mind at all to the shouts and playful jeers that came from behind you as you started pulling him out of the apartment with no hesitation. All you did was laugh one more time, ignoring their questions and taunts while shouting a quick goodbye before shutting the door. Frankly, you were already much too preoccupied with the thoughts of what was to come and the way Chad wrapped his arms around your waist again tightly, still absolutely refusing to let you go.

[yoongihan]

You Left A Mark - LYB (Sneak Peek)

for the skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics

romantic trope - soulmates (from this reel)

rating: M for smut, a little angst, fair amount of fluff

final word count: over 10k

release: friday feb 23, 2024

--

“Thank you, again, Mr….”

“I’m Felix,” your rescuer says. “I work here.” He reaches out to move a wayward piece of your hair out of your eyes, his finger brushing along your cheekbone. It makes you pause in your attempt at gratitude because you’re not really bothered. Like he’s a stranger and is touching you and you don’t mind? Because he has a nice, sweet face? “Sorry, you had some hair…”

You can sense Chan moving away, packing up the camera, leaving you relatively alone with this person. 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you stutter a little because you’re thrown off your game. “Felix. At some point, I owe you a drink.” 

“Oh no, it’s not a–”

“I owe you a drink.” You smile, though it’s your television smile because you need to be professional even if you feel the least professional. “Even if it’s just a coffee.” You gesture to Taste. “If you want.”

The smile returns in full. “Yeah, okay. I’m here most days.” His lips part like he might say more, but he doesn’t. Nor do you. 

It’s nice just looking at him. The sun-warmed skin that contrasts with the inky black of his hair and eyebrows. He’s taller than you, but there’s no intimidation factor in the difference. He feels like someone you could meet anywhere and approach without worry.

You bet he gets great tips as a barista. Imagine walking in to get a coffee and that luminescent smile. 

You hear Chan call your name in an attempt to get you to head back. It shakes you out of the strange reverie this stunning, deep-voiced person has you in. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you.”

He waves as you walk away before tucking his hands into his back pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. It’s now that you notice that he wears the half-apron other employees were wearing, black pants and emerald shirt (a t-shirt, but like a really nice one). You glance back once you’re in the news van with Chan who chuckles.

“Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

You look back at the road and huff. “Aren’t you a bit too interested?” You grab a granola bar out of your bag and take a bite, sighing happily. 

“Not at all. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that though.”

“God, he’s cute, alright. And saved my job because I doubt I could keep reporting with a broken face.” 

“Methinks the lady doth protest too–”

“I can murder you, you know,” you interrupt. “No one would suspect because I know things. I’ve watched a lot of Criminal Minds.”

He presses his lips together, but is grinning. “Ooooo, scary.”

“Exactly.” You roll your eyes, your mind briefly leaving the cute barista and returning to all that is work. 

--

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

--

go read mica's best friends to lovers fic with jisung or childhood friends to lovers fic with chan

[projecthipster]

Pulp Fiction

You've seen this on a hundred t-shirts, but why?

“Whether or not what we experienced was an According to Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.”

Somehow, I turned 26 without ever having seen Pulp Fiction. I guess I vaguely knew that this was some sort of violent, amoral movie that college freshmen (emphasis on the men) loved for being subversive. And committed as I was to some sort of soft-revolution folk-listening bike-riding Wes Anderson form of hipsterdom, it wasn’t that I hated the idea of Tarantino, but he was never on my radar aside from watching Inglorious Basterds on cable one night. And now that I’ve actually sat down and watched Pulp Fiction in one sitting after years of posters and memes, I have to say what I didnt fully expect to say: I get it. I think I totally get it. My persona’s not going to be uprooted by this movie, but if this was the first thing I’d seen that wasn’t, like, Michael Bay’s Transformers, I can see how it would have that impact.

A few years ago I might have filled this review with thoughts on whether violent crime in movies, perpetrated by the protagonists, was problematic. But truth be told I’m a bit tired of the vaguely neo-puritan concept that a story’s quality can be evaluated with a sort of demerit system, by going over a script with a comb of fine moralistic teeth and dropping points for every problematic aspect. I could easily do that to Pulp Fiction, and in the interest of fairness, let’s do that briefly here. Few strong female characters:  debatable, given how memorable repeat Tarantino collaborator Uma Thurman is as a nostalgic-fun-chasing gangster’s wife and washed up actress, but let’s say point off. Every time Samuel L. Jackson, John Travolta, and Bruce Willis gun down people in cold blood: point off. The entire ending to Bruce Willis’ segment: several points off. Tarantino writing a speech of a white guy standing in his kitchen spouting racial slurs like Pitchfork writers spout baseless comparisons to earlier albums, and then casting himself as that white guy: many, many points off. You can decide for yourself whether you want to take points off for the foot fetish. Was that fun? Are we purified? 

I couldn’t say exactly why I’m over this neopuritanism. Maybe it’s the algorithms, censoring anything with naughty bits for the sake of greater appeal and therefore greater profit, forcing a sort of childish doublespeak. I don’t think there’s a single scene in this movie that could survive unedited on Tiktok. No one in Pulp Fiction is unalived. They die. What’s more, they fucking die. Working around that even for progressive reasons all smacks too much of more classical conservative censorship. There’s a classic interview from around the release of Kill Bill that I found before I queued up the movie. A fusty-vibed pundit does her best to take down Tarantino with accusations of corrupting youth through senseless onscreen violence. He rallies back, more convincingly, that even kids can separate movies from reality better than the moral crusaders tend to assume. Why all the violence? Because it’s so much fun, Jan!

And as I watched this apparent frat bro classic, as I was swept into the sheer style of it all, with the classic music and the funky directing and the whip-quick dialogue that swings between incredibly casual and over-the top theatrical, while I didn’t feel myself turning into a frat bro, I felt my inner Jan wither away somewhat, because, yeah, it IS fun! Pulp Fiction is two and a half hours long, and it feels both longer than that for the amount of stuff in there, and shorter than that for its headlong galloping pace. No, the gangster protagonists aren’t good people. They shouldn’t be role models. They don’t need to be. They’re lurid, florid, edgy clowns, and it’s fun to laugh at them while also being a little scared for them, because if they’re shot, then the fun ends. That was the appeal of the pulp fiction of a century past, of cheap crime novellas sold on tables outside train stations that crumbled quickly into paper dust. As in that namesake fiction, Tarantino’s characters navigate a world divided into Their People and shrieking innocent bystanders, with the ratio tilted rather more to the former than you’d expect. Their stories branch and weave together, wrapping back into a thematically cohesive nugget where it all began. Each of them is a little movie in its own right, introducing us to characters in scenarios that spiral into wild climaxes.

One of the problems here is that not every branch of the tree is created equal. We start with the bits  I’ve seen in memes for decades. Vincent and Jules, buddy hitmen, talk about burgers and track down some dudes. Jules taunts one, plays linguistic games, and recites a fictional bible verse before shooting him through the head. Vincent takes his boss’s wife, Mia, out to a fifties themed diner. Until I watched Pulp Fiction for real, it should be said, I had this impression that it was a period piece. It’s not, it turns out. It’s set in the early nineties, when it came out. It just so happens that every damn thing onscreen throws back to decades previous. The screen itself feels soaked in nostalgia. Maybe that’s part of why it feels timeless. What’s timeless when it’s created will always be timeless. What’s timely fades. Going back to the diner, for example, Vince and Mia enter a dance competition that feels right out of Grease, which yes, I know, was a period piece too. That leads to this climax involving a big adrenaline syringe.

You  see why this is all hard to summarize in a linear manner?

The chemistry of Travolta, Jackson, and Thurman is a great source of the aforementioned all-important Fun through all this. It’s a drop down to suddenly turn to Bruce Willis’ corrupt prizefighter and his character-free doe-eyed French wife, even if that segment does climax the last way you’d ever possibly expect. It mostly all wraps back together at the end, though, with a truly tense final standoff. One thing I like, a closing grace, is that all this blood and swearing and needless slur-dropping ends not in the most violent shoot out yet, but in a  calm and simple act of mercy. It’s like the end of The Catcher in the Rye, where you can see a little bit of character development start to seep in, colouring everything previous as explanatory preamble to this little bit of worthwhile change. 

There’s a touch of hinting at the role of the author as God in fiction, too. The main catalyst for this all-important change, the change that structures the whole rambling multi-threaded movie, is a coincidence that saves Jules’ life. He calls it a miracle, views it as an Act of God. That’s supposed to be Against The Rules of screenwriting. Acts of God, which within worlds of fiction are obviously Acts of the Author, show the hand of the author, and so inherently call attention to the unreality of the story. But maybe, this movie is saying, that’s sometimes ok. There’s a confidence to rapping on the fourth wall a bit. By making the audience aware of the unreality of the story– something even done as early as the title in this case, it has “fiction” right there in it– the work makes them aware of the craft inherent in creating the fiction they’re watching. You only want to do that if you’re damn sure the craft is good. Thankfully, in this case, it is. 

One of the great defining factors of Hipster Fiction, I’m finding, is an appreciation for the auteur, for a story as a product of a singular mind even when, as in the case of a movie, it’s really the product of hundreds of people working together.  That stands in contrast to fiction pushed out of homogenizing studios and record labels and publishing houses, eager to erase the most dramatic and therefore potentially polarizing flourishes of the author into a marketable mainstream. That’s why I don’t mind the quirks, even the weird ones, as much as I might. Tarantino is singular, and the weird foot shots are a signature because he’s a weird dude about that. That’s the sort of thing that would be ironed out of a focus-grouped, less auteur driven, less hipster movie aiming to satisfy everyone. 

That ending, and the touching on the author’s Godly hand, cements Jackson’s melodramatic gangster Jules as the closest thing this all has to a bit of heart. A bit of heart is nice. It’s not why we’re here, though. We’re here to watch John Travolta talk about burgers, dance the twist, and shoot people.

I give this hipster movie four dorm room posters out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the eleventh list, The Greatest Films For Hipsters.

Stay deck.

Next up: a book you’ve probably read.

[charmsandtealeaves]

For the wip game snippet from boots??? And the revenge sweetness??? I’m intrigued

Okay I am currently somewhat overwhelmed by the level of love Brown Boots & Breakfast Bagels has been receiving. I woke up to SIX comments this morning after posting chapter 3 last night. Which to me is absolutely insane. So here's a little snippet from the upcoming chapter 4 (which may or may not come out later today 😉).

“You say it like I don’t already know all this Ali. I want a serious relationship! I want someone who I’m happy to come home to everynight and eat dinner with. I want to go to bed feeling safe and warm and loved and all the shit you’ve got with Frank. I’ve tried. I tried with Benji, I tried with Amos-” “No Lily. You didn’t.” Alice interrupted sternly. “You picked men who weren’t ready for serious relationships. You picked men in their mid twenties who still act like teenagers. You went on a few dates and you shagged them. You wanted to fix them up the way you wanted but they didn’t want to be fixed. And when they didn’t want that you didn’t want them. So you dropped them and moved onto the next thing or went back to Snape for a pity fuck. I love you Lily I do. But you’re not going to give Caradoc a proper chance until you’ve settled whatever it was with James. For whatever reason you opened up and trusted James and you feel like he’s thrown it back in your face. You’re angry and you’re hurt. I can understand that. But you don’t just get hurt and move on. You get hurt and try to cause more hurt or shut down. You gotta rip the plaster off this time girl. Confront James, have it out with him and then seriously give it a go with Caradoc. Fuck this ‘don’t screw the crew rule’. If it works out, that’s great. If it doesn’t it just doesn't. He’s already shown he can be mature about it after all the times you’ve rejected him previously. You know how to remain professional so just take the bloody chance will you. You deserve to be happy Lily more than anyone I know. But being happy starts with YOU.” 

As for Revenge Tastes Sweeter. I've hit a bit of a slump with that. I originally planned to have a fair amount written before I started to publish it, but I think I might just roll with it and start publishing it because clearly I can be motivated to write by kudos and comments 🤣

It's an extension/sequel to one of the pieces I wrote for Jilytober Fest, Bad Taste. It's essentially a Jily fake dating fic which I only wrote because @joyseuphoria suggested it. I know I've shared a snippet of it previously but I can't for the life of me find the post (can you tell I'm bad at tagging things? I'm trying to work on that). So here it is again:

James stepped forward and bent down to kiss Lily gently on the lips. The hem of her school skirt touched him just below the knee. Her lips were soft and melded nicely with his. Though only briefly, before he pulled away. She looked up at him slightly disappointed.  “What are you doing with your hands Potter?”  James looked down at his hands which he’d firmly put back into his pockets prior to kissing her. “What am I supposed to do with them?”  “Oh I don’t know. Touch my face? The small of my back? Something other than just shoved in your pockets.” Lily suggested.  “Well I don’t know do I? I don’t exactly want a hexing for putting my hands somewhere they shouldn’t be.” He replied exasperated. 

So maybe two fic chapters will be coming out this weekend... watch this space.

[fully-caulked-wagon]

Some of my favourite lines/passages from my shitty Aidungeon Zosan fanfics Part 7

Pretend that part 6 never said '(final)'. Pretend right now. Fic 4 (Again cause I've added like, 11,000 words to it since I posted the first fic 4 part.):

If his legs twitch in anticipation of a fight anymore than they are now, he's sure he'll come down with a severe case of the dancing plague. Dancing, being code for 28 rage-induced kicks to the cranium of dickhead sheriffs. - Don't ask me why I decided to reference a meme as dead as '28 stab wounds' cause I honestly don't know. Sanji startles slightly, running a hand through the back of his hair and sighing, "Right. Right. Yeah. See ya, I guess. If I die, make sure I'm buried by the lovely hands of Nami-Swan and Robin dear. And don't touch my kitchen." Zoro huffs and rolls his eyes, "If you die, we're throwing you straight in the bin." - "When I die, just throw me in the trash!" - Danny Devito Sanji stretches his arms high above his head and cracks his neck, "I'll be back before the Mosshead even has the chance to get lost in his own thoughts." "Oi!" - This is like, right after the previous excerpt, I just wanted to separate them. "Fucking Christ. Stupid fucking Marimo and his dumbass being right." - What a fool, what a nincompoop, what a buffoon, what an imbecile, what an ignoramus. Also - Jesus Christ canonically in One Piece verse, question mark exclamation mark? In fairness, he doesn't have to sneak through too many thin alleyways - none other than today, in fact. Getting shit talked by the mosshead, on the other hand? Not so mercifully infrequent. - Oof. Usopp is sat rigidly in his seat with a small smile on his face as the mosshead stacks the most miniscule fucking deck of cards Sanji has ever seen atop Usopp's nose - it somehow managing to have reached monstrous heights - while the scent of a stroke Sanji's almost convinced he's having wafts from the plate of 'buttered toast' Cal is munching on on the sidelines. - I just liked the phrase 'the scent of a stroke', honestly. Might be one of those things where it's only funny to me, idk. "Usopp thought you were dead!" Maria follows up calmly, "Zoro wished you were dead." - Double oof. Sanji's about however long it would take to read the full list of vegetables Luffy would willingly eat over meat - that is to say, a second at best, from growling. - This whole fic is just one big test of Sanji's patience, ngl. Sanji sighs and lets his head hit the table, a hollow 'thunk' ringing in his ears, the ringing growing stronger as the mosshead snorts in an unattractive and not at all endearing way, "That sound was your skull, shit Cook." "That sound was your brain trying to come up with original insults, jackass, shut up." "Scathing." "You don't even know what that means." - Triple oof. Sanji thanks the impending dread that fills the room for stopping him from blatantly swooning. - Ah, existential doom. A fickle mistress. Franky gives a low whistle, "Hot. ...I think." - There's a lot of things that are questionably hot in this world. Franky will fuck every last one of them. Sanji can feel his fucking ears turning red, damn this stupid perceptive bastard, "Che. I was just trying to figure out if your brain was small enough for a metal pole to go in one ear and out the other without making contact." "Bastard." - Goddamn shrubbery and their fucking observation haki. On his right there's a door labelled 'bathroom' that, once he opens it briefly to glance inside, gives way to a small room that can only really be called a bathroom on the technicality that the thing in the corner is probably a bath and the amount of space the area takes up is probably enough to be considered a room. - Ah, hotels. (Technically it's an inn, but shh.) Robin freezes in place once they reach the saloon, tilting her head slightly as she inquires to Franky, "By any chance, have you been rattling?" Franky simply smirks and opens up the door to his stomach fridge and extends a tiny hand in to fish out a pair of sea stone handcuffs, spinning it around on one finger and chuckling, "Maybe." - Dude just rattles sometimes, don't worry about it. Robin places a hand to her cheek, "Oh my. Perhaps this passageway has a connection to the future? It would be a shame if we passed through, and our bodies slowly aged and shrivelled up until we were nothing but bones and bolts." Franky sweats slightly, replying slightly shakily, "Yeah, that's uh... That's- Th... Please stop being so ominous. It's SUPER freakin' me out." - Yo. That would suck, I think. Franky chuckles, calming down somewhat, "Yeah, well, not in this case. I don't exactly find the slow, agonising aging of my body until I rot away particularly sexy - sorry." Robin hums, "That's fair, I suppose." - This is again almost immediately after the previous excerpt but yada yada. A couple beats of silence pass and Franky leans down and mutters, "Do I need to eeny-meeny-miny-moe this again, or...? I'm down for charging blindly in a random direction too if you are." - Again. Implying he's done that before. I refuse to think about the implications of that.

[writingsoftrash]

Alice In Mechaland Chapter One, Part One: Savior At The Eleventh Hour

An. A.I Artificial Intelligence/Gigolo Joe x OC fanfiction by sarsa Masterpost of Chapters Original A/N 03/03/2020: yeah I have absolutely 0 explanation as to why I am obsessed/fixated with this movie or why I decided to write a self indulgent fic to give Joe a happy ending. (Well I say happy but it's, not totally happy WHOOPS.) I stopped questioning myself a long time ago. If, for some reason, someone out there enjoys this. well, then. I did a good job at least. will it be finished? hell if i know. like i said, totally self indulgent fic, is it mary sue? idk i don't care i wrote what i wanted to write i've written like 9k words already, and i'm gonna split what i have up into chapters! hurray! Updated A/N 7/27/24: tl;dr, crossposting the fic to tumblr. dunno if this will gain it a wider audience or not, idk. but surprisingly this self indulgent incredibly niche fic is one of my most popular fics on AO3 so why not! It's still unfinished, (and plenty more to go.) but I hope if there's any new readers - you love it as much as I love writing it. Also, due to the chapters being as long as they are - they will have to be split up into parts. Apologies for that, Tumblr is dumb. I've tried a hundred million ways to post just the (1st) chapter in its entirety and it just. won't. so, apologies!

He was sitting in the cold, (not that he could feel it of course, being that he was made of nothing more than wires and gears,) police station, idly tapping his feet against the concrete floor whilst whistling. He knew, deep down-  as many creatures did at these pivotal moments, that his life was nearing it's end, the handcuffs on his wrists harsh reminders of the inevitable fate that befell all mecha. In the back of his mind, he only wished that perhaps... David had fulfilled his purpose, and that he had helped the young mecha in his pursuit of the Blue Fairy. 

His own purpose was about to be forever extinguished. 

So Joe, also known as Gigolo Joe to the many patrons of the lover mecha, sat there, unblinking and resigned to the fact that he now knew, no matter how much he had tried to run, it would eventually catch up to him. He had escaped it once at the Flesh Fair, but fate did not slow down for mechas. It was always inching, crawling behind them, waiting to catch them and devour those who had dared to be created by man's hand. 

The door swung open, and his pristine face swiveled to look at who was entering, who would be the one to hand down his sentence (death) without a single ounce of pity or wherewithal to question the circumstances on which he had been condemned.  "And I am telling you, to release him into my custody. He's not the murderer - the police in Haddonfield have the right man locked up and with a full confession. I don't see what's so hard about this."

If he had the capacity, the desire to blink in surprise, he would have, but instead he simply cocked his head exactly nine degrees to the right, and stared blankly at the blonde-haired woman who was arguing with the police man, and despite her diminutive size was able to keep up with the burly man's steps. "Again, if you do NOT release this man-" "You mean mecha?" "...this MAN, into my custody, immediately, you are going to be so miserable with the amount of paperwork my firm's going to bury you in," she moved to stand between the officer and Joe, crossing her arms and tapping her heeled boots impatiently, and he could smell, drifting from her, the most delicious scent- and he could name the perfume instantly - Dior, he thought after briefly going through his list of common perfumes worn by women, before his eyes moved to her blonde hair. Had he not been handcuffed to the table, he swore he would have lifted a hand up to touch it gently. "Look lady, you want to be responsible for him? Fine. You're right, he hasn't murdered anyone. But he still stole-" "You'll find that my partner has already paid for the fines, next? Or can we stop this inane back and forth, and I can leave with him? Or is it your goal to be benched and investigated for gross incompetence?" The officer scoffed, looking away - disgust apparent on both his face and in his tone, "Oh begging your pardon, miss. Sorry we didn't do our due diligence over one fuckin' mecha," he moved swiftly, clearly done with the woman, taking out a set of keys and unlocking Joe's handcuffs roughly and pulling him out of the chair before pushing him over, "Here you are, one fuckbot at your service, keep him out of trouble, you mechafucker. " The police officer offered one last laugh as he left, "I'll let YOU explain to him what happened, not my fuckin problem anymore. Weirdo..."  The woman watched as he left, nostrils flared with clear annoyance, jaw clenched, clearly attempting to stop herself from saying anything incendiary to the cop. As soon as the door shut with a SLAM, she spun on her heels to face Joe - her face that once held fury and contempt for the officer, became one filled with an apologetic look, "Sorry about that, some of these guys can be real jackasses for no reason. Um-" her hand extended out to him, a shy smile crossing her face, "My names Alice Capulet, lawyer with Capulet Law Firms here in Rouge City." Joe tilted his head, taking the offered hand and shaking it, before bringing her hand to his lips to gently kiss the top of it as he maintained eye contact with the woman, "Why?" he asked simply, no other words or questions came up- just confusion settling in his wires as he was confronted with this Alice, who had just argued for his freedom so vehemently. He watched as the telltale sign of an emotional response to his hand kiss rose to her cheeks, blood coloring the skin as she flushed, pulling her hand away and rubbing it nervously with the other.  "Why what?" "Why did you save me?" he asked, "As the police offer so crudely put it, I am just... a simple 'fuckbot' though I admit, I would have preferred my actual name, and perhaps a more suitable moniker. Lover mecha, Sex worker. I am what I am, and I hold no shame... but-" he smiled, doing a small tap with his feet, and extending his hand out to her, "I am... the best at what I do, and none can take that from me. But I am... just a mecha. So, why?" A laugh was his response, as she shook her head, offering up a small smile, "...How about I answer as we get out of this place?" she asked, moving towards the door,  "You've been released into my custody, and you don't have to come with me... you're free to return to your work, if you'd like. But, if you'd like to... recharge so to speak, I've a free room in my apartment." She beckoned him forth - this Alice - holding out her hand which he took, gently into his as she led him out of the room and back out into the free world, as a free man.  Chapter One: Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV

Masterpost

[thelionshoarde]

shance; vld6 reaction fic

@pink-contrail and anon mentioned lance calling shiro silver fox and i was just ALL OVER THAT except not REALLY because i had some feels and this got carried away and in the end I’M NOT SURE WHAT I REALLY EVEN WROTE?? AT ALL?? this is very strange but it is also for you shance fam, cause i love you. (gonna tag for a touch of ableism? boys going through tough times and dealing with it okay but not great and yelling at each other a little bit? feelings?? pre-relationship??)

you can also read this on ao3 here

“Hey,” Lance said, loitering by the door. “What are, uh... dude, what are you doing?“

Shiro pursed his lips, not bothering to look up from the clippers in his hand. His thumb was resting just below the button to turn it on, hesitant, just as it had been for the past five minutes. “Hm..”

“...Shiro? Should I --”

Shifting his hip against the edge of the sink so that it dug in, Shiro tried not to let his shoulders tense.

“-- want some help? I used to buzz my brother Marco’s hair all the time, you know. Got pretty good at it. No rough patches or weird lines or anything, I can --”

bzzzzt

Lance stopped talking, and Shiro could feel him hovering just on the precipice of the entrance way to the bathroom. He’d been doing that ever since Shiro’d woken up, really, treating him with distance and caution.

Well, except for that second time when he’d burst into tears and apologized in a high, choked voice for not hearing him, as if it was his fault that this had happened, as if it was Lance’s fault that Shiro had been dead, and as if it meant something that it had been Keith who got him back, and --

It did mean something. What Keith had done was... so much. More than Shiro had expected. More than he had dared to hope.

But it --

It wasn’t --

Huffing a frustrated breath, Shiro clicked the button again, letting silence fill the bathroom once more. It seemed suspiciously bright, suddenly, the overhead lights flaring at the corners of his eyes, like light through a prism, or water droplets. His shoulders heaved, just a little, and he leaned harder into the sink, shoulder twitching.

Why did everything feel like such a mess? So much confusion, so much uncertainty? What was Shiro supposed to think? How was he meant to react? Keith looking at him with those bright eyes. Pidge barely looking at him at all. Allura heartbroken and Lance wandering about like he’d forgotten his place in the world, too quiet and shuttered, it --

It sucked. A part of Shiro just wished he could go to sleep and not wake up until the universe started making sense again.

“You know...” Lance said, voice careful but still managing to startle Shiro. He had gotten caught up in his thoughts again, swirling and swirling, so fast and frantic. God, he was so tired. Rest, Allura had said, and he had so why didn’t it feel like enough? Why --

Frustrated, Shiro blurted out, “Just -- out with it, Lance. I’m not going to break if you speak your mind, okay? Just because I died the once doesn’t mean I’m going to drop dead at the first --”

“Whoa,” cut in Lance, voice sharp. “Whoa, whoa! What are you talking about?!”

Shiro dropped the clippers into the sink with a clatter; turned around and leaned against the sink so he could give Lance a strained smile. He half-hid his face beneath his hand, rubbing wearily at his forehead, knowing that his expression would still come off as pinched.

“Nothing,” he said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Unconvinced, Lance leaned back dangerously far on his heels, eyes narrowed. “Sure,” he said, mouth twisted in suspicion. “Sure, yeah, definitely nothing. Should I -- Should I get Keith?”

Should I should I should I.

“I dunno,” Shiro drawled, sagging back in sudden exhaustion. “Should you? Seems to me like you’re awfully unsure of yourself these days, Lance. Not exactly fitting for the Red Paladin, don’t you think?”

This time, Lance rocked forward onto his toes, eyes narrowed to near slits, a slight flush of annoyance touching his face. It almost made Shiro smile.

“Fine. You wanna know what I think? I think you’re having a pity party in your bathroom, Shiro. Party of one, and that’s not cool. If you want to hack off all your hair, go for it. Just do it! Be bald! Bald and beautiful, baby, I’m sure you could pull it off --”

Damn, Shiro thought, blinking hard; almost forgot what a mouth he has on him.

“-- so just stop wallowing already, and let us help you. It’s not like it was easy for us, either, all right? Like, not easy AT ALL, DUDE. You don’t think we’re all reeling, here? You think you’re the only one who died, Shiro? Nope! Spoiler alert! That select group also includes me, in case you were wondering! And ohhh no, poor Shiro, his handsome boyfriend goes above and beyond to save him --”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Shiro whispered, heart pounding.

“-- who cares,” Lance exploded, arms waving wildly. His face was flushed bright red, eyes gleaming. “It doesn’t -- that’s fine. That’s the point, Shiro. All of this -- everything -- it’s going to be fine. But we all need some time to not be fine, okay? So stop acting like we’re all, I dunno, crazy for dealing with it in our own ways, yeah? Or like we’re offending you for trying to give you the space and respect you deserve, you --”

“Lance,” Shiro said, helplessly, fingers curled so tight around the lip of the sink his knuckles ached.

“-- you idiot,” Lance finished, eyes shimmering with tears.

“Uhm,” tried Shiro. “Do you want to, ah, sit down? Take a deep breath, maybe?”

“Shut your face,” Lance groaned, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes with a showy grimace. “Ugh, this is -- exhausting.”

A corner of Shiro’s lip quirked; his heart was still racing, unsettled. “...Yeah. It really is.”

“I hate emotions. I’m returning mine. Do not want. Send to good home. Or bad, I don’t care, I just don’t want them anymore. First my one crush crushes on someone else and then gets betrayed, and I’m not -- I’m not going to try anything, okay? I’m not gonna be that guy, but shit. How am I supposed to feel, exactly? And then my other stupid crush gets a fairy-tale ending, and it’s just -- I’m done. I’m soooo done. I’m going to become a nun as soon as we get to Earth, Shiro, I swear it.”

...Shiro’s mouth felt dry. He wasn’t certain he could breathe.

Delicately, he asked, “Your...other stupid crush?”

Lance went still as the grave.

“Uhm. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Shiro thought about pushing. He really, really did, but... the space and respect you deserve. Right. He could do that too, even when it felt like he was drowning, even though everything seemed too much, and distant, and strange. Even being back in his body was weird -- the sound of his heartbeat -- the way his teeth clacked together.

“I missed this,” he said instead, without meaning to.

Confused, Lance crossed his arms, leaning against the doorjamb once more. He still looked nettled though, ready to go off again. “What?”

“Your -- noise.”

Incredulous, Lance’s eyebrows rose, mouth dropping open in offense.

Oh, shit. Abort, Shirogane, abort!

“That came out wrong,” he rushed to explain, throwing up a hand -- whoops, wrong one. Just his right shoulder twitched, and Shiro jerked his head down to glare at it, annoyed. At least it made Lance pause, long enough for Shiro to say, sheepishly, “It was... real quiet, with Black. I could... everything she saw, I saw. But it... it wasn’t nearly enough. And you -- you’re warm, Lance. Loud, and bright, and I -- I remember thinking when the silence got to be too... too much, that I really missed you going off on one of your diatribes.”

“Huh,” said Lance.

Shiro shrugged, like he was trying to roll the awkwardness off him.

“I don’t really know what I want,” he admitted, feeling -- embarrassed, wrong, ashamed. “I feel like I should. I should. But I just -- I’ve been gone so long. And I had so much time to think that I’m not sure I know what to think anymore, you know? You’re all so... You’ve been living your lives, but I just... stopped.”

Lance flapped his hand at him dismissively. “Who says you have to? Huh? Who says any of us need to know what we want? Who says it can’t change, Shiro? That we can’t change our minds over and over again?”

“I...”

“Who.”

“No one,” Shiro yelped, “Fine. No one! It -- ugh! Lance, I don’t. I don’t want to do this right now, I just want --”

“To shave off all of your hair?”

Shiro grimaced. He’d almost forgotten about the reason he was in the bathroom to begin with. His hand was shaking when he brought it back to his forehead, rubbing hard at the skin beneath his bangs. “I just... it reminds me of all that I’ve lost.”

Snorting, Lance said dryly, “And a shiny bald head won’t? Just leave it, Shiro. Let it settle. Give it time.” Shiro rolled his eyes to the ceiling, because that hadn’t been subtle at all, ha. “It’s okay to start again. We’re not going anywhere. You’ve got time, buddy.”

“...it makes me look old,” Shiro admitted, nearly mumbling.

“Ha!”

Narrowing his eyes, Shiro twisted his mouth so that he wouldn’t accidentally smile. Lance was grinning at him, mood as mercurial as ever. Steadier, yes, more prone to startling insight, but still as willing to rise to a challenge or give in to humor as he had been, before.

Shiro wished he knew what all he had missed; he wanted the pieces of the puzzle, to see how and where he fit into all of this.

He wanted --

“What?” he forced himself to ask, though his tongue felt clumsy and strange. “You disagree?”

Almost gently, Lance teased, “Shiro, you’re a Silver Fox if there ever was one.”

...Huh.

“You just like white hair,” Shiro said on autopilot, not even thinking about what Lance had said earlier about --

“Yeah, well,” Lance muttered, scratching beneath his jaw and side-eying the medicine cabinet with intense interest, “hair isn’t really what makes someone attractive, you know.”

-- crushes.

As in plural.

“Right,” Shiro coughed, and what the hell, why was there heat rising in his face?

“Give it a week,” said Lance, eyes flickering back to him and then away again. “A week, okay? And if you still want to buzz it all off let me know. I’ll do it for you, okay?”

“...Okay,” Shiro allowed.

Lance nodded; one short, sharp jerk of his chin, and then he was grinning brightly -- Shiro couldn’t tell if it was fake or real or what, just that it was near blinding -- and started to walk himself lazily backwards, toward the door. “Well, then, my duty is done. I’m just gonna, go -- leave you to it, and --”

“Lance,” Shiro asked, lurching forward fast to catch him before he hit the door. “Why did you come here? I mean -- did you need anything?”

For a moment, Lance just looked at him, something in his gaze that Shiro couldn’t place. Something serious about the set of his mouth that made his heart beat unsteadily again. Uncomfortable, Shiro wanted to look away, but --

Somehow, he didn’t quite dare.

“No,” Lance said, simple and easy, “Just checking in.”

Weird, how his stomach felt all wobbly and strange. “Thanks,” he said, and had to lick his lips; they felt painfully dry. “Do you -- later, will you come back? Can I ask you... questions? About...”

Careful, Lance said, “Keith would --”

“Keith wasn’t here,” Shiro said, voice a little too loud. He cleared his throat, and said more quietly. “He wasn’t... here, with you guys. With me. And we’ve... we’ve already talked. I -- like I said, Lance. I missed your noise. I want to talk to you.”

He tried to grin a little, knowing it was crooked, but still hoping it would be enough to convince him. By the way Lance only looked more skeptical, Shiro didn’t think it worked, but --

“Sure,” Lance said. “That’s. Uh, fine. I’ll be by later, yeah? After dinner?”

Shiro nodded eagerly, and then said, dumbly, “Sure! I mean, yes, please, I’d... I’d like that.”

Thankfully, that was enough. Lance laughed a little, shaking his head, but shot off a little casual salute and spun on his heel, leaving with a lazy, rolling stride that Shiro found... a little distracting.

Maybe.

Everything was so confusing. Nothing was what he remembered. And it just -- he didn’t know how to deal with it, he didn’t, what was he meant to do with any of this, he just --

Spinning on his heel, Shiro stared at himself in the mirror, gaze defiant.

God, even his eyebrows had gone white.

Just give it time, he thought, trying hard. A week. Give it -- a week. Then he thought, ...Silver Fox, huh? and watched a grin steal its way across his face, a little smug.

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

secret (sirius black x reader)

summary: (y/n) (y/l/n) has known sirius black since they were kids, being part of the sacred twenty-eight and coming from elitist pureblood families meant that they had shared uncomfortable reunions and awkward dinners for as long as they could remember. once in hogwarts, sirius makes it well known that he’s everything his parents are not and (y/n) is forced to follow into her family’s steps. they shouldn’t be friends, but they are. after all, (y/n) knows him better than he knows himself and sirius is the only one that sees through her façade of a perfect daughter. they are best friends, maybe something more, but it must remain a secret.

warnings: relationship violence (not detailed and only briefly mentioned)

a/n: this fic is my baby, i love her w all my heart.

i. prologue

(Y/N) could only remember pieces of her childhood, fragments buried deep in her mind that when she thought back upon them they brought a smile to her face. She could recall the feeling of the sun hitting her skin, making it warm to the touch. She could remember the sweat that had dripped down her face after running around for hours and how her mother had wiped it off using her pastel green handkerchief, her head shaking in disapproval. She could recall the sweet taste of lemonade that had been prepared by the Malfoy’s house-elf and the smell of blooming flowers. Oh, and how could she ever forget about the piggy tails, those damned piggy tails that had tugged at her scalp but that her mother was adamant she needed to use because they made her look like a “proper little lady”. She could remember running as she played with the other pureblood kids in the enormous backyard of the Malfoy Manor. Well, it would hardly be fair to call it a game, they more so competed with each other (which had almost always resulted in someone crying) but she could only remember the feeling of joy. It had been fun, probably the most fun she had ever been allowed to have.

Faces were mostly a blur, as they usually are when one is young. She could distinctly remember Father’s frown and the tapping of his fingers in the table whenever he was disappointed, a habit that stayed as the years went by. About Mother she could recall her perfectly manicured hands and the way they would thread through her hair at night, roughly pulling at the knots. But, above everything else, she could vividly remember Sirius Black. His grey eyes— one of his most distinctive features and the one thing that hadn’t changed as he grew older —were the one thing she remembered the most. They were strikingly beautiful, always bright with amusement and shining with mischief. Maybe that had been what had lured her in. Or, perhaps, it had something to do with the gentleness and warmth that could be found in those grey eyes, behind layers of playfulness. There was a certain fondness when those eyes looked at her, something she wasn’t accustomed to. Either way, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) found herself becoming close friends with a young Sirius Black, one that was fiercely protective and didn’t hesitate to break rules or push boundaries for her.

(It was to be expected, really. Not only did they spend a vast amount of time together, but he was unlike anything she’d ever known. She’d grown up in a household where love was scarce, surrounded by people that were too focused on obtaining power and money, blinded by their belief that blood purity made them better. Sirius was like a feeling of warmth and gentleness in a world that was frigid and vicious.)

Of course, those days running around the Malfoy manor were long in the past. (Y/N) had enjoyed a very brief childhood because, as soon as she had turned six her mother had decided she was “too old to be acting like a rowdy boy”. Her days of being a kid were over and so the endless period of being groomed into a proper lady, and a perfect pureblood daughter, began.

She was taught to cook and sew. (“Always important qualities in a good wife,” her mother has stated.) She’d just turned six. By the age of seven, she’d mastered the (Y/L/N) poker face, one that people would dare say was almost identical and as perfect as the one her father wore. She learned from her mother how to keep the emotions off her face, how to always appear calm and collected, and how to maintain a soft and sweet tone regardless of any other emotion that she might feel. (Y/N) became an expert at blinking tears away— biting the inside of her cheek to do so —because “crying was the sign of weak woman” and, although she was to be submissive and obedient to the male figures in her life, she needed to portray herself as someone with a forceful personality.

When she was eight her mother hired tutors and (Y/N) found herself learning etiquette and French. A year later her father found her a professor to teach her magic, assuring his daughter would have an advantage over everyone else at Hogwarts. (“Why even try if not to be the best?” he would tell her often. He accepted nothing other than perfection.) Although she didn’t practice incantations— not because of lack of desire from her father’s side but because it was forbidden by the Ministry of Magic —she learned all the theory behind the spells. By the time she was to leave for Hogwarts, she knew all the proper wand movements and pronunciations for basic spells and she already had an exceptional ability to brew complex potions.

Besides her academic studies, her mother continued with her private lessons. She taught (Y/N) many things including how to walk proudly, with a slight trace of arrogance and superiority, giving off an aura of confidence. Most importantly, she taught her the importance of staying quiet and listening. (“Knowledge is power,” her mother had said in a characteristic cold tone. “You should analyze and remember, but never give your own opinion.”)

(Y/N) learned with ease and never questioned a thing, which pleased her parents. They’d created a complaint child, a perfect daughter. Or so they thought. Because, although (Y/N) maintained her outwards appearance of a pureblood elitist, she was slowly suffocating on the inside. She was young but even then she knew there was something wrong with her parent’s beliefs and ideals. She never voiced out her most innermost thoughts, she knew better than to disagree with them. After all, arguments with her parents always ended in harsh words, icy cold glares, and severe punishment.

If it hadn’t been for Quidditch (Y/N) would’ve possibly lost herself to madness. Her mother was all against it. She believed it was barbaric, that no lady should be flying in a broom much less playing such a violent sport. “Quidditch is for men and no daughter of mine will ever play it,” she’d snapped at (Y/N) the first time she ever asked for permission. But, unexpectedly, her father had authorized her to play and, in the end, he had the final word on everything that happened around the house. Her mother had been forced to bite her tongue, swallow her opinions and watch with disdain. (Y/N) had been extremely lucky. The only reason she’d even been allowed to mount a broom had been that her father, in his youth, had been considered one of the best players of his generation. Since she was an only child, and her father had no son, there was no one else but her to carry out his legacy.

Sirius was the only other reason (Y/N) was able to maintain her sanity. They saw each other every couple of weeks when their families would get together for supper and their parents would talk about ‘important Ministry business’. It was only in those moments, alone with Sirius in his room, that (Y/N) felt as if she could truly be herself. They were both very similar in the most unexpected ways, rebels to the very core. The only difference in their defiance laid in the fact that Sirius was very outspoken about it while (Y/N) never uttered a word. He had bravery she could only ever wish to achieve, her instinct of self-preservation was way too strong.

Naively, (Y/N) thought it would always be that way.

Things changed once they both started Hogwarts.

ii. year one

“Be a Slytherin,” her mother said as she arranged the collar of (Y/N)’s shirt for what seemed to be the millionth time. She wasn’t looking directly at (Y/N), too focused on the task at hand, but the girl caught the stern look on her mother’s face anyways. It was a dead giveaway that she wouldn’t like the outcome if she was to be sorted into any other house.

Once she was pleased with the look of (Y/N)’s clothes her mother backed away. Looking directly into her daughter’s eyes, she said, “Befriend other purebloods, this is of most importance as we need to establish alliances and start looking for possible suitors.” Her mother then proceeded to recite a list of last names, forcing her to repeat them from memory.

(Carrow, Crouch, Lestrange, Greengrass, Nott, Malfoy, Mulciber, Rosier…)

Looking up at her, (Y/N) decided not to comment on the fact that she had just turned eleven, that there was still time to look for suitors in the future. She wasn’t in the mood for one of her mother’s scolding.

As she opened her mouth to give her last rule, her features darkened and her mouth curled up in disgust. “Stay away from mudbloods, half-bloods, and blood traitors. Our last name will not be tainted and tarnished because you decide to go around being friendly,” she spat the last word. “If you decide to make friends be sure that they are from the superior blood status.”

(Y/N) swallowed down the burning desire to bicker and nodded her head.

“Go on then,” her mother said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Make your father and I proud.”

She bid her mother goodbye— her father had been too busy at the Ministry to accompany them. The older woman just offered a tight-lipped smile before disapparating.

Sighing, she looked around.

Even surrounded by a bunch of wizarding families, laughter, and smiles, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel extremely lonely.

It didn’t last long, though. The feeling dissipated the moment she caught a glimpse of an all-familiar black hair and grey eyes. She broke out into a real smile, making her way towards him.

When she was close enough (Y/N) startled him by grabbing him by the shoulders rather roughly.

Sirius turned in surprise, ready to start a fight with whoever the person that had bothered him had been. His face, however, softened as soon as he realized it was just her.

“Hey.”

His eyes were shining with excitement and she couldn’t help but hope she would soon feel the same way. Her mother’s words were too fresh on her mind, her presence still lingered, and so (Y/N) wasn’t able to feel the enthusiasm of going to Hogwarts just yet.

“Hi,” she replied, not saying another word before tugging at him by the elbow.

Confused, he followed behind until they arrived at an empty carriage.

“What is it?” he asked her, noticing the way her face fell slightly once they were away of prying eyes.

“Mum.”

She needn’t say more, Sirius nodded in understatement.

(Y/N) tapped her feet in nervousness, a tick that she would’ve suppressed had it been anyone but him. Then, she asked the question that’d been harboring on the back of her mind.

“What’ll happen if we are sorted into different houses?”

Sirius looked at her in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected those words and didn’t quite know how to respond.

The train whistled in the background, announcing its departure.

She’d been thinking about it for some weeks now. It was a big possibility, especially because she could perceive in him traces of Gryffindor mixed along with those of Slytherin— those he’d gotten from his parent, those she knew he wished he didn’t have. Besides, she knew him well enough to know that, if the possibility arose, he would choose any other house just to anger his family.

“It’ll be fine,” Sirius responded.

But it wouldn’t be.

Not if Sirius went out of his way to rebel against everything the Black family stood for— something he’d hinted he would do once he was out of the grasps of his parents. If Sirius went as far as she knew he was willing to go he would be branded a blood traitor and her parents would never allow her to be even in the proximity of him again.

And (Y/N), well, she couldn’t follow his steps. There was no one other than her to carry the family name, she had no siblings. She didn’t have Sirius’s strength either. Her parents would kill her if she ever stepped out of line or, if they would feeling generous that day, they would resort to banishing and disinheriting her.

Self-consciously, so unlike herself, she asked quietly, “Will we still be friends?”

Sirius laughed as if the question she’d asked was the most ridiculous one he’d ever heard. He reached forward to tap her forehead and still chucking said, “Don’t be daft.”

That lightened the heaviness she was feeling in her chest. Only he could make her relax by being annoying. With an eye roll and a ghost smile, she went on to flick his ear, “Don’t be rude.”

He yelped at her action, rubbing the spot.

“Now, that’s rude.”

She raised her eyebrows, daring at him to retaliate. She knew he wouldn’t do it, not in that moment at least. 

She became quiet again, mind going back to her mother’s words.

“My parents will never let me be friends with you if you become a…” she trailed off, not wanting to pronounce the slur.

But he understood perfectly; a blood traitor.

He winced, knowing that she was right. And, despite his parent’s clear instructions to behave, he would most likely become a blood traitor. Sirius had decided, as soon as he’d stepped out of Grimmauld Place, that he would be friends with whoever he wished. He would not judge based on blood status, he wouldn’t be like his parents. 

Sirius also knew that (Y/N) would never do anything against what her parents instructed. She had a rebel within her but was far too scared to ever act out. (He would’ve been scared as well if his father had been Mr. (Y/L/N), the man had a way of making adults freeze up in terror with a single look).

Still…

“What your parents don’t know won’t hurt them, will it?” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “This friendship is forever, (Y/N). I promise.”

And she believed him because he’d never broken a promise to her. He sounded so confident, so sure, that some of his courage filled her body.

“Okay,” she found herself replying.

In the future, (Y/N) would assert that she was a Slytherin down to her very core and Sirius would remind her of this exact moment. Unbeknownst to her, she’d shown Gryffindor bravery. For the first time in her life, she agreed to something that her parents would’ve never allowed; she swore to remain friends with Sirius Black, no matter what.

It worked out brilliantly mainly because they shared a collective brain cell (one that (Y/N) had the majority of the time).

“Just follow my lead,” he’d told her.

And she had.

It resulted in them never addressing each other in public. It was best if her parents thought they’d drifted apart due to their ‘difference in beliefs’. The decision saved (Y/N) from a long, most likely nasty and disapproving, letter from her mother. It was also pertinent that they were never seen together because the pureblood community was tight-knit— everyone knew everyone and everyone talked about the things they saw or heard around —and her mother would’ve found out about their friendship in the blink of an eye. This pretended estrangement also helped Sirius’s image; he was someone that stood against everything his parents were and believed in (and that included Slytherins).

His first letter arrived on the first Friday of the term. She found it within the pages of her Charms book, neatly tucked. The handwriting was messy, too familiar.

10:30. Astronomy Tower. Tomorrow.

They would meet every Saturday night, every time in a different place to avoid getting caught, and they would talk about everything that had happened over the week.

It was halfway through the first term that Sirius’s friends became curious, maybe a little suspicious, of the reason he would slip away at night once every week. James tried to ask, but Sirius had only shrugged off the question resulting in a pouting James Potter.

With time Sirius gained the reputation of being quite the prankster. His friends and him, the self-proclaimed ‘Marauders’, would roam around the school causing mayhem as they went. She, on the other hand, followed into her family’s footsteps flawlessly. She would eventually earn the title of ‘Ice Princess’ derived from her cold and reserved attitude towards everyone (perhaps except her closest friends), the impassive look she wore at all times (as if she was bored and had much better things to do) and her renowned last name (which made her part of the pureblood royalty).

They were both good at selling their façade (him of a rebellious boy and her of an elitist girl) that the mere idea of them getting along would’ve been hilarious to anyone. No one ever suspected that throughout the school year— and all the years after their first one at Hogwarts —Sirius Black, who was always very vocal about loathing Slytherin, hung out with a girl that belonged to the ‘enemy’ house, one that seemed to be the epitome of pureblood supremacist. They never would’ve guessed that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) broke into laughter once a week with her best friend, a guy who stood against everything she was supposed to stand for.

iii. year five

They’d been at Hogwarts for almost four years now and there hadn’t been a single time they’d interacted with each other in front of anyone else. Her parents, who’d voiced their displeasure about the oldest Black, remained oblivious to their daughter’s secret meetings with him.

“I’ll be catching the Snitch before your other best friend has the chance to blink.”

He chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Jealous of my friendship with Prongs, are you?” He mocked, eyes glinting the way they always did when he was messing around with her.

Slytherin was playing against Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup and the tension had been brewing and increasing for the last couple of weeks. The hostility, which was standard between the two houses, has turned into taunting and hassling. Fights broke out in the corridors, students were hexing each other (tongues were being turned into horns, someone had ended with their feet stuck to the second floor’s corridor for over two hours) and every Professor was begging for this to be over (even McGonagall, who was passionate about Quidditch, thought that things were getting out out hand).

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, leaning back against the wall. “You wish.” She crossed her eyes over her chest, not backing away as she taunted, “I’m just saying I’m a much more talented Seeker than Potter.”

“Wanna bet on that?”

Sirius knew (Y/N) was a tremendous Quidditch player. She’d played two years as a Chaser, being the highest scoring player at the end of both seasons, and the following two seasons (including the current one) she’d played as a Seeker, a position in which she also excelled at. By the end of their fourth year, she’d replaced Emma Vanity as team captain, becoming one of the youngest captains Hogwarts had ever had. (Y/N) was agile and fast, never afraid to get her elbows out and be rough if needed. She had her father’s talent, she was perhaps even more talented than him. Nevertheless, James Potter was also a terrific player, and if there was someone who stood a chance at beating her it was him.

“Winner gets 10 Galleons,” he incentivized, raising his eyebrows.

“And the loser owes the winner a favor,” she threw back at him, cocking her head to the side, daring him to back off.

That made him hesitate, if only a little. He knew he did not want to be in debt with her (he’d learned it the hard way) but in the end, he was a Gryffindor for a reason and his pride won the battle. Whistling under his breath, he extended the hand for her to shake.

“You’re on.”

They stayed in the Kitchens for some more time, sipping on the hot chocolate that the house-elves had provided, before bidding each other goodnight and making their way to their respective Common Rooms.

The day of the match (Y/N) mounted her broom and shook away the jitters that always appeared before a game. The only thing on her mind was catching the Snitch.

(She knew that the teasing from Sirius would be endless if she was to lose. She didn’t intend on letting that happen).

“Play nice,” Madame Hooch said, looking from one captain to the other. With a louder tone, she added, “That goes for all of you.” (Y/N) didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered longer on the Slytherin team. She couldn’t blame Madam Hooch for distrusting her team; they played rough, borderline dirty, and they weren’t going to stop now, not when they were playing against their rival house.

The Snitch disappeared as soon as it was released, followed by the two Bludgers.

Sirius, mounted on his broom, sent her a discreet wink that went unnoticed by everyone and mouthed, “May the best man win.”

I’m winning this, was her last thought before the Quaffle went up in the air and the whistle announced the beginning of the game.

It hadn’t been an easy game so far. The Gryffindor offense was lightning quick and the Slytherin defense was being brutal. Both teams were out for blood.

Thirty minutes had passed without a sign of the Snitch.

(Y/N) located herself a little higher than the other players which allowed her to have a better view of the pitch and avoid the Bludgers.

She could barely hear the commentator over the screams of the crowd— they were being loud. It wasn’t just the last game of the year but it was a really close one. It would go down to whoever caught the Snitch.

“Gryffindor scores another goal!” She managed to hear the commentator say as the sea of red and gold went crazy. “Oh, that’s… for a moment there I thought Rosier was going to fall off his broom but he manages to stay up. What a pity, it would’ve been hilarious.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and located Rosier. He did look a little bit shaken up and embarrassed.

From where she was situated she had a perfect view of Sirius who was having the time of his life blasting Bludgers directly at her teammates. Today, for whichever reason, he’d seemed to have taken the likes for sending all Bludgers that came his way towards Evan Rosier, which explained their reason the guy had almost fallen off his broom.

Rosier yelled something at Sirius, most likely an obscenity, and Sirius only laughed in response. He thrived on being a nuisance and Rosier’s annoyance would only fuel him to keep going.

A couple of minutes later another Bludger was sent Rosier’s way and this time (Y/N) couldn’t help the snicker that fell from her lips when she saw his surprised expression. The Bludger had missed him by millimeters. She shouldn’t have been entertained by her own teammate’s struggle but (Y/N) wasn’t particularly fond of him. They were acquaintances, due to her mother’s request, but the guy was vile and barely tolerable. The only reason he had even made the team was that he was a very talented Chaser. She disliked the guy, but she also wanted her team to win.

It was only when she turned to look at the other Slytherin Chasers that she caught a glimpse of the unmistakable golden glimmer of the Snitch. Before she could even process her actions she was diving down.

Too focused on not letting the little ball out of her sight, she didn’t notice Potter’s presence by her side until he shoved her with his shoulder.

Clenching her jaw, she shoved him back harder before leaning forward.

The wind was blowing harshly against her face, making her eyes tear up, but the discomfort wasn’t enough to distract her.

Potter went to shove her again but she had anticipated the action. Before he could touch her, she moved aside. He lost his balance and that allowed her to dive down faster, tilting forward to take the golden ball in her hands.

“(Y/L/N) catches the Snitch! Slytherin wins!”

Half of the crowd went mad, while the other half looked seriously disappointed. There were shouts of excitement complimented by some booing.

It didn’t faze her. She smirked as she landed, holding the Snitch high in the air for the crowd to see. The Slytherin stands went crazy as she bowed mockingly, the smirk permanently etched to her face. (She was “a proper show off” when it came to Quidditch as Sirius would kindly point out every time he got the chance).

There were some pats in the back, hugs, and congratulations. (Y/N) was smiling, something unusual for her but then again one doesn’t win the House Cup every day. Once the cheering died down she turned around to look for Sirius, ready to send him a taunting look. She didn’t find her best friend. Instead, she managed to spot Evan Rosier snatching a bat out of the hands of one of the Slytherin Beaters.

Even from afar, she could tell he was fuming in anger. His face was burning red, mainly out of anger. She saw the way his eyes narrowed when he looked to his right. Following his gaze, she realized just who he was glowering at.

Sirius Black.

She didn’t have to keep looking to know what he was about to do.

Her legs started moving before she could even finish processing what she was seeing.

People had made their way down from the stands to congratulate the players so (Y/N) was forced to push past the crowd. She had to make it to Sirius before Rosier.

Potter and Sirius were conversing, both of them appeared to still be buzzing from the adrenaline of the game. Neither of them noticed the tall, raging Slytherin boy that made his way towards them.

Men, honestly.

She arrived just in time to stop the bat that was swinging down, full power, to bash Sirius’s skull.

Her hand immediately started aching but she was too angry to notice the pain. Her eyes were looking up at Rosier with contempt and the older guy cowered slightly at the infamous (Y/L/N) look.

James had looked up just in time to watch her step in. He’d gasped slightly, pulling Sirius out of the way instantly. Both Marauders, now fully conscious of the situation, glanced between the two Slytherins. They waited to see who would strike out first.

No one, other than Potter and Sirius, was paying much attention but (Y/N) found that she wouldn’t have cared if she’d had a whole crowd watching. She was seething, jaw clenched, grip tightening on the bat.

This thick-headed idiot had just brought out a side of her that was usually tamed and under control. He’d tried to injure her best friend and she was not having it.

(Y/N) was usually cold and logical— a think first, act later kind of person —but not right now. No, right now she was acting on primal protective instinct.

They stood that way for a moment; her hand in the bat, eyes filled with hostility towards her teammate and Rosier, who was taller by a couple of inches and certainly bigger, awaiting her reaction.

She pulled the bat away from his hand with ease, tossing it aside. Then, (Y/N) proceeded to push him in the chest with two fingers. He didn’t stumble, but he did back away slightly.

“Are you out of your goddammed mind?!”

He pressed his lips at the tone she was using, one that was cold and unfriendly. He’d never seen her this livid.

Some people turned around to see what was happening, but since (Y/N)’s face was stoic, making it seem like she was just talking with Rosier, they turned away with disinterest, too invested in celebrating or congratulating the players.

“He kept sending Bludgers my way all the fucking game,” Rosier justified with a hiss and she couldn’t help the scoff that left her lips.

What a pathetic excuse.

“He’s a Beater. That’s what he’s supposed to do, you dimwit,” she spat the last words. Her hands were clenched by her side, she was keeping herself from tearing him apart.

He flinched slightly at her tone, not used to this (Y/L/N) at all. She was usually composed and imperturbable.

James Potter was as surprised, if not more. Any other Slytherin would’ve let Rosier crack Sirius’s skull without hesitation. He couldn’t comprehend what had made (Y/L/N) intervene. For the first time, she didn’t seem unbothered. He caught a glimpse behind the mask she wore every day. Something had made her lose her temper and she looked as if she was wondering which way of torture would make Rosier suffer the most. She looked about ready to shove him off the Astronomy Tower.

Rosier’s expression changed as if he had suddenly remembered himself. He pulled a sneer and taunted, “Why do you even care if he gets hurt, (Y/L/N)? Got a little crush of Black?”

That was a cute attempt at trying to provoke her.

Her lip curled up mockingly as she closed her features off. She straightened up, “Listen, asshole, I didn’t get us this far for you to get us disqualified.” Her intention was to push the narrative that this had everything to do with Quidditch and nothing to do with Black. “You have problems, you fix them during the game, you hear?”

Rosier looked away, jaw clenched.

“Anything else?” he asked sarcastically.

She wasn’t in the mood, so she took another jab at him. “Yes,” she walked closer to him, chin raising up in defiance. “If you want to fight after the game make sure the person you’re fighting doesn’t have their back towards you. We Slytherins aren’t cowards.”

Rosier’s expression darkened, but (Y/N) didn’t care. He couldn’t touch her and they both knew it.

“You pull one more stunt like this one and you’re off my team.”

He opened his mouth to complain about the ultimatum but the look she gave him made him shut up. He huffed in irritation before letting out through gritted teeth a small “whatever” and leaving.

(Y/N) glared at his back and if looks could kill he would’ve been dead and buried. She let out a breath, willing the anger to leave her body. When she turned around she was greeted by a gaping James Potter and a smirking Sirius Black.

James must’ve imagined the way the harshness of her glare decreased when she looked at Padfoot because there was no way in hell the Ice Princess had just softened, if ever so slightly, by the sight of Sirius Black. He shook his head to shake out the thoughts, still gaping at her.

“You look ridiculous, Potter,” she deadpanned.

James caught the way she was rubbing her right hand. Although her face didn’t show any pain, the skin was visibly damaged.

When he looked back at her face he found her eyes had hardened and her poker face had made an appearance once again.

Yes, he must’ve imagined the softness in (Y/L/N)’s eyes.

He closed his mouth, still too astounded to retort something sarcastic as he usually would’ve. 

She looked between them, sending a brief nod at Sirius, before leaving them to find her team.

A few days later, she met Sirius in an empty classroom by the sixth floor. Her hand was wrapped in a bandage but she couldn’t really feel any pain anymore. (Y/N) was more interested in her 10 Galleons. She was also beaming because now Sirius owed her a favor.

The moment his eyes laid on her a smirk appeared on his face.

“My little firecracker.”

She rolled her eyes, unable to stop the ghost smile from appearing on her lips. He didn’t miss the amusement in her eyes.

“My damsel in distress,” she joked back, snickering at the blank look he gave her.

“Your fight with Rosier was about the most amazing thing I’ve seen all year,” he told her as she made her way towards him. “And, believe me, I’ve seen a lot.” Somehow, she didn’t doubt that.

She shrugged in a halfhearted manner, “Couldn’t let you get killed. Salazar knows you would’ve come back just to annoy me to death.”

“I would’ve,” Sirius agreed. Nudging her with his shoulder, he teased, “But admit it, you would want me to come back. If I died you would miss me too much.”

She scoffed jokingly, “Most certainly not.”

“I think you would,” he replied, taking her hand in his. (Y/N) didn’t comment on his action, letting him trace his thumb over her open palm. “I think you can’t live in a world without me.”

Pulling away, she crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the heat she felt rush through her body. 

“Whatever.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, resting his cheek at the top of her head.

“I wouldn’t be able to live in a world without you, either.”

She didn’t know where the vulnerability had come from, but she allowed herself to melt into his embrace.

She reckoned he’d never sounded so sincere.

iv. year six

She’d never sent him a letter before. Sirius was always the one to send the time and the place. But, as she stared down at her mother’s impeccable handwriting, rereading the words, (Y/N) knew that she had to see him. The tension was clawing at her insides, she felt herself growing anxious.

Astronomy tower. 11:30. Tonight.

Hoping that he would show up, (Y/N) slipped out of her Common Room silently.

She walked the corridors with nimbleness, knowing exactly where to hide when she heard footsteps or the hushed voices of the prefects making their rounds.

(The Marauders would’ve been proud).

The place was empty when she arrived and she opted for picking the letter out of her pocket and reading it once more.

Emotions settled at her throat, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay. It wasn’t sadness that she felt, but rather frustration and helplessness.

She stilled when she heard movement.

Quietly, she backed into a corner, fetching her wand from her robes and slowing her breath.

If Filch caught her out of bed, she was done for.

But, it wasn’t Filch.

Sirius appeared out of nowhere, letting the cloak fall behind him.

“You’re an idiot, Black,” she whispered and he turned to meet her. “Someday you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

He grinned, watching as she slipped out of the shadows. “You’ll get used to it.”

She seriously doubted it.

(Y/N) had learned about the invisibility cloak a few months ago. He’d let it slip when talking about one of their pranks and she’d been able to tell by the way his face changed that he had instantly felt guilty, like he had betrayed James’s trust. She’d sworn not to say a word about it and Sirius had relaxed at her words. She’d never broken a promise to him.

After that, he’d used the cloak more often— it was easier for him to slip past people and into secret passageways when hidden from the eye— and this was the fifth time he’d managed to startle her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he turned to retrieve the cloak from the floor.

He started to fold it but looked up when she placed a piece of parchment in front of him.

Tentatively, he took it, observing the way she looked away from him and bit her cheek.

(Y/N) walked towards the railing, grasping hard with both of her hands. She looked at the moon. It was close to becoming a waning crescent.

Behind her, Sirius was muttering as he read. 

He’d always done that.

“…inform you…”

“you should be pleased…”

“…betrothal.”

His breath hitched.

(Y/N) shut her eyes closed and swallowed hard.

“Oh, love,” he mumbled softly.

With a sigh, she turned around to face him.

“Come here,” he said affectionately when he saw the way her face shifted with frustration.

She allowed herself to be embraced by him. It was the only place she ever felt like home.

“I knew this was coming,” she admitted quietly. It was what her mother had raised her for; to marry her off to a powerful, well-established pureblood family and have her provide heirs. But, even when it was expected, she couldn’t help the rush of disappointment she’d felt. Her parents had always taken away her decision to choose and, had it been anything else, she probably wouldn’t have minded. But her heart belonged to someone now.

It hurt like nothing ever had before.

“It should’ve been us.”

The words were muffled by his shirt but Sirius heard them as clear as day.

Something tightened in his chest and he pulled her closer— she was right, after all. Had he stayed in line and followed his parents’ footsteps he would’ve been the only acceptable suitor in Mr. (Y/L/N)’s eyes. But he hadn’t. And now she would be forced to endure a loveless marriage to appease her parents.

She backed away from him and looked up. He’d expected some sort of resentment in her eyes but there was only melancholy, a wondering of what could’ve been.

“I should’ve done what you did,” she said, looking away. “I should’ve stood up against them.”

She ran a hand through her hair, pressing her lips together.

The feeling of not being in control of her own life rattled her. She loathed it. Lately, she’d been feeling that way more often than not. (Her time at Hogwarts was running out).

He reached out for her, tenderly holding her hand. He searched her eyes before asking in a hushed whisper, “You would’ve married me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Not even a single ounce of hesitation.

Her heart was his and he’d just found out.

Sirius pulled her closer and she stumbled slightly, her hand pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

His eyes, those beautiful grey eyes, were filled with melancholia.

If only he’d been obedient.

She moved her hand to try to wipe away the sadness from his features. Desolation didn’t suit Sirius Black.

If only she’d been braver.

He turned to press a kiss to the back of her hand.

If only they could fix it all.

His eyes trailed down to her lips.

“I can’t,” she murmured. “It’ll only make being with Mulciber much harder.”

(It’ll only break my heart much more, she thought.)

But she was oh so close. If he dipped his head, their lips would touch.

“Just gift me one kiss,” he implored into the silence of the night. She could feel his breath delicately caressing her skin. “It might be our first and last.”

Her heart might’ve shattered.

If, if, if.

Maybe time would fix it all. 

They could only hope. 

She reached to cup his jaw, fingers barely grazing his skin, and she stood on her tippy toes.

Their lips brushed against each other, a tear fell down the side of her cheek.

This might be our first and last.

“No one would ever have a chance to win my heart”, she thought to herself later that night as she laid wide awake in her bed. “Not as long Sirius Black exists.”

Some weeks later Adrian Mulciber found himself being the main target of one of the Marauder’s most wicked pranks.

It did little to ease the aching in Sirius’s heart.

v. year seven

Peter wasn’t athletic, not even a little bit (he struggled to even get on a broom, for Godric’s sake). That, however, didn’t stop him from running all the way from the third-floor corridor to the Great Hall to deliver gossip to his friends.

He placed a hand on the table as he arrived, trying to catch his breath. He was sweating massively and could feel his lungs about to collapse.

“You okay there, Wormtail?” James teased.

Peter gasped before taking a chug of water.

“Mulciber and (Y/L/N) are having a huge fight,” he managed to spit out between gulps of air.

Sirius’s head snapped up immediately, all interest in his food was suddenly gone.

“(Y/L/N)?”

Remus looked at Sirius with confusion, thinking that his question came from not recognizing the last name.

“She’s the Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team,” Remus offered only to receive an offhand mumble from Padfoot.

“I know who she is, Moony.”

His whole attention was placed on the smallest Marauder.

“Wormtail, talk.” There was a certain urgency in his tone which Remus thought was quite unusual.

James also noticed because he frowned at his best mate’s tone. He shared a look with Remus who shrugged in response. Prongs was about to question Sirius but Peter started talking and they all immediately gave him their undivided attention (they weren’t gossipmongers, James would say, they liked to be informed).

Wormtail talked about how Mulciber had said some snarky comment at a muggle-born and how (Y/N) had stepped in. That had started the discussion. Then, he’d raised his voice which had caused her to snap back at him.

“That led to the full blast argument they’re having,” Peter finished. The redness was disappearing from his face, he could breathe properly again. “There’s a small crowd watching and—”

Sirius interrupted in an almost frantic manner, “They’re still going at it?”

Peter nodded his head with enthusiasm. 

Before he could think Sirius had dropped his fork and was running out of the Great Hall. The Marauders had shared a look of confusion before blasting behind him, too bewildered by his unusual behavior to even question it.

Sirius rushed past people, body on autopilot.

(Y/N) was the only thing on his mind.

He was worried because he knew Adrian Mulciber and he knew what he was capable of doing to anyone who stood in his way. Girlfriend or not, his anger had no limits when he was pushed past a breaking point and, well, Sirius also knew (Y/N) could be hot-tempered when it came to Mulciber.

He reached the corridor in record time. From where he was standing Sirius could hear the heated argument.

He couldn’t see a thing because, just like Wormtail had said, the couple was surrounded by a crowd— one much larger than the one he’d expected but, then again, one doesn’t see these two fighting in public every day. He could, however, hear them clear enough.

“Fine then,” (Y/N) said. Just from the sound of her voice, Sirius could tell that she was more than irritated. “We are over.”

There was a collective gasp.

Sirius pushed past people, not even aware that his friends were following behind (Peter once again gasping for air). He halted when he heard two smacks followed by a pained yelp. It was silent for a split second. Then, commotion.

The sound of people helped him regain the agility to move. He shoved everyone with more urgency, coming to a stop when he viewed the scene in front of him.

Mulciber was being held back by Snape and Lucius, the murderous look in his eyes directed towards the younger girl. (Y/N) sat on the floor, looking back at her now ex-boyfriend. She was completely nonplussed. Her hand was pressed to her cheek, tears brimming in her eyes. The slap must’ve been with a close fist because it’d made her mouth bleed and her cheekbone was swelling.

Sirius made his way towards her, completely ignorant to those who were watching the scene. Fuck them and fuck it if (Y/N)’s parents found out about their relationship; his priority was her.

He kneeled beside her and she immediately leaned towards him, her body reacting to his presence. Softly, Sirius grabbed her head and went to cradle it, pressing it to his chest.

Knowing Sirius was there, holding her, made (Y/N) crumble. Realization of what had just happened sunk in and she whimpered, face hidden from prying eyes between his robes. The shock had prevented her from hurting, but as it went away she found that her injuries were starting to ache.

Sirius pulled away after a second, softly cupping her face, making sure not to touch the wound. He moved a strand of hair from her face, gently caressing her unharmed cheek. 

The Marauders were completely astounded, as was everyone else present. No one had ever seen Sirius Black being so tender and caring towards anyone, much less a Slytherin.

Remus tried to look for an explanation but his mind was blank, he just couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. James, on the other hand, had a flashback to their fifth year. (Y/N) had prevented Sirius from having his brains bashed in by a wooden bat. Her eyes had softened when she’d looked at him. James had many questions.

“I’m okay,” (Y/N) managed to choke out, still dazed by the hit. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent tears. She refused to cry in front of Mulciber.

Once she’d said those words, once Sirius was sure she was alright, something shifted in his brain. All he could see was red. He was raging and the change in his eyes told (Y/N) just how furious he was.

Not wanting to cause a bigger scene she went to grab his hand, but Sirius was quicker. He stood up and turned around slowly.

Mulciber, who’d just managed to release himself from his friends’ hold, said about the worst thing he could’ve said at the moment.

“Step aside, Black. Let me teach that bitch who owns her.”

Sirius went from furious to downright homicidal.

His whole body felt hot with anger and all he could think about was (Y/N)’s pained expression, the tears in her eyes, the blood trickling down her lips, and the bruise on her pretty face.

He was protective of her by nature.

He snapped.

Before Mulciber could even react Sirius had thrown his fist against his face. There was a loud crack and another collective gasp.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Mulciber composed himself quickly and with a fierce look in his eyes went to throw a punch back at Sirius.

Wands were forgotten. This was personal.

Mulciber managed to strike Sirius, just in the ribs, but the Gryffindor appeared numb to the pain because he didn’t even react. Instead, Sirius threw a left hook to Mulciber’s head followed by a jab directly at his nose.

James and Remus reacted quickly, going to pull their friend away. The look on Sirius’s eyes showed that he was not going to stop until Mulciber was laying on the ground half dead. They’d never seen him this livid before. (For the first time James understood why other people thought of Sirius as intimidating.)

Snape and Malfoy also drew Mulciber back, but he shook them away.

“You have no idea what you just started, Black.” Blood was oozing down his mouth and he spat it on the floor.

Sirius smirked condescendingly, eyes still shining with a murderous glint. He didn’t seem afraid in the slightest. “Bring it on, you disgusting little piece of—”

His sentence was cut off by a booming voice.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

(Y/N) recognized McGonagall’s voice immediately and, for some unknown reason, shied away.

“Mr. Mulciber! Mr. Black!” She sounded indignant like she couldn’t believe they had engaged in a physical fight. “Can either of you explain the means of this?”

The boys were still glowering at each other and neither offered any explanation.

McGonagall was about to say something when she caught a glance of (Y/N).

“Ms. (Y/L/N)!” she exclaimed, quickly making her way towards the Slytherin girl.

With some vacillation (Y/N) allowed the Professor to inspect her injuries. She could see the way Professor McGonagall’s brain began to work. She looked back at the boys and then at her, piecing together what’d happened.

She gave (Y/N) a calculating look, almost as if she was trying to read her mind. That resulted in the student looking away, embarrassed.

“Mr. Lupin if you would be kind enough to escort Ms. (Y/L/N) to the Infirmary.”

Remus was quick to nod his head and he made his way towards (Y/N). Had it been any other situation he might’ve been slightly nervous about touching her, but she allowed him to place an arm around her waist without a single complaint. There was no sneer, no threatening look, she simply placed her arm around his shoulder and leaned in on him, trying to fight away the nauseating feeling created by the pain.

“The rest of you back to your activities.”

The crowd dispersed, but not without throwing looks over their shoulders as they went.

There was just Sirius, James, Mulciber, and Malfoy left behind.

Sirius stared at (Y/N)’s retreating figure, jaw clenching in anger.

He was going to kill Mulciber.

“Fifty points from Slytherin for attacking a fellow student and two months of detention with Mr. Filch for you Adrian.” Mulciber just scoffed and rolled his eyes. The Professor paid him no mind and continued, “Mr. Malfoy if you would please take him to Madam Pomfrey.”

“I don’t need to see her. I’m fine.” Mulciber spat, turning around and pulling Malfoy by the elbow.

McGonagall rolled her eyes at the theatrics before turning back to look at Sirius. She found both him and Potter backing away, trying to escape her wrath.

She had them freezing mid-step with a single stern look. 

To James’s surprise, she didn’t look particularly mad.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Both Marauders could tell that it pained her to take the points away, even if her face remained impassive.

“He laid his hand on her,” Sirius found himself arguing. He couldn’t help it, the adrenaline hadn’t left his body yet and he was still shaking in anger. He shook his head, “I was not going to let that slide.”

The Professor shook her head, sighing.

“I understand why you did it, Black. I do. But there is a no-tolerance policy for physical altercations.”

He opened his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief, but she spoke before he could.

“Professor Dumbledore will be hearing about Adrian Mulciber’s actions and they will not go unpunished.” Noticing the fire in his eyes, she added, “Do not go around playing hero.”

McGonagall gave him a pointed look. She knew him too well.

Sirius pressed his lips to swallow the desire to tell her that he would do it again without hesitation. Looking again, he nodded his head.

“Potter—”

“I will take him to the Infirmary, Professor,” James assured to which McGonagall nodded her head and turned around, possibly to make her way to Dumbledore’s office.

“Pads...” James started but Sirius just shook his head, placing his thumb to his temple and rubbing it in circles. The adrenaline was slowly leaving his body, his ribs had begun aching and he had just gotten a headache.

“Not now.”

And, although James was about to burst with questions, he remained silent all the way to the Infirmary. However, he couldn’t stop himself from sending side-eye glances at his best mate. 

James came to a sudden stop when Sirius froze in front of him. Looking over his shoulder he realized Padfoot was looking at (Y/L/N).

Her cheekbone had swollen and it painted her skin a dark purple color. There was also an angry red mark on her cheek, but her mouth wasn’t bleeding anymore.

Madam Pomfrey was tending to her wounds, gently pushing her chin up with her fingers as she inspected the damage. Remus stood to the side, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

They managed to catch the end of their conversation.

“…you’ll probably have a nasty bruise on your cheek for a while but it’ll make the swelling go away.”

She excused herself to look for the potion required.

It was only when she left that (Y/N)’s eyes found them.

“Sirius.”

The words left her mouth as a shaky whimper.

Sirius’s gaze softened immediately, the rage that had previously consumed him was gone in an instant. The gentle look in his eyes made the emotions that she’d pushed to the back of her mind resurface. Shame, embarrassment, pain.

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Sirius saw her bite the inside of her cheek and he noticed the glazing over of her eyes. He knew she was a second away from breaking down.

He rushed towards her and without even processing it she’d stood from the bed and stumbled into him.

His hand went to cup the back of her head, holding her close.

To Remus’s and James’s astonishment Sirius began to carefully run his fingers through her hair as a way to soothe her.

(Y/N) began crying. Sirius provided comfort and safety and, protected in his embrace, she allowed herself to shatter.

It’d been years since the last time she’d properly cried.

“I’ve got you, love.”

His voice was soft, barely above a mumble. It was a tone that he reserved only for her.

They stayed there for what seemed like forever but probably wasn’t more than a couple of minutes. The sobbing became sniffles and once she’d gathered herself (Y/N) pulled away, wiping away the tears.

“I’m okay,” she told him (or rather told herself). At his unconvinced stare, she reached for his hand and squeezed it, “Truly.”

Remus coughed and it was only then that they remembered they had an audience.

Over her head, Sirius had a perfect look at Moony. He was looking at the pair with curiosity, head slightly tilted to the side as if he was deep in thought. (Y/N), on the other hand, had a perfect view of James Potter. He was gaping, eyes wide. It was obvious his brain wasn’t processing what he was observing.

“You look ridiculous, Potter,” she informed him, voice softer than she probably intended. Upon realizing the lack of bite in her words she guarded herself making some of the gentleness of her face melt away. Still, her eyes weren’t as cold and calculating as they usually would’ve been. She looked exhausted.

Sirius chuckled weakly, moving forward to wrap an arm around (Y/N) and resting his chin at the top of her head.

Knowing he got clingy when worried (Y/N) didn’t put up a fight and accepted his embrace once more.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” James said. He turned to look at Remus, “Moony is this real?”

Lupin nodded, “Very real, Prongs.” He also looked visibly astounded but was doing a much better job at hiding it. 

James crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you going to explain?” he asked directly at his best mate.

Sirius looked down at (Y/N) and rose his eyebrows. It seemed as if he was asking for permission. They had some sort of mental conversation that ended with the girl shrugging in a ‘go ahead’ manner.

With a sigh, Padfoot adjusted (Y/N) in his arms.

“It’s complicated.”

The Slytherin nodded her head in agreement.

But both James and Remus gave them a pointed look. They had time and they weren’t going to accept that as an answer. They needed to understand. (James really believed his head would explode if someone didn’t make sense of the situation at hand). 

Sirius carried on, “We’ve known each other since we were in nappies.”

Now, that was a surprise, especially to James who couldn’t remember ever seeing them together in any of the aristocratic (pureblood) events his family had attended. 

“She’s my...” he trailed off, not finding a word that could summarize everything (Y/N) meant to him. Taking a small glance at her, he settled for saying, “She’s my worse half.”

Remus snorted quietly. 

(Y/N) clicked her tongue in amusement, letting out an unimpressed and teasing, “Cute.”

It was the first time that either Marauder could remember hearing her talk without her distinctive tone of coldness. In the shadows of the night, with a bruised face and tired eyes, the Ice Princess looked and sounded human.

James looked between the pair, eyes widening when he saw Sirius reach out to place a strand of (Y/N)’s hair behind her ear.

“Are you dating?!”

Both of them shook their heads but Prongs caught the redness in Sirius’s ears. It would’ve gone unnoticed hadn’t he been actively searching for it. Padfoot had an outstanding poker face (he was a Black, after all) but his body gave away what his features didn’t. 

James was about to ask something else when they heard footsteps.

Sirius, albeit begrudgingly, dropped his hands from around (Y/N) as he saw the matron making her way towards them. He helped her back into the bed, limping slightly as he walked.

“He hurt you,” (Y/N) stated, looking in his eyes for traces of pain.

“Not as much as I hurt him,” he replied with a weak but self-satisfying smirk. At her unimpressed look and evident worry, Sirius assured her that he was alright.

Neither of them had noticed Madam Pomfrey’s presence until she was handing (Y/N) the potion.

“It will make you extremely lightheaded, Ms. (Y/L/N),” the matron informed her. (Y/N) winced once the smell hit her, it was pungent and acrid. Salazar, she hoped it tasted better than it smelled. “You’ll be staying the night.”

She didn’t bother fighting her. It would’ve been useless. Besides, she wasn’t looking forward to going back to her Common Room. She had to mentally prepare for the upcoming whispers and stares.  

As she raised the cup and swallowed down its contents (pinching her nose to prevent herself from throwing up) she caught the way Madam Pomfrey went to touch Sirius’s wounded side. She’d known about his injury without even needing to ask. (Y/N) thought that was rather impressive.

“You’ll be glad to know it’s just a bruise, Black. No broken bones. But it could’ve been much worse,” she reprimanded. “Going around fighting, what were you even thinking?” 

Before anyone could answer her, she took a vial from her pocket and handed it to the young Gryffindor, “That will take away the pain.”

Sirius chugged it down in a second.

Looking around the room she seemed to finally notice Lupin and Potter. 

“And what are you two still doing here?” she shook her head disapprovingly. “It does not matter, you will be helping Mr. Black back to your Common Room. Make sure he doesn’t get involved in any other altercation.”

"I don’t need to stay for observation?” Sirius asked. 

He really didn’t want to leave (Y/N) out of his sight. 

“Absolutely not. All you will do is bother Ms. (Y/L/N) and she needs rest.”

Sirius grumbled under his breath. 

“Now, out! All three of you!” she ushered them out of the room. 

(Y/N) went to grab Sirius’s hand before he could leave. 

“Wait.”

The potion was already kicking in and she felt slightly groggy, but (Y/N) had to tell him right now when the emotions were still vivid within her (before she could cower away). 

“The offer you made, do you remember?”

Sirius nodded in response.

Of course he remembered, he was still awaiting an answer.

During one of their late-night escapades Sirius had told her that he would be moving into his own apartment as soon as they left Hogwarts, he’d said that he loved the Potters but that he felt as if he was being too much of a burden. And, unexpectedly for her, he’d let her know that she was free to move in with him if she wished. He was giving her a way out of the life that’d been predetermined for her by her parents. He was saying, without words, that if she chose to leave she would always have somewhere to go to. (Y/N) had replied that she would think about it. After all, self-preservation, along with her mother’s teachings, ran deep. Marrying a pureblood wizard and living a miserable life had been her destiny from the moment she’d been conceived and she was scared of making the wrong decision.

Tonight, however, was an insight into what her life would become if she followed her parents’ plans for her life.

She had to get out. 

“I’ll do it,” she said as she yawned. “Let’s move in together, fuck them all.”

Sirius couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped past his lips. She seldom ever swore. 

Without thinking too much he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes were already half-closed.

“Let’s talk about it when you’re not falling asleep, my love.”

That night Sirius shared everything with the Marauders. James had gasped more times than it was actually needed throughout the story. In the end, he’d pouted and faked offense. (”Padfoot, we are best mates, basically brothers. How could you keep this from me for so long!”) Remus had listened quietly, as he always did, and had only nodded his head when Sirius was done talking. There were many things that he still didn’t understand but knowing this made Padfoot’s strange behavior throughout the years finally make sense. (”If she’s important for you, she’s important for us.”)

And the next day, when (Y/N) reaffirmed that she was willing to leave everything behind to have a shot at living a life for herself, Sirius found himself being the happiest he’d been in a while. 

It would all be alright. 

v. epilogue

Time had made (Y/N) soft.

Her eyes, once impassive and cold, would crinkle with happiness as they’d never before. The tight reign in her emotions, which had been taught by her mother, lessened. She would only ever revert back to a shell of her old self around people she mistrusted. (Y/N) was still a formidable person with a presence that demanded attention—people would subconsciously turn around to meet her as soon as she walked into a room —but she wouldn’t hide the way she would soften around the people she loved.

“How is little Padfoot doing today?” a familiar voice asked, startling (Y/N). In her shock she’d almost dropped the knife she’d been using to cut celery.

She turned around to meet James Potter who was followed behind by his wife, Lily, and their son. The little Potter was about to become two years old and, from what Lily had told (Y/N), James had started to talk about having another kid.

“Salazar’s beard, James,” (Y/N) reprimanded.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N/N),” Lily walked around her husband, baby propped up on her hip.

(Y/N) waved her offhandedly, telling her it wasn’t a problem, before greeting her friend. She went to kiss Harry’s chubby cheeks, pulling a funny face that made the toddler erupt in giggles.

“I’ve told him that we should owl you beforehand but he’s just incorrigible.” The redhead sent her husband a pointed look but he just shrugged unapologetically.

“Sirius is my brother,” James said. “Since you married my brother,” he pointed at (Y/N), “that makes you my sister-in-law.”

Getting married had been a spontaneous and impulsive decision. Sirius had given her the ring and he’d said, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

So, three months after leaving Hogwarts the couple had eloped and she became (Y/N) Black.

Not only had they done it because of their love for each other but also because, as Sirius had brought up, as long as she remained unmarried her parents could still find a way to tie her to anyone they wished. (Her parents, once they discovered that she’d run away with Sirius Black, had done everything in their power to force her to come back home. But they couldn’t coerce her to do anything, not when she now had a firm and loving support system behind her. She didn’t need their money or the power they tried to bribe her with. She was in love and, for the first time in her life, she felt at peace.)

And although she didn’t have the wedding that she’d dreamed of as a child, the big wedding that her mother had already planned by the time she was nine, her wedding day was one of the best of her life.

James stepped into the kitchen, taking a small piece of celery and eating it before (Y/N) could slap his hand away. (Celery dipped in hummus was her latest craving). 

“And you don’t owl family before using the Floo Network, Lils,” he finished between munches.

Having grown up around magic (Y/N) wanted to inform him he was very wrong, that her parents always owled her grandparents a week in advance of their visit. But then again, she’d grown up with people that shared her last name and blood but weren’t truly family. Maybe this was the Potter way and, although she would never admit it, (Y/N) had grown to love the Potter way of doing things.

(Besides, this random appearances at the Blacks apartment only happened because Sirius and James insisted that they needed to have their homes connected by Floo. (Y/N) had been a little apprehensive in the beginning but she didn’t mind anymore. It was good to have family close by.)

“So, how is little Pads doing today?” James asked, stepping forward as if asking for permission.

Looking behind him, (Y/N) caught the look that Lily sent her. It said, “See what I’m talking about?”

(Lily had the theory that seeing (Y/N) pregnant reminded her husband of the time that she’d been pregnant hence the reason he’d become more insistent on having another Potter baby.)

She sent her a look back that replied, “You might be right.”

James waited impatiently and as soon as (Y/N) nodded her head, he lowered himself to place a hand on her round belly.

Unsurprisingly, as soon as their future uncle’s hand came in touch with the clothing, the little babe kicked.

“He always starts playing with my internal organs when you or Remus are around,” (Y/N) informed him with small discomfort, watching as his face lightened up.

“He?” Lily asked.

Nodding, (Y/N) explained, “I think it’s a boy.”

“Pads has been saying you’ll be having a little girl,” James said as he finally dropped his hand from her stomach. He turned around to meet his family and Harry started reaching out for him. Lily passed the baby over to her husband.

“We’re having a bet on that, actually,” a new voice said.

If the little bean kicked when their uncles were around, they full-on started to do gymnastics with only the sound of their father’s voice.

“Why am I not surprised?” Lily whispered to (Y/N) as she walked closer to take a look at the food in the oven.

(Y/N) chuckled. They always had to bet on things they disagreed on.

Behind her, Sirius greeted his best mate and godson. The little Potter seemed much happier now that his uncle was here. (Harry preferred Sirius over everyone and Sirius had a soft spot for the kid). 

“I’ll start setting the table,” Lily told her, straightening up when she realized the food was almost done. “Do not carry the casserole, use your magic or ask one of the guys.”

Although raised by pureblood elitists, (Y/N) had learned the muggle way of cooking when she’d been younger. Food tasted better when magic wasn’t used. It was the reason she never used her wand in the kitchen unless it was being used to wash dirty dishes. Lily had been moderately surprised when she’d found out. She’d also been horrified when she’d seen (Y/N) carrying heavy plates of food while almost eight months pregnant. 

“You worry too much, Lils.”

She did, but (Y/N) couldn’t help feeling grateful. She’d never had such a good friend before, someone that doted on her and loved her without expecting anything in return.

“It’s because I care about you.”

(Y/N) reckoned she would never get used to hearing those words.

The redhead sent her a smile and took both her husband and kid out of the kitchen to help set the table.

“How are my girls doing today?”

He pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s lips, hands cupping her face before he lowered himself to be able to press a kiss to her belly.

The baby kicked, hard.

(Y/N) groaned, “The little bean missed you.”

“And I missed her,” he replied. “Have you been good to mummy today?”

His fingers caressed the skin in her stomach and the babe kicked again, this time in a more delicate way.

Sirius took that as a yes and he pressed another kiss to (Y/N)’s belly, mumbling a small “good”.

“How was work?” she asked as he straightened up. His hands remained by her side, thumbs running by the sides of her stomach.

Sirius pressed his forehead against hers and sighed, “Busy.”

After Hogwarts Sirius had gone to work in the Ministry of Magic. He was working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an Auror. His days were long and exhausting, most of the time also dangerous. (Y/N), on the other hand, had gone to train as a mediwitch. She’d been working at St. Mungo’s for the last five years and was currently on maternity leave.

(Y/N) caressed his face, fingers making the wrinkles of exhaustion disappear. He relaxed under her touch, always had.

The small beeping of the oven snapped them out of their small bubble.

Outside the kitchen, she could hear little Harry babbling to himself while Lily and James talked to someone. Apparently, Remus would be joining them for dinner too.

(Their apartment always had people around hence the reason (Y/N) had begun to cook for more people than just her and Sirius.)

She moved towards the oven, but Sirius stopped her.

“I’ve got this, love,” he assured her. “Why won’t you go sit down for a couple of minutes while I get his ready.”

Her eyes narrowed, “I’m pregnant, not incapable of functioning.”

He smiled at the snarky tone she used. He’d long gotten used to the hormonal changes which would make her snap at the smallest things.

“I know,” he pressed a kiss to her temple. “But please let me do this?”

She sighed, “Fine.” As she walked out of the kitchen, she told him over her shoulder, “Only because your kid won’t stop dancing around.”

Sirius laughed at that.

As they ate together that night, just like they did once every two weeks, (Y/N) couldn’t help the feeling of warmth that spread within her chest. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would be able to enjoy the simplicity of life, that she would be able to take control of her future and truly live.

Sirius linked their fingers together.

She was home.

[thebountyfucker]

The Game

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Afab!Reader x Embo, Afab!Reader x Bossk, Afab!Reader x Cad (Not gendered) Tags: Primal play (hunting), voyeurism/exhibitionism, unprotected sex, alien biology, cum eating, PiV sex, anal sex

Summary: Hunting makes a lizard's brain go brrrrrr. (Or, in other words, three hunters hunt you down. Their prize? You)

Here's the link to my masterpost. Want to be tagged in fics like this? Here's my taglist application!

“Ya get ten minutes. Make dem count.” Cad drawled as he glanced down at the chronometer on his wrist gauntlet. You glanced down at your own chronometer, your heart already racing; standing before you were three bounty hunters, each ready to prove their hunting skills in a test of chase. The prize? You. Whoever found you got first dibs on your cunt. Or whatever it was they desired to fuck. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you could hardly keep still.

Bossk and Embo had both been rather quiet this entire time - for Embo, this was par for the course. Bossk though… you wondered what was going on in that thick head of his. His nostrils kept flaring, as if trying to take in as much of your scent as possible, which… was likely. He was quite reliant on scent for these sorts of hunting games, which made it near impossible to hide. But that was the fun, you supposed.

The boys got to wander through the abandoned settlement briefly beforehand, getting acquainted with the terrain. Sometimes, they’d go in blind… but you all quickly realized that Cad was at a disadvantage. He was a great tracker, but his tech only went so far. You decided to give him a fighting chance by giving him time to set up traps or… whatever it was he used his tech for. Embo and Bossk got to wander around too, just to keep it fair. But you were going in blind.

Cad gave you the signal and you darted off; you were tempted to glance at them over your shoulder, but you knew that would only slow you down. Ten minutes, in theory, felt like long enough to get away. But you knew otherwise. You had to make each movement count.

You ducked through alleys and down streets, dropping items of clothes to try to throw off Bossk. You did your best to avoid Cad’s motion sensors. You tried to take the least logical path. All the while, your heart was pounding and your cunt was throbbing.

You ran through buildings, bumping up against the walls to transfer more of your scent, and then ran out again. You weaved around an empty marketplace, running circles around wooden stalls and touching everything. To top everything off, you took off your shoes, and chucked them in opposite directions.

Soon enough, your chronometer beeped, letting you know that the boys were officially on the hunt… and you needed to hide out. You decided on a warehouse toward the eastern edge of the settlement; it had multiple levels to it, so you figured you could easily hide there. Just as you reached the doorway, Bossk let out his hunting cry, and spikes of pleasure shot to your cunt. Soon… soon…

You crept through the reception area, trying to touch as little as possible. You knew Cad could track your heat signature, and you knew that Bossk would be able to follow your scent still… but you didn’t want to make it easy for them. You decided it would be best to take your chances upstairs, so you wandered until you found the stairwell, and began your ascension.

Climbing the numerous flights of stairs took a significant amount of time, but you had enough of a head start that it didn’t worry you. Even when Bossk’s calls grew closer. You went up five floors, before traversing down the long, empty hallways. The wind whistled through the bones of this building, drawing shivers up your spine. You weren’t sure why, but you swore you were being watched.

You ducked into a room off of the hall, and spotted a locker that looked like you could hide in it. You only made it about halfway across the room before a hand grasped your wrist and pulled you flush against a warm, hard body. You squirmed against the restrictive hand, startling as another hand was clapped over your mouth.

“Do not scream.” It was Embo. How…? You glanced up over your shoulder, meeting his golden gaze. He winked, and a shiver went down your spine. “I want to see how long it takes for them to find you.”

He eased you back into a corner, his hand moving from your mouth to your hip. He gave it a squeeze, his thumb brushing along the curve of your soft flesh. A foreign heat burned in his chest, and you could tell by the vibrant green tinge to his skin that this hunt had thrilled him. A low purr rumbled from deep in his chest.

“How did you…?”

“Your patterns are predictable. The others are concerned about where you have been… I was concerned about where you would go.” He explained, his voice edged with desire; you whimpered softly. “You go for large structures with many places to hide. You should just keep running. Maybe then Cad would have a chance.”

You fought a chuckle. “Unlike you, I don’t have unlimited stamina.”

“It is a shame.” He mused, the hand on your wrist dropping to grab your other hip. He pulled you flush against him, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “It would be much more fun if you did.”

Your breath came out as a shaky rattle, and his hands slid down farther. His large hand cupped your still-clothed cunt, rubbing a thumb over where he supposed your clit was. Your panties dampened as you sunk your teeth into your lip.

“Bossk surely can smell you now, all wet and yearning. He is going to be pissed.”

“Cad’s going to be madder.” You mentioned. Any moment now, the two pissed off hunters would barge in, and the thought of their anger sent spikes of pleasure to your cunt. Embo did not always win, but he won enough… enough to make the other two quite jealous.

He pressed his clothed cock against your back, and you could hardly stop yourself from begging him to fuck you. Not yet, he’d tell you. I want to see their faces when they notice I have won. Embo was not usually one to be conceited, but this game drove them all to their more primal instincts. You reached back to ran a hand along his length, just watching the door.

A loud growl alerted you to Bossk’s presence. He sauntered through the doorway, his teeth bared and his eyes narrowed. He jutted a claw toward Embo, who still had a firm hold on you, as if worried that Bossk would try to wrestle you away from him.

“You cheater!” Bossk roared. Surely this would draw Cad to you, if he wasn’t on the trail already.

“I do not cheat.” Embo replied pointedly.

“You have to! There is no way you found them that quickly!”

As if on cue, Cad stalked through the door; his lips pulled back to reveal his fangs. He leaned against the wall, watching as the other two bickered about ‘what counted as tracking’ and how Embo was ‘a dirty cheat’. You managed to break from Embo’s hold, and you wandered over to Cad.

“Good try?” You offered him, unsure of the mood he’d be in at this point. Judging by his growl, he wasn’t feeling too hot. “Don’t worry… gotta save the best for last, right?”

He quirked a browridge, but seemed to lighten up a bit. Maybe next time, you’d try to give Cad a better chance. You cupped his cheek, and he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Do not get any ideas, Cad.” Embo frowned, and Cad rolled his eyes.

“Wouldn’t dare.” He released his hold on you, and you moved to the center of the room. You pulled off your undershirt, and tossed it aside, bearing your torso to the boys. Bossk’s pupils dilated as he took in the intoxicating scent of your arousal. Embo’s eyes brightened. Cad just smirked and pulled out a cig.

“Good game, boys. I’ll try to make it last longer next time.” You winked, hooking your fingers around the waistband of your panties. You wondered if their more primal natures would become more intense if they were able to chase longer; honestly, a part of you wanted this. Next time… next time…

You shucked your panties off and tossed them to Bossk, who grappled for them and immediately brought them up to his snout. He inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the scent of your arousal. Embo beckoned to you with a finger, and you flitted toward him, falling to your knees before him. He leaned down to stroke your cheek as you reached for the ties of his skirts. They were, frustratingly, complicated to undo, so despite your best efforts, Embo did most of his own undressing. He neatly folded his clothes and set them atop his armor and hat, before bringing you up to stand.

“Do you need preparation? Or can you take me?” He asked, drawing the pads of his fingers down around your nipples. You bemoaned the fact that you were in an environment where he couldn’t remove his mask, as you knew that he would love to eat you out. But that could wait for another time. Right now, you needed to focus… oh fuck, your pussy was drooling now. Your legs shook as he gingerly pinched your nipples.

“P-please… I need your cock.” You whimpered, and he lifted you up; you wrapped your legs around his waist as he lined his cock up with your cunt. Slowly, he pushed in.

“Did you wish to see them?” Embo asked, his voice surprisingly even as he pushed further into you. You nodded as Embo turned to give you a better look at the other two. Though you’d never admit it, you were aroused at the thought of the other two watching as you were fucked. Bossk’s cocks had slipped out of his slit and were rapidly hardening. You couldn’t see Cad’s hard on, but you knew he would be quick to follow. A part of you wondered if it was just you that turned them on, or if they were also enjoying the view of their rival…

Soon, Embo had bottomed out, completely sheathing himself inside you. You swore his cock had pressed up under your ribs, though you knew this was not possible. You were so completely impaled by him. Your head lolled back as he slowly eased out, and then back in, quickly finding a suitable rhythm that wouldn’t completely wreck your insides.

You glanced over at the boys, watching as they shifted to try to accommodate their hard-ons. Bossk was rubbing a clawed hand over his cocks, still completely intoxicated by your scent. Cad smoked his cig to the butt, before crushing it beneath his boots.

Embo took his time fucking into you. His stamina would allow for him to fuck you all day, but while he was delighted to have you first, he was not greedy. He would allow for Bossk and Cad to have their turns with you.

Every thrust made his nodes drag across your sensitive spots, massaging them in a way that made your head spin and warmth pool in your belly. And when he pressed a thumb to your clit and rubbed, it was game over for you. You orgasmed, your body going limp and your vision going black as you milked his cock for all it was worth.

He would not have given up so easily in a private session, but given that he was not the only one fucking you today, he decided to cum early. He growled softly as he rested his head against yours, shooting his hot cum deep into you. It kept coming and coming… when he finished, he pulled you off his cock and his cum seeped down your thighs.

You wobbled, hardly able to catch your breath before Bossk approached. He had already pulled his cocks from his jumpsuit, and they were twitching for you. First, though… Bossk laid you down on the ground and spread your legs open wide. His tongue flicked out, lapping at the cum which dirtied your thighs; you weren’t sure if he actually enjoyed the taste of another man’s cum, or if he was just trying to clean you. Either way, his tongue slipped into your cunt, slurping up the left over cum like a starving man at a feast. He dragged his tongue in and out, growling and groaning, drawing gasps from deep within you. Heat boiled in your belly, and you felt as though you could cum then and there… but you’d wait as long as you could. You needed Bossk’s cocks…

He lifted your hips, his tongue swirling his lube-like saliva and cum mixture around your asshole. When he felt that you were sufficiently slicked, he situated himself between your legs, and lined up his cocks with your holes. When he pressed in, you let out a howl of pleasure.

He was slow, knowing your ass would need more time to adjust than your cunt would. Your hands went to your breasts as you looked over at Embo and Cad. Embo had found a desk to sit on, and was idly stroking his hardening cock. Cad was finally starting to show his arousal, his cheeks flushed green and a dopey look in his eyes.

“Pretty little prey.” Bossk purred as he stroked a claw along your cheek. “Pretty and tight.”

He eased in further, his cocks rubbing against the thin wall of flesh separating your cunt from your ass. You whined, arching your back and angling your hips toward him. Your legs were already shaking, your toes curling. And when he finally sheathed himself inside you, stars danced in your vision.

“Don’t cum yet, little prey… we’ve only just started.” Bossk eased out, and then back in. Bossk was long - not nearly as long as Embo, though - and his cocks were thick. Where Embo impaled you, Bossk completely stuffed you. Like Embo, though, his cocks pressed through your belly, and you watched as your belly rippled with every thrust.

His tongue snaked out to lick at your nipples, getting them hard; you were desperate for a mouth around them, though you knew Bossk would not be able to fulfill that desire. Maybe Cad would…

Bossk picked up his pace until you orgasmed, shooting fluids all over him; Bossk was quick to follow, his frills expanding to keep you locked onto his cocks. His cum was cool and thick, and filled you up; slowly, his frills deflated, and he pulled out. He was satisfied, but at the same time, like Embo, you knew he wanted more. He backed away, allowing Cad to approach now.

You sat up, watching as Cad pulled his cock out; it was hard and leaking what you assume was Duros precum. You were always shocked by how aroused the boys were; you had originally thought that they’d be turned off by the presence of each other… and yet…

“On yer hands an’ knees, doll.” Cad drawled, and you were quick to oblige. Your swollen, pliant cunt was ready for him, and he reveled in it. He drew a finger between the lips, rubbing Bossk’s cum around as a sort of lubricant, before pressing into you. You twitched around him, every touch sending sharp spikes of pleasure to your cunt; your body was flushed and hot. Your eyes were half-lidded. You were drooling onto the ground. You were so goddamn cock-dumb that it was making Embo and Bossk chuckle.

Cad’s grip on your hips was bruising, and every once in a while, he drew a hand back to smack your ass. You lurched forward with every hit, gasping and whimpering. He was determined to make his mark on you, much more concerned with claiming you than his companions were.

He nipped at your neck and shoulders, thrusting harder and harder into you; his ridges - oh, the ridges!- massaged your sensitive spots, which were already overstimulated from the two previous cocks in you. You could hardly keep yourself up, which Cad hadn’t failed to notice. Instead of holding you up, though, Cad shoved you to the ground, his hand holding your head down on the ground.

“Cad~!” You moaned, your voice pitching up as ecstasy gripped you. The heat in your belly threatened to spill, but you knew Cad didn’t care. He’d fuck you through three orgasms if he wanted.

“Dat’s it, doll. Yell my name. Tell dese idiots who ya belong t’!” He growled, not letting up on his pace. You turned your head to look at Bossk and Embo, noting their continued arousal; something told you that you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow…

“CAD!” You cried, tension building. You were so goddamn close! If only…

Cad pressed his thumb to your clit and the tension snapped. Fluids rushed out around his cock as your body went limp; your head was in the clouds, high on ecstasy and sex. Every nerve was set ablaze.

You weren’t sure how long your orgasm lasted, only that Cad had continued to fuck into your tightened cunt. He was grunting, and his pace was beginning to falter, but he wouldn’t give up that easily. He tangled a hand in your hair and pulled you up closer to him. He dragged his teeth along your back.

“Yer too good t’ us, doll. Too good.” Cad muttered as he leaned forward, latching over your shoulder. You braced yourself, knowing what came next.

Cad’s pace grew erratic, and before long, he came, biting down into your shoulder as he shot his cum inside you. You cried out, orgasming again - this orgasm caught you off-guard, but you were pleased none the less.

Cad licked away the blood, before easing out of your sore cunt. He sat nearby, his soft cock just bobbing between his legs. The room was silent for a moment, before Embo approached once more.

“Are you able to take more?”

You knew you had a long night ahead of you.

-

Tags: @doctor-ren, @that-clone-wars-girl, @some-serendipity-snail, @rewin-d

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (5)

(The next update is here! Feel free to check out the mini series connected to this fic called Journal Entries. I will warn anyone who checks it out that I’m probably not going to continue the entries, though.)

Ch.1 / Ch.4 / Ch.6

Chapter 5: Late Night Visits

Felix idly watched the elevator light flicker from circle to circle as he reached the top floor. He tugged lightly at the green color of the shirt that Marinette had given him, preparing for his mother’s overbearing questions. She’d been trying to get him to wear something other than his suits for at least a year. When she saw him in this attire, she was going to have a fit.

Felix blew out a sigh. Normally, he would have changed back to his other clothes by now- Mme Sabine did an excellent job of cleaning them and tucking them into his bag, neatly folded -but Marinette told everyone that they could keep their outfits. After an offer like that, it seemed rude to change. 

The elevator emitted a soft *ding* to inform him that he’d arrived on his selected floor, and Felix drew in a deep breath, watching the golden-colored doors slide open. Here it comes.

The family penthouse was shrouded in darkness, save for the flames that flickered in the fireplace of the open living. It cast a soft, orange glow on the furniture and floors, and in the midst of the distorted dimness, Felix could make out his mother lounging leisurely on one of the light blue couches. It wasn’t unlike her to keep the house lights off while he or Father was away. She claimed that it helped think and relax. 

When the elevator doors rattled closed, his mother sat up from the couch and turned to him, her eyes bright and curious. A part of him hoped that she couldn’t spot his new outfit in the darkness, but that hope was quickly dashed as she hopped up with a gasp.

“Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed, sounding like a child on Christmas morning. Felix barely had time to set his bag down before she got to him, pawing up and down to study the fabric. He briefly wondered how a woman who wore six inch heels could move with such speed and agility.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness! Is it my birthday? Are you really my son? What happened to your old clothes? I thought you were going to visit Marinette’s house!” She flicked the lights on to get a better look, and Felix squinted as his eyes adjusted.

“Yes, I’m really your son,” He replied firstly, taking a step away from her incessant touches, “And I did go to Marinette’s house. That’s why I needed new clothes.”

Bridgette frowned, both at his step away from her and his comment. “What happened to your old clothes? Did Claude spill something on them again?”

“You could say that Claude was the Catalyst, yes.” He grumbled, the memory of Claude’s mocking laughter flicking through his mind. 

“Well, where are your other clothes then? Should I call M. Bernarde over to clean them?” 

Felix shook his head and gestured to his bag on the floor. “No need. Mme Sabine has already taken care of it.”

“Mme Sabine?” Bridgette parroted curiously. She knelt down and flipped over the brown, leather flap to pull out the clothes.

“Ah. Marinette’s mother.” Felix explained. “She insisted that I refer to her as ‘Mme Sabine’.” 

A smile graced Bridgette’s lips as she stood, tucking Felix’s clothes in her arms. “That’s very sweet of her.”

Felix nodded and knelt down to grab his bag as well. “M. Tom and Mme Sabine both have an uncanny resemblance towards you when it comes to their behavior.”

“Oh?” Bridgette’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “So what I’m hearing is: Marinette’s parents are wonderful people.”

Felix chuckled, flashing her an indulgent smile. “Of course, Mother.”

Bridgette grinned and ruffled a hand through his hair. “I definitely raised you right. Do you want some tea? I can make some while you go change. I know that’s not your usual preference of clothing.”

Felix hummed at the offer, reaching up to touch his collar again. “Tea sounds nice, but I think I’ll keep the outfit.”

It was already ten o’clock at night. If he were to change into anything, it would be a pair of pajamas, and he wasn’t in the mood for that yet. There were still things that he needed to jot down in his notebook before settling down for the evening.

Bridgette’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You mean you actually like the outfit?”

Felix shrugged. “The clothes are comfortable. It might not be my usual attire, but it’s also not unbearable. Besides, going up to change now would only be a waste of energy.”

Bridgette placed a hand on her hip and breathed out an incredulous laugh. “If I had known that going to Marinette’s house was all it would take for you to break your ‘suits’ streak, I would have you sent you there ages ago.”

Felix playfully rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be happy that I dress well? Father’s quite pleased with it.”

Bridgette clicked her tongue, setting his clothes on the dining room table next to them to cross her arms. “Yes, that’s because your father is just as uptight as you are. You both need to loosen up a little.”

Felix chuckled. “Where is Father? I thought he was supposed to be home tonight.”

“He’s up in his study.” Bridgette answered, tilting her head towards the stairs. “There’s an important meeting at the bank tomorrow, and he wanted to prepare.”

Felix nodded. That was understandable. “What kind of tea are you going to make?”

Bridgette perked up at the reminder and spun on her heel to head towards the kitchen, her cream-colored dress flowing around her legs with the action. “I was thinking of Iron Goddess, but is there something different you might want?”

Felix shook his head as he followed behind her. “Iron Goddess sounds marvelous. I haven’t had that in a while.”

Bridgette moved to the stove and turned it on. Then she pulled out her flower-decorated kettle and set it on the burner. Felix stood next to her, quietly watching her pour the needed amount of water into the kettle. 

“So tell me how Claude managed to ruin your clothes for the twentieth time.” She said after a moment while handing Felix the dried, tea leaves.

Felix took the tea leaves and fished out a measuring spoon to scoop the accurate amount. “Twenty-second, actually, and I’m not entirely sure what happened.”

One moment, they were trying to put flour on the dough. The next moment, the flour was on them. Not the dough. He remembered everyone coughing up flour, and the white clouding his vision as the substance floated around the room. He remembered Claude laughing and Allan sighing in defeat when he finally got hit. Allegra had pinched the bridge of her nose at one point, undoubtedly asking herself what she would do with all of them.

Then he remembered Marinette’s face, flushed from embarrassment, as she scrambled to take the flour bag off of him, and her giddy smile, moments later, as she threw the bag onto Allan. 

“M. Tom was teaching us how to make croissants.” Felix said, starting at the first thing he could clearly recall. “When he left to deal with an unruly customer, Marinette attempted to take over the lesson. Unfortunately, she didn’t anticipate Claude’s tumultuous mannerisms.”

A laugh escaped Bridgette. “Can anyone truly prepare for Claude?”

Felix shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen.”

He tipped his measuring spoon into the infuser, letting the leaves fall into it. Then he reached across the stove and dropped the infuser into the kettle.

“Claude inevitably spilled a fourth of their flour bag onto himself and Allegra, and when Marinette went to fetch more for the rest of us, she tripped. I tried to catch her, but the flour bag was too heavy to handle. So we both ended up falling and getting covered as well.”

Bridgette snorted. “How chivalrous of you. It’s nice to know you’re fond enough of Marinette to try to help her when she needs it.”

“I didn’t do anything special.” Felix said, a twinge of irritation stirring in the back of his mind. She acted as though he let people fall in front of him on a regular basis. 

..of course, he did watch Claude land face first into the cement one day without so much as twitching. But in his defense, the brunette had been pushing Felix to the limit that day. He thought it only fair to let the boy suffer a little. 

“Anyone decent would have done the same thing.” Felix added, referring back to Marinette’s trip.

Bridgette nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true.. So you’re saying you’re not fond of her, then?”

“No, I-” Felix cut himself short, realizing what he was about to say. 

It’s not that he disliked Marinette. She was a kind-hearted person and, as of right now, hasn’t done anything to displease him. But for some reason, the word ‘fond’ sounded.. too strong. Too incriminating. 

His mother’s bubbly laughter broke him from his thoughts.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m only teasing. I know you enjoy Marinette’s company.” She said, lightly tapping her fingers under his chin. The assurance didn’t appease Felix in the slightest. In fact, it only birthed a new form of discomfort. Why did the thought of enjoying Marinette’s company make him squirm? Wasn’t it normal to enjoy someone’s company once you were around them for a while? 

“So how did you get the new outfit?” Bridgette inquired next. “Did you have to stop baking and go on a last minute shopping spree?”

“No, Marinette had plenty of outfits.” Felix answered, gladly accepting the subject change. “It was quite impressive. She’d told us that she was a fashion major, but I didn’t realize that she was actually making clothes at this moment and time.”

“Wait, what?!” Bridgette blanched, her eyes blowing wide as she straightened. “You’re telling me that she made those clothes? The ones you’re wearing right now.”

Felix barely managed a nod before Bridgette swooped down to inspect his clothes all over again.

“You’re kidding!” She gasped, feeling over the seams and fabrics. “You didn’t tell me that she was a fashion designer! And a talented one, no less!”

“Didn’t I?” Felix replied, subtly leaning away from his mother.

Bridgette shook her head. “No, you didn’t! You’ve told me that she’s a new student who got in on a scholarship, that she lives in a bakery, that she’s clumsy, and that she’s somehow anxious and level-headed at the same time, but I’ve never heard about her aspirations towards being a fashion designer.”

“Huh..” Felix mumbled. The fact must have slipped his mind earlier. “Well, that’s how she attained the scholarship. She’s majoring in fashion. Claude, Allegra, and Allan all got outfits from her as well.”

“That’s incredible..” Bridgette muttered. “She must really be something.”

Felix nodded, being inclined to agree. No one got an early scholarship to Rosemary Highschool without having an immense amount of drive and talent. The clothes he wore now proved that.

A sharp whistle cut into their conversation, and Bridgette swiftly moved back to the stove to turn it off. She then grabbed two mugs from the counter- one deep green and one deep blue -and poured some of the scalding liquid from the kettle into both cups.

“So what happened after everyone changed?” She asked, getting back to the original topic.

“Nothing much.” Felix admitted. He took the dark green mug that Bridgette offered him with a ‘thanks’ before adding, “Marinette took our clothes to Mme Sabine for her to wash them, and the rest of the visit was spent playing video games or talking.”

“Did you play games as well?” 

An involuntary snort left Felix’s lips, and he shook his head. “Certainly not. I looked around Marinette’s room instead.”

“Oh?” His mother scooted closer to him with a sly smile, the same way she always did when she expected to hear something ‘juicy’. “Did you find anything interesting?”

The treasure chest of birthday gifts resurfaced in Felix’s mind, along with the card that he’d found.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He lied. It wasn’t his place to disclose such things, especially when he hadn’t been told directly about them. Felix wanted to learn more about Marinette, not share her private life with the world. “She seems to have quite an obsession with the color pink, though.”

Bridgette laughed. “Really? How bad?”

“Well, it’s not as bad as your infatuation with sky blue,” Felix said light heartedly, “but it still covered almost everything in her room. I was shocked that her hand-made outfits weren’t all pink as well.”

Bridgette hummed. “You do need to have some variety in the fashion world. Otherwise your clothes will become bland and predictable.”

She took a small sip of her tea and sank against the counter, reveling in the warmth it provided. 

“So how do you think Marinette’s fairing in the group so far?” she asked after a moment.

Felix took a sip of his own tea as he mulled over his answer. “She certainly knows how to hold her own. Allegra and Claude have already pledged their loyalty to her, claiming that she’s family even though we’ve only known her a week.”

“You think they’re rushing things?”

“I think they’re impulsive and rash as always.” Felix shrugged. “Marinette can be a great asset to our group, but that’s hardly a reason to devote themselves to her.”

Intrigue flashed in Bridgette’s deep blue eyes. “So you think she can make the group better?”

“Currently, yes.” Felix responded. “The way she interacts with each of us brings a strange sense of balance to the group. She adds this splash of color that we’ve apparently been lacking.”

It’s something he’s noticed often in the past week. Marinette will listen intently to Claude’s stories and ideas, therefore sedating his chaotic atmosphere. She’ll compliment Allegra’s styles and discuss compelling topics with the blonde, easily satisfying the girl’s need to dig up controversy and drag it to light for the sake of a good argument. She’ll even share looks and teasing comments with Allan, praising him for his photography skills and giving him the constant validation that causes the boy to smile just a little bit more. Her routine of asking Felix’s opinion and actually taking it into consideration admittedly soothes his ever-rising temper as well.

In a way, she kept them grounded, and that was something that their group desperately needed if you asked him.

“Wow~” Bridgette sang, taking a long sip of her tea. “That’s a lot of praise coming from you, Felix.”

Something turned inside Felix’s chest at the comment, and his grip on his mug tightened. Why did he feel as though he had been caught for something? Nothing he said had been untrue. 

“I’m merely stating observations.”

“Of course.” Bridgette muttered into her cup, an air of amusement in her voice. “Observations.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at his mother. Her sly smile told him that she wasn’t quite agreeing with him in the way that she said. Almost like she was insinuating something or knew something that he didn’t. Bridgette was known for drawing irrational conclusions, though, so he didn’t dare ask what that something was. Felix simply took another sip of his tea and continued telling her the smaller details of his visit. 

~~~~~~

Evening in Paris, a time where the streets are empty and the lights are full. The city of love always had a way of illuminating the night sky with its abundance of lanterns and street lamps. Couples could often be found strolling along, enjoying the romantic atmosphere, but tonight, company was scarce. Only the occasional car divulged the fact that the drowsy town was not quite asleep. 

Chat Noir didn’t blame the civilians for staying inside. The frigid month of January was tolerable in the morning, but at night, the frosted winds had no mercy. He tugged up his scarf to compensate for the chill that nipped at his cheeks and nose, and although it did little to help, he continued skipping across the rooftops. Nathalie would be checking on him in roughly an hour to make sure he was asleep. That gave him roughly thirty to forty-five minutes to get to Marinette’s house, convince her to transfer back to Dupont, and get home. 

Well, he didn’t expect to convince her fully- Marinette can be extremely stubborn -but he could lay the groundwork. For example, if Chat Noir could figure out why she left, maybe Adrien would be able to fix it. 

The balcony came into view a few minutes later, and Chat Noir picked up the pace. Using his alter ego to snuff out information wasn’t something that he put to practice often, but all attempts to talk to Marinette as Adrien so far have failed, and he couldn’t wait for his schedule as a civilian to open again. 

His feet landed on the Dupain-Cheng rooftop, but the ice on top of it caused him to slip. He let out a yelp and threw his hands forward to claw for support. The high pitched whine that came from his gloves when they caught on the ice made him wince, but it was better than falling off the edge of the roof. He scrambled upwards to safety, blowing out a sigh of relief as he found Marinette’s window. That was close.

Now that he had steady footing, Chat Noir stole a peek into Marinette’s bedroom. The last time he came to her house uninvited, it was while she was sleeping, and that did not end well for him. Therefore, he’s started checking whether she’s ‘ready’ for him or not.

Marinette buzzed around her room, a bright smile on her lips as she gathered empty soda can, cups, and plates. Why were there so many drinks and plates? Did Marinette eat that much or did she have someone over earlier? If she did have someone over, then who would it be? Everyone at Dupont was still grumbling about her supposed misdeeds. Did someone finally come to their senses and apologize? 

Chat Noir perked up. This was great! If she’s reconciled with one of her old classmates, it would be that much easier to sway her in his direction.

Fueled by a fresh spark of hope, he climbed up to Marinette’s balcony. The coolness of the metal railing seeped through his gloved hands as he grabbed it, but he hardly cared as he swung himself over. His padded feet hit the wooden floorboards without a sound, and he knelt down to knock on the trapdoor.

“I can’t believe how much fun today was!”

His knuckles faltered in the air at the sound of Marinette’s voice. She sounded positively giddy, which was nice, but who was she talking to? He didn’t remember seeing anyone in the bedroom with her. Were they sitting outside his viewpoint? Should he come back later?

“When everyone got covered in flour, I thought the rest of the night was going to be horrible, but they looked like they had a good time.” Marinette continued, oblivious of her eavesdropper. 

Chat Noir frowned slightly. ‘Everyone’.. Did more than one person come over? How did they get covered in flour?

He shook his head and checked his baton for the time. 10:20pm. If he was going to talk to her, it needed to do it now. 

Tentatively, he knocked on the trapdoor, hoping beyond all hope that she was making a simple phone call. Marinette would be ticked if he came over, uninvited, while she had someone else visiting.

Her idle chatter immediately ceased, and Chat Noir shifted nervously on the floor. Please be alone. Please be alone.

His ears twitched to the sound of movements. Footsteps were making their way across the room. Then up the first ladder to the loft. Then up the second ladder to the balcony. Then-

Marinette pushed her way through the trapdoor, offering him a warm smile. “Hey, Chat! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here. How have you been?”

Chat’s shoulders sagged in relief. It’s been forever since he’s seen that wonderful smile. “I’ve been okay. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” Marinette held the trapdoor open long enough for Chat to grab it and started climbing back down the ladder. “I was just cleaning up from having my friends over.”

So she did have people over! 

“Which friends?” He asked, trying not to sound too eager as he climbed down the ladder behind her. Could it be Alya? They were best friends, after all. Or Nino? He was always skeptical of Lila’s tales. Oh! What if it was Nathaniel? Chat remembered the red-head having a soft spot for Marinette a while back. Or what about-

“My new friends from school!” Her enthusiastic reply shattered his hopes, and Chat Noir froze, the trapdoor rocking shut above him. She had.. new friends? Already? She’d only been gone a week or two..

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I transferred from Dupont to Rosemary!” She added, completely oblivious to the bomb that she’d just dropped on him. It shouldn’t surprise Chat that she had new friends, since Marinette was amazing, but..

“What about your old friends?” 

Marinette shrugged, dumping a few soda cans into the trash bag that lay in the corner of her room. “Oh, you know. Lila’s been rallying them against me for a few months now. I figured that wasn’t good for my mental health or my education, so I decided to leave.”

Guilt festered in the pit of his stomach, and Chat Noir cast his gaze to the side. He understood where she was coming from. Lila hadn’t been making life easy for her as of late. 

“Do you miss them?”

“Nope!” The answer was immediate and cheerful, and it shot a knife right through Chat’s heart.

“There’s not a single part of you that wants to go back?” He persisted. School had been difficult for her with Lila’s lies. He got that. But it still hurt to know that she was willing to throw them away like they hadn’t been friends for the better half of two years. 

Marinette shook her head, shoving the imagined knife deeper into his chest. “If they wanted me to stay, they should have treated me better.”

“What if they’re sorry?” He asked, probably faster than he should have. “What if they missed you and wanted you to come back? Wouldn’t you forgive them?”

Weren’t friends supposed to work things out? 

A sigh fell from her lips. “I don’t know, Chat. No one’s even apologized yet. Even if they did, I’m not sure that I’d want to go back?”

“Why not?” Chat all but yelled in exasperation. If everyone apologized, that would mean no one was upset with her anymore. The problem would be gone! So why would she want to stay away from them?

Marinette frowned at him. “If I go back to Dupont, it’ll only show them that their actions don’t have any real consequences. They need to learn that they can’t just treat people however they want.” 

Chat Noir didn’t respond, because what could he really say? She was right. He knew she was right. You can’t rage against someone day after day and expect them to take it. Even so, he couldn’t help wanting her back. They needed her. He needed her.

“Why are you so concerned about this anyway?” Marinette inquired, breaking him from his thoughts.

Chat Noir managed a sheepish smile. “N-No reason. I just don’t want you making any rash decisions is all.”

Marinette eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t think it’s rash to get out of a toxic situation, but why don’t we change the subject? Do you want to play games? I can bring up snacks if you plan on staying long.”

Chat Noir pulled out his baton to check the time. 10:40pm. Drat.

“Actually, I should get going.” He replied, slipping on an apologetic smile. “Patrol and all that.”

Marinette gave an understanding nod. “No problem. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks for having me.” Chat Noir said with a small wave. He then clambered back up the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. The freezing air hit him full force, but he didn’t have time to be skittish. Nathalie would be coming to check on him in twenty minutes, and that didn’t include the possibility of her coming to check on him early.

He shut the trapdoor behind him, making sure it was tightly closed. (Just because he had to get frostbite didn’t mean that Marinette had to) Then, Chat Noir swung himself over the railing, slid down the Dupain-Cheng’s rooftop, and started homeward.

He’d wanted to change Marinette’s mind about Dupont, but in the end, he was the one who had his mind changed. With Lila running about and spreading lies, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to return. However, if his classmates were too.. say.. change their ways and learn to appreciate Marinette, she might be inclined to come back. All he had to do was convince them that Lila was a liar and that Marinette was an actual angel, and he would start with apologizing. What the school Marinette said she transferred to? Rosemary? Yeah, that’s it. Rosemary.. Wasn’t that the prestigious school for rich kids that Father almost sent him to? How did she manage to enroll there? He thought the tuition was supposed to be extremely expensive.

Chat Noir shook his head slightly. How she enrolled at that school didn’t matter. What mattered was that that’s where she’ll be most of the day from now on, and as soon as he got even a second of free time as Adrien, she will be the first person he sees.

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas

[shini--chan]

Okay, I've been wracking my brain to think of an ask for you because I know your writing is fire, and I don't want to waste it! If the mood strikes you, can you write a little yandere Levi in a universe of your choosing or constructing? I'm sort of interested to see how you imagine him as a yandere 😊

Thx, fam!

As I told you once before, this is the ask that almost made me forfeit my principal of answering asks chronologically. :P

So, this will be my usual mix of headcanons and Imagines if you don’t mind, since I have a lot of thoughts on this man and just don’t want to stumble into the snare of writing a full length story … yet.

I’ ll also keep this general, since the universe any Levi fic is set in just changes the nuances, and not fundamental character traits.

Also, I have to remark that it is already too late for me - I’m hip deep in academia.  

Yandere Levi Ackerman  

Captain Levi is a very orderly person, it is part of his lifestyle and how he interacts with others and himself. It is something he is really strict about and he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than perfect hygiene in a lover. To him, there is nothing less disgusting than poor body hygiene and should you start slacking off in anyway when it comes to taking care of yourself, a very fundamental aspect, then he won’t shy away from taking matters in his own hands.

You gasped as a bucket of water was frigidly emptied over head and you threw yourself out as your bed, expecting your assailant to have lunged onto you, should you have remained there.

Instead, he was standing right in front of you.

Somewhat shyly, you looked up into Levi’s pale face and sneered at the accursed object that he was holding in his hand. He sneered right back at you, the corners of his lips curled slightly upwards in disgust. A rather uncommon display of extreme emotion on his part, for being a commonly stoic man.

“Get up!”, he curtly barked to which you stiffly groaned. Sloppily, you got up, still groggy from being rudely awoken and not in the best mood because of it. The water running in rivulets down your body and made your sleep wear cling to your skin didn’t help either.

“What was that for?”, you whined, completely oblivious as to why he was being so imperious to you. What had you done to warrant such poor treatment?

“Don’t get cheeky now, little brat. You didn’t shower last night and went all sweaty to bed. You deserved what I did to you now.”

Him being orderly isn’t restricted to personal cleanliness, it is also about how disciplined a person is with themselves. Having had to live in harsh environments for his whole life, he is a firm believer in pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. That also means that should you suffer from any mental disorder, trauma induction or not, he wouldn’t be very understanding. Not that he wouldn’t be concerned about your broken state of mind, rather he wouldn’t see how being kind and coddling you would fix it.

“You know brat, if you would stop sulking and feeling sorry for yourself, your life would start getting damn better”, he snarled at your cowered form.

Hunched over the table, you had elected to grab a beer to numb the pain that was ravaging your heart. Watching people die never became easy, especially when they were close to you.

“Just leave me alone”, you begged and raised the tankard to your mouth again. Yet before the wooden rim could touch your lips, it was shamelessly ripped away from you. Levi’s sharp grey eyes were honed on you, the fire of anger dancing in them. Just why did he have to play judge now of all times?

“No, you look like shit and you’re talking shit. Moping around wouldn’t make anything better you idiot. You need to your act together, not get piss drunk.” 

Furthermore, he needs to be in control. As soon as he feels like his vice-like grasp over reality is slipping, he does what all people do that are losing their power – he scrambles to re-attain it. And he doesn’t hesitate to utilize violence. On top of that he sees respect given, as power given, so he demands the piety that his position ought to give him.  It doesn’t matter that you’re his lover, if anything you ought to give him his due. Rows with him are literally the worst – be prepared to be swept of your feet! 

Roughly, you were slammed against the wall in a manner that knocked the wind out of your lungs with a crude sound. It was followed by a gasp as your ears rang from your skull having banged against the stone and your muscles and bones ached.

“What did you just say?”, Levi snarled, a rare look of utter rage on his handsome face. You knew it was a rhetorical question, he had heard you the first time around. But you were too steep in your own anger to not push your luck.

“Don’t be like that, darling”, you spat the last word as if it were poison in your mouth. Warranted actually, since you had been coerced and tricked into this relationship. “I said that maybe you should take a leave out of your superior’s book because all your shortcomings make you unbearable to be a runt. Somehow, I doubt that would work, though – you’ll always remain a sewer rat at heart.”

A wrong move – those handsome features contorted to something utterly ghastly.

“You know we wouldn’t have such problems if you could control that attitude of yours. And if you would show me respect”, he hissed as he pressed you further against the wall, so that you were sandwiched between stone and muscles to a painful degree. The hands grasping you by the front of your clothing didn’t help either.

Lips twisting into a snarl of your own, you countered: “Respect is supposed to be earned, Captain. I will only respect you if you respect me.” You were really insistent on digging yourself your own grave, weren’t you?

“You’re much prettier if you keep that mouth of yours shut.

“Consider the feeling to be mutual, brat. Why should I give you any respect if you won’t give me any? And remember, I’m above you, so I don’t owe you anything. You owe me the world.”

Levi also has a strict set of rules that he expects you to follow to the dot. A fair warning, however, he may change the one or the other spontaneously and not inform you of it until you’re bent over his desk. Also, it is common knowledge that he endorses corporal punishment and celebrates pain as a prim method to install discipline. He really thinks that bad behaviour can be beat out of somebody. He is also exceptionally cruel with his punishments. This can be traced back to how he was desensitized to violence at a relatively early age and revels in have people submit to him.

You had barely set foot in his study when he looked up from his paperwork and ordered you: “Come over here, and bend over the desk.”

Shocked by his harsh words, you nevertheless complied. You knew that resistance would only make matters worse. Still, as you bend over and pressed your cheek against the cool oak you asked: “What did I do wrong this time?”

Briefly, he stopped rummaging through the chest that stood by the window and glanced over his shoulder.

“Are you serious? Don’t you already know? And I though you weren’t so goddamn stupid”, he snapped.

Finally, having found what he was searching for, he turned towards you again. There was a semi-bored expression gracing his visage as he drawled: “I told you a thousand times before, pet. When you are finished with your afternoon chores you are to come directly to me. No chit-chat with somebody else, no fooling about and yet you disobey me again and again. Your ears really are just for decoration.”

You opened your mouth to protest but he carelessly cut you off: “I don’t care if they are your friends, you don’t need them. You just need me.”

Upon that you fell silent and closed your eyes in hopelessness as you waited for your punishment to commence. When do pain came after a minute of silence you dared to open your eyes and glance back.

Seeing that you were focused on him, Levi cleared his throat as if to say “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Then you remember and with a great amount of shame you bared your bottom and meekly requested: “Please Levi, my love, spank me thoroughly.”

As usual, it sickened you that he made you ask to be punished. It was his way of normalizing and justifying his abuse. And conditioning you.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat as he grabbed you by the nap as he pressed you against his desk. “There is a good little pet”, he whispered as leather made contact with your supple flesh. 

This man has a difficult time warming up to people. All the agony of losing those that meant the world to him repeatedly has caused him to become cold and reserved. That means that in his mind, you should view it as a privilege that you are the love of his life. Because of that, he won’t accept rejection. Also, since he hasn’t had somebody really close to him in ages, he will be very clingy and overprotective. The world has the habit of robbing him, so you won’t allow you to be stolen as well. Not to forget that he is a man of action – being passive or also relying on words to solve situations just isn’t his style. 

Your skin was on fire due to his ministrations, or rather because of the disgust they evoked. The arm around your waist that pressed you against him made you want to claw at his skin and his lips against the tender skin of your neck made you want to throttle him.

Yet you knew that it was just wishful thinking. Engaging in such protest would be futile since he was stronger and quicker than you.

“Look here Levi, I told you…”, you tried to reason with him but he just silenced your objection:

“Shush, sweetheart. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Then he resumed kissing your neck and collar bone, sometimes tugging at your skin with teeth in order to cause bruises. You tensed as his free hand snaked down your leg and hooked itself under your knee.

The captain is a military man and fairly intelligent. He knows how to deal with an enemy, how to assess their strengths and weaknesses and how to keep them contained. And also, how to best combat them and capture them. He really is the worst opponent you could meet on the battlefield.

So how to evade him? You take him off the battlefield, place him in a situation where aggression can’t help him achieve his goals. He is a military man, as said before, so he is accustomed to low context communication – words must be direct, and you must mean what you say so that they are no muck-ups. Little conversation and more orders and demands. Levi doesn’t have a silver tongue to begin with, quite the contrary actually.

That means he cares a bit for codes, since they are of use to him in his branch of expertise. But he cares little for symbolism since he has categorised that as sappy nonsense reserved for romantics. So, you have an avenue to express yourself that he won’t catch up on unless somebody explicitly told him what it meant. Consider yourself lucky, it is exactly this that will prevent you from going insane.

“Flowers? Again?”, he gruffly asked.

It made you look up from the novel you were reading to see him eyeing the tansy and peonies that you had placed in a vase on the nightstand.

You had to suppress a smirk and work to keep the self-satisfaction out of your voice as you meekly inquired: “They are there to give a bit more colour to the room. I can always put them away if you want.”

You were being obedient to him for a change and that was why he decided to allow you a few luxuries. Besides, since you were so affectionate in the past two months, why shouldn't he return it with gestures of his own.

“Keep them. I’ll just never understand why you like them so much”, he answered and then stalked over to the bathroom. Of course he would never comprehend it, with his spartan and austere tastes, just like you would never understand that the small yellow flowers meant ‘I declare war on you!’ or that the orange lilies that had been there a few days ago actually proclaimed your hatred for him.

Hopefully, he would never find out.

Intelligence doesn’t automatically mean that he is omnipotent or that he is an all-powerful overlord. It just means that he is quick to comprehend tactics and strategies and devise his own. He isn’t immune to mistakes. So, when he ropes you in, in his games, you have to play a wholly different game of your own if you want to get out. Military, remember? There are many walks of life that he is unfamiliar with, many possibilities for you to escape his clutches that he wouldn’t even account for.

Giddily, you smiled at yourself in the mirror. You barely recognized yourself, with all the paint and heavy cloth that decorated your body. Levi didn’t either, just how it was supposed to be.

You had spotted him in the audience as you had pranced about the stage, looking very disgruntled at not having you by his side or locked up in his quarters. Even you had heard the rumours of how a few days ago he had flown into a frenzy, searching high and low for something.

You were one of the few that knew it was someone and that someone was you. Knowing him as well as you did, you made the fair guess that he also wasn’t here by his own volition, rather his comrades had dragged him here in an attempt to distract him.

And you also knew that had looked everywhere he presumed you to be – in the forest, somewhere tucked away in his estate, in the taverns and at the city borders and at the docks. Just not amongst the theatre troop.

That would probably stay that way, and you could use the opportunity to escape him.  

Adding to the fact that he is bad at expressing himself like a normal human being, he is also very emotional underneath that stoic veneer. In combat situations, he has an outlet for all his pent-up emotions. Else you have to suffer his outbursts and mood swings. Nonetheless, the world isn’t a gigantic battlefield and if the right buttons are pushed, he could lose it at exactly the wrong time and place. Levi would lose badly at the game favoured in the royal courts of provoking-the-other-until-they-embarrass-themselves.

Levi was very close to unleashing his unholy rage and as a precaution, you had taken to stepping out of range. While you found the whole situation very amusing, you didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

“…however, since you come short on some things, I don’t expect you to understand that. Should I repeat what I said, in bitesize chunks  so that you don’t lag behind this time”, the nobleman prattled while he looked down on your “lover”.

Said man pressed through gritted teeth: “You filthy swine, go stuff all your pretty words up your ass.”

The noble emitted a fake gasp and murmured aghast: “You really are so crass. The rumours of you being a dwarf barbarian are true.”

That was the last straw for Levi. In the following minutes, a small crowd gathered to see what the commotion was all about and it ended in the guards having to restrain him. Really, it was hypocritical of the Ackerman to threaten you about causing a scene when he was the one prone to temper tantrums.

[astralsweetness]

Set my soul on fire (make me wild) || Hui/Reader (M)

➣ I was originally going to write a LOT more smut (I had so much planned that I never got to!!! ugh).. Maybe I’ll have to do a part 2 or something 👀 the amount of time i spent looking at pics of his studio just so that one scene would be accurate is insane Title from the song ‘Queen of Disaster’. Very briefly proof-read, so please feel free to inform me of typos!

➣ Hui/Reader | Hui drunkenly kisses the reader without explicit consent but owns up to it bcs I’m tired of every other fic that includes this trope just glossing over it | Smut warnings include: masturbation, fingering, hair-pulling (implied), biting (mostly implied), oral + snowballing, slight pain/masochism (implied), some humiliation/degradation + some praise, referenced submissive headspace, and all of them apply to Hui lmao. Also it’s mentioned that Hui isn’t strictly heterosexual and if that bothers you then idk what to tell you

➣ “He is hanging off your every word and you suddenly feel like you have a choice to make - it’s one you don’t think about for more than a second, because you realize that you don’t need to.”

Hui knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you had completely ruined his life just by existing in it.

It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. The feeling he got whenever you smiled at him, for example, was definitely not a bad thing. The way his skin tingled whenever you brushed against him was.. bothersome, but not a bad thing. The way his heart sped up and beat almost painfully hard whenever he indulged in his regular skinship with you wasn’t particularly bad, but he’d stopped doing that recently just as a preservation strategy so he didn’t die in the next year from a heart attack. (He was a naturally touchy person, and he wasn’t completely sure how he felt at having to stop that with you specifically.)

The way his mind constantly drifted to thoughts of you was starting to become an issue though, as was how he tensed up whenever you got even moderately close to him. You’d started to notice, and he had no idea how to tell you that it was happening because of that one time the rest of the boys had ‘accidentally’ forced the two of you to be pressed against one another in an elevator, and that just the knowledge that your breasts were pressing against his arm had him fighting to not get hard like some sort of teenager. He wasn’t totally sure how successful he’d be the next time if something similar happened.

Still, you were, as far as he was concerned, completely unattainable, and that in itself was a problem. He’d experienced his fair share of heartaches and heartbreaks before, but this was.. different. At least in those circumstances he’d gotten a definitive answer.

With you though, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask, had resigned himself to pining over you like a kid with a crush.

If you hadn’t ruined his life then you sure as hell had made it harder.

.｡..｡.

When Hui gets a knock on his studio door around six pm he’s not particularly surprised – lately his members had taken to dropping in to make sure he had eaten something that day. (Usually he had not.)

He is surprised to see you standing alongside Yuto when he opens the door, so he glances at the maknae suspiciously – Yuto seems perfectly innocent, but Hui wasn’t exactly sure how much of that was an act.

“Hyung, did you eat today?” The younger boy holds up a bag as an offering – it doesn’t look like the regular convenience store food the boys would usually grab for him, so Hui accepts it hesitantly.

“I was originally just going to bring food for Hyunggu, since he was apparently starving in his studio or something, but then he mentioned that you never ate either, so..” You’re looking at him like you’re vaguely disappointed, and it makes a funny feeling tighten in his chest so he pretends to be completely absorbed with looking through the bag. He’s not sure where you got the food from, but it was mostly stuff that he actually liked. “I went to a place Hyunggu wanted, but he told me what he thought you’d like from there – I hope he was right.”

“This – you didn’t have to do this.” It’s nice not being the one buying things for once, he has to admit that to himself, but he still felt a bit bad that you’d felt the need to bring him anything at all. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re right, I didn’t have to. I wanted to – just like I wanted to bring Yuto food too when Hyunggu told me he was also here.” You’ve perched on the edge of his small leather couch and he wonders if you’d ever been in here before – he honestly can’t remember, though with how hyper-aware he was of you it was pretty safe to assume you hadn’t been. Yuto’s lingering near the door quietly, watching you and he interact, and he feels like the younger is analyzing what was happening.

“Thank you for it – I should go eat it now, while it’s still warm.” Yuto’s gentle bass of a voice is almost soothing, but Hui shoots him a look anyway because he suddenly knew what was happening. His maknaes were downright masterminds when it came to plans like this, and he can’t think of any way to get Yuto to stay before you bid him a cheerful goodbye as the Japanese boy smiles at the both of you as he carefully closes the door.

“Should I go too? I don’t want to distract you or be a bother or anything.” Your question is so sincere that he just looks at you for a few moments, tries to figure out a way to say ‘Yes, you do distract me and bother me, but definitely not in the way you’re thinking’. He finally settles on a single head shake, clearing a small portion of one of his desks to place the food on.

“Did you already eat?”

“No, but I’m fine.” Your answer is quiet, and he glances over to see you gazing around his studio – he feels vaguely embarrassed, though he’s not particularly sure why. His studio is remarkably small, it’s true, but he’s not actually ashamed of anything in it.

“You’ve never been in here before?” He’s pretty sure you haven’t, but there’s no harm in confirming it. You’d been focused intently on reading the names on his soccer jerseys, but once he speaks you turn all that intense concentration on to him and his mouth goes dry.

“Nope. Not that I remember, anyway, and I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.” You’re smiling at him and he doesn’t know why that’s something you’d remember, but your smile makes him not really care about the particulars. “Now eat, Hui.”

He raises his eyebrows at the parental tone you’ve adopted but says nothing, knowing there was no way he could get out of it now – and honestly, he didn’t really want to. He was really fucking hungry, and the meat you’d brought him smelled delicious.

It’s only as he’s taking his first bite (which is excellent by the way, Hyunggu apparently had a very good taste in restaurants) that he remembers what you said about not eating and makes a stupid split-second decision. (He’s never been one to think about things like this too much before blindly doing them, which was probably a problem, come to think of it.)

“Here –“ He holds the strip of bulgogi out towards you, one hand underneath, the sound of his heartbeat a constant background theme song. “Say ‘ah’~” And it’s so easy to pretend, to act like he’s just being friendly, to tinge everything he says with a bit of aegyo – you roll your eyes at him but accept the food anyway.

It’s not easy to ignore the intimacy of an act like this, to ignore the way he’s hit with a sudden yearning deep in his chest to be able to feed you food whenever, like a real significant other could.

“Thank you, but no more! This food is for you.”

“Okay, okay.”

The silence that slips back afterwards is mostly comfortable – you seem determined to make sure he eats, so while he does so you go back to gazing around his studio. Hui feels like there really wasn’t that much to look at, but you hadn’t looked bored yet, taking in the contents of his desk and then computer monitor. He realizes belatedly that he still had the windows open for some of their unreleased tracks, but when he glances at you again you’ve already moved on from them, so he leaves them where they are.

“Are you still seeing that one guy?” It’s easy conversation, light and carefree even if the topic makes him feel a bit bitter – as much as the knowledge of you seeing other people ate away at him he knows it would bother him more if you didn’t feel comfortable talking with him about it at all. Being able to be a close friend you confided in was something he cared more about than not feeling jealous.

“Oh – no, I’m not.” Your tone is carefully disinterested, but he can see through it well enough by now. Still, he doesn’t say anything, just turns so he’s fully facing you, focused and listening. “We just had a – confliction of interests I guess you could say.” You laugh softly at your wording and he laughs too, even if he doesn’t totally understand what you mean.

“And that means, what, exactly?”

“He thought women should be submissive during sex, and I disagreed.” ..Oh. Hui’s gaze darts away as he tries to process that – it wasn’t that you talking about sex was surprising. He was used to talking with you about intimately private things like this, though that was before this annoying infatuation with you had manifested into the tiresome nuisance it was now. Still, you’d never exactly stated your.. affinities towards any one thing.

“Ah.. is that so?” He sounds much hoarser than he’d meant to, like he’d choked on something – he still can’t look at you, because suddenly all he can think about is what that meant, if it meant leather and pain or lace and sweetness, if it meant scathing words or saccharine praises.

“Are you blushing?” You’re leaning forward off his couch, grinning and trying to get a look at his face, one of your hands on his knee to keep him from turning away from you - and he realizes that yes, he is fucking blushing, and the place you were touching him felt like it was blistering with heat. “Well, at least you’re not getting all upset with me for injuring your masculine pride or whatever by being a woman who doesn’t like to –“

“Okay! Okay okay, please take mercy on me!” His slightly exaggerated whining is met with your laughter, and his face feels like it’s on fucking fire, but he can’t look away from you now that he’d accidentally met your gaze.

“Sorry – you’re just so cute when you’re flustered!” And he knows he shouldn’t take this as anything more than friendly teasing, just like whenever Hyunggu would call him ‘cute’ whenever he got scared of something, but your words still make something short-circuit in his brain and he swears to everything that you will be the death of him.

“I’m – sorry things didn’t work out with him, but you’re really going to kill me if you keep this up.” And it’s not even a lie – he is ninety-eight percent sure that if you keep talking like this without giving him time to recuperate then he was just going to over-heat and pass out.

“I should go anyway, I’ve distracted you long enough – I didn’t go too far, did I?” You’ve stood up now and are looking down at him with a worried smile, so he just shakes his head because he’s pretty sure if he tried to talk he’d say something stupid like ‘No, I definitely didn’t mind hearing you say that, and while you’re at it please tell me some more’. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Make sure you eat it all!”

He manages a “goodbye” that sounds sort of like he wasn’t dying, waving to you until you leave and his studio door beeps to signify that it was locked again.

“For fuck’s sake..” Hui forces himself to breathe deep, tries to will some of the heat to leave his face. He really didn’t know why he was getting so flustered over something like this – he wasn’t usually the type. Was it just because it was you? Because he definitely wouldn’t mind if you preferred to be dominant?

Hui curses again, a quiet ‘fuck’ that doesn’t really encompass everything he’s feeling but seems to be the best he can manage. Fuck indeed. He was so fucked.

.｡..｡.

The next time Hui’s in his studio he does his best to forget about the conversation the two of you had had last in there, tries to forget the way his entire body had lit up when you touched his leg, tries to forget the way you’d smiled so sweetly when he fed you.

It doesn’t go well.

To be honest, he didn’t do things like this often – he was busy most of the time, and if he was in his studio then he usually had something he needed to work on instead. But being in this room less than twenty-four hours after you had off-handedly mentioned that you liked to take a more dominant approach in the bedroom had him unable to concentrate on anything else, though he had made a valiant effort for an upwards of fifteen minutes.

With an agitated huff he’s pushing his chair back from his desk with more force than necessary, moving to make sure his studio’s door was locked before taking a seat on the edge of his couch. For a moment he contemplates if he’s really going to do this, runs an aggressive hand through his dyed silver hair and then curses the tingling pain it brings that he doesn’t quite hate as much as he should in the moment.

There’s a lingering feeling of shame and a much stronger feeling of embarrassment covering his body when he reaches for himself, though it only lasts for a few moments until the feeling of the rough friction of his palm through his jeans overpowers anything else.

Hui tips his head back with a soft moan before he remembers he needs to keep quiet, bites his lip when he unzips himself so he can wrap his fingers around his cock more easily. He’s rough, impatient, wants to finish fast but also likes the slight bit of pain – he full body shudders when he finally tugs the waistband of his briefs down and feels the cold air hit him, falling back onto his forearm. He knows, for a fact, that there’s a small bottle of lube in one of his drawers somewhere, but he doesn’t bother looking for it – he’s slick enough as is, and the slight pain keeps him grounded, keeps him from getting into it enough that he wouldn’t be able to monitor his volume.

There’s a slight urgency surrounding it all that is always there when doing something like this in a semi-public place, and he gives into it this time and allows it to urge him on quicker, fucking into his fist like he was going to get caught at any second.

He wants to drag this out, wants to get this over with, wants to think about anything else or feel the need to pull up some dirty video on his phone to finish, but all he can think about is you, you, you – he wonders what it would be like if you were the one stroking him instead, if you’d take pity on him or would be ruthless, if you’d whisper sweet compliments into his skin or humiliate him with biting words, if you’d bite at his neck, he really wanted you to bite at his neck and mark him up –

He orgasms with a choked off cry, hastily shoves the back of his wrist against his teeth to try to keep quiet as his hips buck sloppily into the loose circle of his fingers. He’s never been particularly quiet, and another wave of arousal washes over him as he imagines you telling him to keep it down, warning him that you’d have to gag him otherwise. He whimpers pitifully at the thought and tries to shut his mind down, feeling overstimulated both physically and mentally.

His fingers are sticky, the warmth quickly drying on his skin, and he feels much too hot, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin alongside a layer of shame. He’s not totally sure why but he feels like he’s just made everything worse, like somehow he’d crossed a line and now being around you was going to be ten times harder.

He also feels like this was inevitable though, that his attraction to you had been building for so long that if he hadn’t found a release for it somewhere then he would have gone insane.

Or maybe he’s insane now, now that he’d done something this dirty and depraved. He really didn’t know, gaze still just a bit glassy and unfocused.

What he did know was that he was completely and utterly fucked at this point, collapses onto his back and lets his aching forearm finally take a break as his eyes slide shut in defeat.

.｡..｡.

“You’re not serious.”

“Of course we are, hyung – why, do you have a problem with it?”

Hongseok is taunting him, like he always does, and Hui would usually play along and tease him back but he feels completely thrown off guard and does nothing more than blink at all of them incredulously. His lack of a playful reaction in return has Hongseok softening a bit at the edges, but Hyunggu isn’t nearly as merciful.

“What’s the problem with it? You’ve been wanting us to do something bonding like this for a while, and now we have a time to do it, a reason to do it, and someone to make sure we don’t screw it all up by doing something stupid when we’re drunk.”

“We didn’t force her, hyung, she offered when we asked.” Yuto’s trying to alleviate Hui’s concerns, but he’s way off base – still, he’s trying, so Hui manages what he hopes is more smile than it is grimace in the Japanese boy’s direction.

“We want to drink, she doesn’t like drinking, and we have a few days off because Road to Kingdom ended – what are you so worried about?” Changgu asks him, kind and sincere as always – Hui doesn’t trust him for a minute, but he can’t fight the natural urge to tell everyone what his issue was anyway. God, he hated them sometimes. (They were his family, and he supposed sometimes you just had to hate your family.)

“You all know my – my problem with her.”

“Yeah, we know you want to –“

“Date her.” Wooseok cuts Shinwon off at the last second, modifying whatever it was his hyung had been about to say – Shinwon looks both annoyed and scandalized that Wooseok had thought he was going to say anything else. Hui does his best to ignore them.

“You really thought I’d be okay with her being the one watching over us while we drank? Knowing that none of us can drink well?” He swore he could literally feel his stress levels rising – it wasn’t like he was an embarrassing drunk or anything, but he knew he had an incredibly low tolerance for it, and he also knew that if the entire group was drinking then they were just going to end up egging one another on until everyone was truly smashed.

“Well, you’re going to have to be okay with it, hyung.” Hyunggu, always the hard-ass, insists forcefully – he doesn’t say it unkindly, but he says it in a tone that brooks no room for disagreement. It’s more Kino’s voice than it is Hyunggu’s, scarily similar to when they’re in the practice room.

Hui knows he could override it with hyung or leader seniority, knows Hyunggu is watching him carefully to see if it’s actually something the elder couldn’t deal with.

He ultimately says nothing, just sighs in a way that lets everyone else know he’s acquiesced – the resulting cheer brings a small smile to his face, even if he still feels uneasy about how the planned drinking night would go. He knew that when it came to both his members and you in one building with alcohol involved there was no way he wasn’t royally fucked.

.｡..｡.

The night goes exactly as you expected it to – none of the Pentagon members could hold their liquor particularly well, which meant that after an hour and a half they were all at their limits. (It was honestly kind of funny to watch. They were all so intent on getting one another drunk that they weren’t really even paying attention to the way everyone was sabotaging each other by constantly keeping the cups full.)

Still, that meant you were mostly trying to make sure they didn’t kill or injure themselves somehow. It wasn’t too hard of a task, though you did have to threaten both Wooseok and Hyunggu to keep them from climbing on top of the only coffee table Dorm A had. You were pretty sure the glass would just shatter under their combined weight. Hyunggu had targeted you with an impressive pout after that, but he’d lost interest pretty quickly when Yuto had fallen asleep - not that you blamed him, the rapper was sort of adorable when he slept.

It also meant that when Hui got up to get water – he swore that’s what he was getting, at least – you followed him. The man was a menace in the kitchen when he was sober, you were almost afraid to imagine what he’d manage to do when he was drunk. Just his presence alone might cause the stove to burst into flames or something. He was seriously cursed.

“Why are you following me?” His question is just a bit slurred together, almost sounding more like he was incredibly sleepy instead of drunk – you figure it’s because he hadn’t had as much to drink, but you weren’t really sure. You hadn’t been monitoring how much any person drank, more concerned with keeping them alive. (They could manage to injure themselves sitting on the floor sober, so being drunk just made your job several times harder.)

“Just checking.” You murmur – he raises his eyebrows at your comment but doesn’t say anything else, turning to grab a glass from one of the cupboards. You watch him for four whole seconds before you decide he’s about to knock several of them to the floor, stepping forward to reach for it instead. Maybe you’d been wrong about how much he had drank.

“I could have gotten it..” His petulance makes you smile, doing your best not to laugh at the little “hmph” he gives you when you inform him that no, he probably could not have.

“Just let me take care of you, you big baby. At least this way I can make sure you’re getting only water.”

“That is all I was getting..” He’s still sulking when you hand it to him, face flushed from the culmination of everything he’d drank tonight. You force your gaze away when he begins to drink – even drunk off his ass he was still an infuriatingly confusing mix of handsome and cute, and you resolutely did not want to watch his throat when he swallowed.

The sound of glass hitting a bit too hard on a solid surface startles you – Hui’s set his glass down incredibly close to your hand, depth perception just a bit fucked. You want to open your mouth to scold him for the close call, but his body heat is incredibly distracting, and he’s raising one of his hands and your breath catches in your throat.

He cages you in against the dorm’s sink, one hand on the side of your neck – to angle the kiss better or to steady himself you weren’t sure – with the other bracing himself as he presses his lips to yours. He’s so ultra-hot against your body, tastes of the same fruity drink Shinwon had been pressing into his hand all evening, the metal of his belt buckle biting into your stomach.

It’s not until he gives a soft breathy moan into your mouth that you realize you’ve been kissing him back for the past thirty seconds in his own kitchen, heedless of the rest of his members in the adjoining room or the fact that he was drunk enough he could barely stand without assistance. You press at his shoulders with minimal force, missing the pressure of his lips when he instantly moves away.

“What..?” He looks immensely confused, and you feel awful for kissing him back when you weren’t totally sure he was even aware of what he was doing. “Why’d you push me away?“

“Hui –“

“You kissed me back, so why’d y –“

“I just don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret later, Hwitaek.” You hope the use of his full name will get through to him – it seems it does, in some regard, because while he chokes out a half-disbelieving and half-tormented laugh he still pauses and blinks at you slowly like he was trying to carefully choose his next words.

“You act like I haven’t wanted to do this since the first time I met you.” And oh, his voice is just a bit huskier, a bit slurred on the syllables, but he says them carefully and you know that, at the very least, Drunk Hui meant them.

The problem was that you didn’t know if Sober Hui would agree.

“You should go to bed, Hui.” You say this instead of saying all the other things crowding the tip of your tongue, instead of grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again – alcohol took away a person’s consent, and you weren’t about to take a chance to pressure Hui into doing something you weren’t sure he wanted in the first place.

“No one else has gone to bed yet..” Now he’s sulking – but this is normal, this you can deal with. You can pretend like your lips didn’t still tingle where his had been touching, can pretend like you weren’t already addicted to the feeling.

“That’s not really a valid argument considering Yuto’s fallen asleep twice already.” You counter, watching the way he bites at his bottom lip in frustration – you know it for what it is, and it still seems coy to you instead, like he’s trying to seduce you.

God, what was wrong with you? He was just pouting now, brow furrowed, and you feel absolutely pathetic for seeing his current actions as anything other than what they really were.

It didn’t matter how attractive or desirable you found him, you couldn’t in good conscience do anything while he was so inebriated.

“Come on, Hui – let’s get you to bed so I can get back to the other boys to make sure they haven’t done something stupid, like coercing Hongseok into wrestling Changgu shirtless. Again.”

“It wasn’t that stupid –“

“They literally broke a bookshelf with their bodies, be quiet.” The banter comes easily, is normal and comfortable – it’s easy to pretend like he hadn’t just been kissing you, like you hadn’t just been fantasizing about him seducing you of his own free will. His skin is warm underneath your fingertips, flushed from the alcohol, as you direct him by the bicep down the hall and to his room.

You’re rarely in here – he’s rarely in here, actually, considering how much time he spends at his studio, how often he sleeps there. Because of that his room is sparsely decorated, an incredibly faint lingering smell of the cologne he occasionally wore clinging to the edges of some of the surfaces. It’s a heady scent that you do your absolute best to ignore, because it brings to mind images of him whenever he bothered to get extra dressed up, devastatingly handsome.

He lets you guide him over to his bed with zero fuss but turns back towards you when his knees hit the edge of it, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. It’s a deceptively gentle action, and you know you should really stop him, but you don’t move when he leans in to kiss you again. Underneath the flavor of alcohol there’s a distinctive taste that is purely him, and you know if you weren’t addicted to kissing him before then you definitely were now.

When you nip at his bottom lip and he lets out a shuddering moan you realize what you’re doing, try to pull away as fast as you can – this wasn’t fair to him, when he wasn’t in his right mind – but he catches you with a hand frantically landing on your waist, dropping his head to litter kisses along your jaw and then throat. You try to ignore the way your legs go weak at the feeling.

“Please –“ It’s more of a whine than a plea, but you feel it against the skin of your neck all the same, the words dragged along your pulse-point like a searing flame. “If we don’t now, then I don’t think –“

“You need to sleep.” It takes every ounce of willpower inside of you to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs, the insistent hard press of his cock against your thigh, the way his whimper when you push at his chest vibrates along the skin of your shoulder where he presses one last desperate kiss. “We can – we’ll talk about it in the morning.” You continue to push him gently back until he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, gazing up at you through his eyelashes, flushed and looking five different kinds of wrecked. Your entire nervous system threatens to shut down at the sight and you’re not sure that you can keep your promise about talking about it tomorrow.

He’s apparently not sure of it either, expression pinched and distraught when you press him insistently by the shoulders back onto his bed. His hair is ruffled and his eyes are glazed (from the alcohol or lust, you weren’t sure), his lips slick and kiss-bruised –

You tear your gaze away and force yourself to breathe again. When you look back Hui’s thrown a forearm over his eyes, bottom lip snagged between his teeth, breathing labored.

It takes ten seconds before you’re out of the room, clicking the door shut as quietly as you can, trying to erase the imagery of tears staining his face.

.｡..｡.

When Hui wakes up it’s to a pounding head and the vaguely disgusting feeling you get when you sleep in your clothes on top of your covers. His entire body hurts and he makes the same promise he always does when he wakes up like this, the same one he’s never kept – he’ll never drink again. Or, at the very least, he’ll never drink that much again.

His whole room spins when he pushes himself up, groaning softly at the way he feels like the world tilts dangerously on its axis as he slides his legs off the edge of his mattress. It’s only because of this world-shifting that he notices Wooseok asleep on the other side of his bed, all his long limbs drawn in as close as possible, his brow furrowed in his sleep.

He wonders when the maknae had ended up here and how they’d decided on rooms while he goes to the pain-staking process of draping one of his extra blankets over the tall boy. The world is still too bright (even with his blinds shut) and every step he takes feels a bit like walking through mud, but when he sees the way Wooseok slightly relaxes after being covered it all feels worth it.

The trek from his room to the kitchen feels like it takes much longer than it should, but at the very least the suspiciously long stretch of the dorm gives ample time for his headache to shift from excruciating to manageable. He was going to find the bottle of Aspirin, take all of them, and then go the fuck back to sleep. (Okay, maybe one of those was an exaggeration, but it sure felt like he could use that many painkillers.)

“Good morning.” He almost chokes when he hears your voice, a sudden onslaught of memories causing his face to heat up – you weren’t even looking at him, busying yourself with the small skillet Hongseok kept religiously cleaned. Hui wasn’t sure if his nausea was due to the smell of food or the way all he could think about was how he had – stupidly, why the fuck had he done that – kissed you and then tried to get you into bed with him.

“..Morning.” He hopes you take his lackluster response as a product of his hangover, sliding into one of the chairs at the kitchen table so he can bury his head in his hands.

“That bad, huh? You’re going to have to learn to tell Shinwon ‘no’ when he offers you drinks, you know.” He looks up to see you placing what he assumes is an Aspirin down on the table in front of him, already turned back to grab him water. He’s not sure if he’s glad you mistook his suffering as the results of a hangover or not.

“Thanks.” He waits until you hand him the glass before he takes the medicine, downing the rest of the contents when he realizes just how thirsty he was. He can feel the weight of your gaze still on him and it makes the blood in his veins feel like ice, knowing you had to remember the exact same things he (suddenly) did.

“If it makes you feel any better, Hongseok is way worse off than you right now. I honestly can’t believe he’s such a lightweight sometimes…” Your tone is sympathetic, but all Hui feels is a slight smug happiness at there being someone else who was, at the very least, suffering more than he currently was. At least Hongseok hadn’t had the chance to do anything stupid with someone he liked last night, like Hui had. “Honestly, it’s sort of impressive.”

“Huh?” He’d stopped listening to you by pure accident, forces himself to refocus on you – which just causes his eyes to instantly lock on to your lips, face heating up because not only does he remember kissing them, he remembers what they felt like and tasted like and he has to fight to tear his gaze away. God he was so fucked.

“How many lightweights you have in your band. In a group of nine you’d think it’d be more even, but, like.. almost all of you can’t hold your liquor. It’s kind of impressive.” You’re back to focusing on whatever it is you’re cooking – he only just now notices you also have ramen boiling in their small stove to the side, the dull bubbling of the water having blended into background noise long before he’d realized it had been there.

“Are they okay?” He’s sure they are, but there’s some deeply ingrained part of him that feels required to check – the soft smile you give him in response makes him feel like he’s in high school again whenever his crush would focus on him and him alone, and he isn’t sure what to do with that feeling now that he’s twenty eight years old, so he looks down at his empty cup instead.

“They’ll be okay. Wooseokkie ended up in your room – I’m sure you noticed him.” You wait for him to glance at you and nod before continuing. “Hongseok and Changgu ended up in the same room together, which worked out well considering Changgu’s probably the only one who could sleep through Hongseok’s pitiful whining about his hangover anyway. Hyunggu and Yuto shared a room, I think – which I guess means Shinwon ended up alone. Any guess on whether he’ll be happy or upset about that?”

“It could be either.” He responds, mostly because it’s true (Shinwon’s moods were hard to predict sometimes) but partly because talking about his members was something he could easily do, something that felt familiar and normal. It felt safe and far away from the topic he didn’t want to think about. (But he was thinking about it anyway, could remember your warmth when your body was pressed against his, could remember the way you kissed him back bruisingly and made him want nothing more than for you to wreck him every day of his life.)

“Oh, right – Yanan’s in China, by the way, and Jinho’s in the military.”

“Thanks.” His response is a dry remark at the way you were trying to tease him – like he didn’t know where Yanan was and wasn’t constantly in contact with the soon-to-be actor, like he didn’t think about Jinho every single day and wonder if he was doing well. “What would I do without your incredibly timely information.”

You just roll your eyes at him and turn to the ramen – he wonders who you’re making it for before realizing it was probably for whoever woke up hungry. That realization makes a certain spot in his chest warm, and he tries to ignore it because for fuck’s sake, not now.

“I knew it was going to go badly..” He mutters to himself – you hum questioningly and he blinks, surprised you heard him and instantly trying to reach for a half-truth that you’d believe. “Drinking so much, I mean.” Not totally a lie, which meant he could say it and have it sound mostly believable. To his relief you seem to take it at face value.

A silence stretches out between the two of you – it seems comfortable for you, but he feels like his skin is crawling, waiting for the moment you spring the dreaded conversation on him. He can’t think of any more topics to bring up to stall it.

“Hwitaek.” The tone of your voice makes his heart drop into his stomach and freezes over any warmth he’d been feeling because he knows the conversation that is now seconds away from happening is going to be one he didn’t ever want to have. “I think we should talk about what happened last night.”

“What happened?” He tries to brush it off like he didn’t remember, but his voice wavers just a bit and he can’t meet your gaze and he knows that you don’t buy it for a second.

“We have to.” Your voice is soft, gentle, and he hates it because he feels like you’re trying to be as kind as possible, and that didn’t bode well for how the conversation was going to go. “Did you do what you did because you were drunk, or because you were drunk and wanted to?”

Your gaze has him pinned to the seat, his own eyes wide and brain trying to stutter through any excuse he could think of, and when that didn’t work, trying to think of some way he could play it all off as a joke, or as him just being an overly friendly drunk.

You won’t believe anything but the truth, he can tell, and he was a shit liar even when he wasn’t hungover and panicked.

“I –“ He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, probably something stupid like ‘I love you, and I don’t know when I knew that but I’ve always wanted to kiss you, I was drunk but it let me do what I always wanted to do’ but he’s saved by Hyunggu walking into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and looking a bit less like hell than Hui felt.

“I think I’m dying..” The maknae grumbles, and your attention shifts to him and getting him something to help his headache. Hui tries to feel relieved that the conversation had been dropped, but the look you send him once over Hyunggu’s shoulder says, ‘We’re not done talking about this’ and he feels sick all over again. He was so fucked.

.｡..｡.

It isn’t until he escapes to his studio later that day, having basically inhaled an entire cup of coffee to try to fight off both his hangover and his exhaustion, that he realizes that aside from all his personal problems with how the night before had went he had essentially pushed himself on you and then not allowed you an avenue to talk to him about it.

And that makes him feel even more sick, because there had been a chance you’d just wanted closure of some kind considering he had basically drunkenly assaulted you, and all he’d done was avoid the issue entirely when you tried to talk to him about it.

Fuck. Fuck, he was the worst.

He’d been so worried about rejection that he hadn’t even thought about the fact that you’d never consented to being kissed – or, fuck, being propositioned for sex – in the first place.

He runs both hands through his hair aggressively, ruffling it in the slightly painful way he usually did whenever he did something he wasn’t happy with – he feels anxiety sitting cold in his stomach, fear that not only would you hate him but that he’d ended up hurting you or breaking your trust in him all because he’d gotten stupidly drunk.

Pushing down the steadily rising nausea, he reaches for his phone and almost calls you, deciding at the last moment to text you a simple ‘You’re right, we need to talk’ instead. He’d already fucked up once, he didn’t want to force you into the conversation by calling you unexpectedly. As an afterthought he adds a quickly typed ‘I’m sorry I tried to avoid it before’, because despite how nervous the thought makes him, he is genuinely sorry. (Sorry for everything, in fact.)

He tries to busy himself with unfinished tracks while waiting for you to respond, listens to the same snippet of some demo Yuto had sent him six times without really ever hearing the notes, does his absolute best to ignore how one of the last times he was in here he’d ended up touching himself to the thought of you. With everything that had happened since he feels fucking disgusting at the thought of it.

When his phone vibrates he essentially lunges for it – it wasn’t like he’d been making progress on anything anyway – heart hammering in his throat as he opens your messages.

‘It’s okay. In person or by a call?’

He wants to fucking cry at how nice you’re being, at giving him the option to choose a less personal route – but he knows that you were the one who’d taken the brunt of the incident, that all he was really worried about was rejection and being embarrassed. His fingers tap out ‘I’m embarrassed, but it’s up to you’ before deleting the first part before sending. He didn’t want you to feel like he was trying to pressure you into one choice or the other at this point.

‘Knowing you, and seeing how you reacted this morning, I think you’d die if we did it in person lol I’ll call you’

He tries to fight the weak smile your text causes – you always make him smile, and this is no different, but he can’t tell if you’re genuinely okay or not through text and it worries him. You’d seemed fine this morning, almost painfully nonchalant – too nonchalant? He wasn’t sure if he was overthinking things now or not – but he’d been hungover and tired.

You don’t call right away, and he resigns himself to waiting out another five or so minutes in this sickening state of anxiety, selecting and re-selecting the exact same clip of audio over and over just so he can pretend he’s doing something, so he can try to occupy his brain.

When his phone does ring he slams his knee into the table in surprise, high-strung and nervous. He barely even feels the tingling pain.

“I’m so sorry.” He blurts out the instant he answers, muttering a soft fuck under his breath afterwards. He’d wanted to give you time to speak, but he was buzzing with an anxious and guilty energy that had him speaking before he even realized he was.

“What?” Your question sounds more surprised than legitimately confused, like you hadn’t expected him to just start talking immediately. He rakes a hand through his hair again and then keeps it there, fisted, trying to ground himself with the tiny bit of pain as his breathing speeds up.

“About last night – I’m so sorry, I just – I was drunk, and that’s no excuse for what I did, I wasn’t thinking and I’m so fucking sorry. Are – are you okay? Am I allowed to ask that?” He feels like he’s right on the verge of panicking and he hates it, because you were the victim here, not him.

“I –“ You only pause to collect your thoughts for a heartbeat, but he feels the moment stretch on endlessly, sees ninety different scenarios play out and discards every positive one immediately. “Hui, you’re – god you’re so sweet.”

“What?” It’s more of an exhale than a word, because you didn’t sound angry, or hurt, you just sounded slightly amused and grateful, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up but you didn’t sound upset.

“You’re right, what you did was wrong and shitty, and you suck for doing it.” You pause to breathe, and it reminds him he needs to breathe, his gaze darting along one of his computer monitors without really seeing anything. “But it’s sweet of you to apologize. You should, but most people wouldn’t.”

“I should have this morning.” He murmurs quietly, fingers gripping his phone so tightly they’ve begun to ache. “I was selfish and didn’t even think about it. I really am so fucking sorry.”

“I know, Hui. I believe you. You suck at lying anyway, if you weren’t sorry then I’d be able to tell.” You’re laughing again, and he tries to join you, but it sounds weak. His entire body feels like it’s melted into nothing – he didn’t even care if you rejected him at this point, you didn’t hate him and that was good enough. “But I kissed you back, Hui. Multiple times, actually.”

“…..what?” He can’t think of anything else to say – he had remembered you kissing him back, of course he did, but it all sort of blurred together at one point and he wasn’t sure that any of it had definitively happened. “I – I know – I mean, I thought you did, but you could have just, I don’t know, been trying.. to.. get me to go away by not resisting..?” Some drunks became irate when told ‘no’, and while he knew he wasn’t one of them – and he had a feeling you did too – that didn’t mean you hadn’t just been trying to protect yourself.

“God you’re sweet.” Your sudden, repeated statement is quiet, almost like you hadn’t meant him to hear it – he doesn’t say anything, doing his best to just breathe, doing his best to act his fucking age and not like some kid who needed instant reassurance. You were the one who deserved reassurance in this situation. “I kissed you because I wanted to, Hui. It’s very kind of you to be so concerned, but you’re about the least threatening drunk I’ve ever encountered. I could have probably pushed you off me with one hand – actually, I did push you off me with one hand, when we were in the kitchen.”

“I – you – you wanted to.” It’s a statement because he’s stuck trying to process this new information, because this wasn’t a rejection (he thinks it’s not, at least), because you didn’t hate him, because the way all the anxiety induced adrenaline had leeched out of his body was leaving him feeling even more exhausted than before.

“I actually wanted to tell you that I was sorry – since I kissed you back and all, but you were drunk so it wasn’t really like you were –“

“I wanted to – I wanted you to.” He says the words too fast, trips over them, but he knows you understood by the way you went silent on the other end. He appreciated the apology, really, he did, but not only did he not think it was needed, he also couldn’t stand listening to you apologize for kissing him back when he had been dreaming about this moment for way too fucking long.

And he wants to tell you that, but you’re still silent and he’s beginning to wonder if he somehow read this entire situation wrong.

“..I don’t know what to say now.” You admit softly, and he lets out a silent exhale when he realizes you’re just being shy. He wasn’t used to that side of you, but already he knew he found it adorable, just like the rest of you.

“You can’t be more embarrassed than me, if you are then neither of us will be able to talk.” He’s laughing quietly now, feeling.. not quite comfortable yet, but definitely on the way there. You hadn’t really made any declaration of love for him, but you had reciprocated his kiss, at the very least.

“Oh, you need me to be confident?” There’s a teasing tone in your voice that is more commonplace than the shy one from before, and he already knew just by the sound of it that whatever you’re going to say next is going to affect him in some way.

“It’d be helpful.”

“Then I’d say we need to try that whole kissing thing again, but without the alcohol. It really ruined the experience last time, don’t you think?” He suddenly can’t breathe again, mouth opening and then closing at your statement – not that you care about his lack of a response, since you continue without him saying anything. “It could have led to so many fun places if you hadn’t been drunk.” A pause, where his heartbeat pounds in his head and his mouth has gone dry. When you speak again he can tell you’re doing your best to keep up your confident façade. “..Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” He says this on a relieved breath, face still hot but body covered in excited, adrenaline filled tingles. You were really putting him through an emotional workout this morning, but at this point he wouldn’t dare complain. “Please. I’ve wanted –“

He cuts himself off before he can say anything more embarrassing, about how long he’s wanted to do something like that, to hear you say something like that, how he’s fantasized and day-dreamed about it for way too long. He flushes even more when he can hear your gentle laughter on the other line.

“You mentioned something like that last night. I wanted to ask about it actually –“

“Oh, wow, I am super busy right now doing leader things, just.. so busy. I couldn’t possibly talk to you anymore, I’m just so extremely busy.”

“Jerk.” This time when you laugh he laughs with you, a real laugh instead of the weak one he’d offered you earlier. “Okay, fine, go do your suddenly important work – but I’m definitely interrogating you about that later, it’s just too interesting to pass up. Bye Hwitaek.”

“Bye.”

It’s so like you to cut the conversation short whenever he mentioned his work – you never wanted to genuinely distract him, and it was one of the things he liked about you.

Loved about you.

Fuck. Fuck.

He can’t contain his laugh of disbelief and giddiness, setting his phone down on his desk so he can cover his face with both of his hands, running them through his hair and pushing it back away from his eyes.

You said you’d wanted to kiss him. You had kissed him. He hadn’t imagined it.

You’d said you wanted to kiss him again.

His phone vibrates and he lowers his hands to glance at it, sees it’s a text from you, and already he can feel that warm, lightweight feeling in his chest just at the sight of it.

God, he was so fucked – but with how this had turned out, he really couldn’t complain at all, nor did he want to.

.｡..｡.

Trying the ‘kissing thing’ again, as you had put it to him on the phone, turned out to be a nebulous concept – not that Hui really expected anything else, but it was a bit disappointing to finally get an answer (a positive one at that) only to be unable to meet up with you again. Not that getting to text you often wasn’t wonderful – it was, and he felt the need to make that abundantly clear (though he was pretty sure you knew that, considering he actually paid attention to his phone now just so he could respond to you) – it was just a bit frustrating to finally have permission to do the things he’d been dreaming about, like kissing you, and then be barred from doing it by forces outside of his control.

As it was, it was nearing the end of the second week since the ’confession’ had happened, and he was only just now finding time to head over to your place after working all day. It was late (nearing four am, he noticed with a groan) and his muscles ached from practice and his eyes ached from composing all day but he would be damned if he’d let another chance to spend time with you slip by him without leaping for it.

“You look so attractive.” It’s the first thing out of your mouth when you see him at your door – Hui laughs the soft sort of laugh he does when he’s a bit nervous, bending to unlace his shoes. It’s not rare of you to compliment him – in fact, you usually did, because it was true and he deserved all the kind words you could heap on him – but something about the circumstances makes it feel different this time, charges the air with a sort of excited, nervous tension.

“Really? I came over right after practice, I can’t look that good..” He trails off, shy, and you look him over again. It’s true that he looks a bit tired and run down, but the dim low lighting of your entryway paints his skin golden and throws his profile into a mix of soft shadows and gentle lines, illuminates his silver hair into a gradient of golden blonde to dusky gray.

“You look good, trust me.” It’s all you can say – everything else gets stuck in your head, muddling itself before it can get to your tongue. You hope to one day be able to properly put into words just how beautiful he is to you, but you’re in no rush to do it now, you have time. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay tomorrow?”

“If I passed up on this chance then I might legitimately die.” He says it so seriously that you laugh, and the way his expression smooths out into a warm smile has your heart beating erratically. God, he didn’t play fair at all.

“Well, if you’re sure..” You take the chance to step closer to him during the slight lull in conversation – he blinks at you once, still smiling, but the smile freezes on his face when you nonchalantly place your arms around his neck. You can feel the way he’s tensed at the new, intimate position, and it’s absolutely adorable how he clearly wants to reciprocate in some way but resolutely keeps his arms at his sides. “You –“

“Can I kiss you?” He says it all in one breath, interrupting you, rushed and embarrassed but also like he craves it, like he might die if he didn’t get your permission to do so. It’s the cutest thing in the world and a surge of heat floods your bloodstream at the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes. “Please.” He tacks it on at the end, a quiet whisper, so fucking good and sweet and perfect.

“Of course, baby.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s surging forward to connect your lips, his hands landing on your waist and a soft sound of pleasure escaping him as a sigh. The pet-name of ‘baby’ is one you learned that he liked recently, and while it had been deliciously fun to tease him with it through text and over the phone it was something else entirely to see the way he responded to it in person, the rich sunset color of his eyes softening into something more gentle and pliant.

The way Hui kisses now is slightly different than when he’d been drunk – it’s more assured, more precise, and while it still holds that level of desperation from before there’s something a bit less rushed about it, something more confident and not as nervous as before.

There's something infinitely better about doing it this way, Hui thinks, better than anything he'd fantasized about or hazily remembered from when he'd been drunk. Every single one of his senses is attuned to you and you alone, and nothing exists outside of the two of you kissing, the weight of your arms on his shoulders, the feeling of your nails lightly scraping at the nape of his neck, the rough feeling of your clothing beneath the pads of his fingers at your hips. Your lips press and slide against his constantly before parting for a few brief seconds, and he chases the faint swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip with his own, whining when you don't instantly give in to his demands.

By the time you nip at his lip he's completely given up on leading the kiss, opens his mouth and moans high and sweet when your tongue leaves a blazing trail of pure fire in its wake. His lips are kiss-bruised and tingling, the sensation imprinting on him that this was real, you were really kissing him, he wasn't going to suddenly wake up and realize it was all a dream.

When you pull away from him he follows you for a moment, stopping only when you cup his cheek in one hand and slide your thumb across his bottom lip. His gaze is glazed and he looks so thoroughly wrecked from simply getting kissed that you feel another surge of heat flood your system.

"Good?" Your whispered question barely makes it through to him, but when it does he blinks a few times to force the haze from his mind and nods, grip on your waist tightening, grounding him. You’ve never seen someone look more adorable.

“Yeah.” His voice is slightly hoarse and you give in to the urge to kiss his throat tenderly – when he tilts his head back with a sigh you trail your lips up to his jaw. “Yeah, it’s – great.”

You can feel the heat of his skin against your face, leave open-mouthed kisses from the spot under his ear (which makes him shiver in a way that you immediately catalogue in your mind) in a line down to the collar of the light-weight hoodie he’d worn for practice.

“I wish I could mark you up here..” Your lamentations are met with a literal fucking whine from Hui, one of his hands coming up to grip unsteadily at the crook of your arm like the mere comment had made him unsteady. “Oh? Is that something you’d want? For me to bruise you up so prettily that there’d be no way you could cover it?”

He nods, not trusting his own voice, head full of fantasies where you could do that, where you’d be able to sink your teeth into him, suck dark marks into his skin that wouldn’t fade and that his members would tease him about. (But even in his fantasies his members are there, a constant, and he knows that there’s no other timeline better than the one he’s currently living in.)

“Hwitaek.” You say his name softly, wrap a hand around the back of his neck to make him look at you – his gaze is disconnected, lingers on your lips before your silence registers as he meets your eyes. “I think we should talk about what we both want out of tonight.”

“Yeah – okay, okay.” Fondly, you watch as he takes a small step back and forces himself to become more present, a bit of clarity re-entering his eyes. You notice that he hadn’t stepped far enough away that either of you had to stop touching one another though, and it makes a part of your heart warm with affection. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He lets you lead him further into your house, glances around in interest but doesn’t stop you – he thinks (hopes) he’ll have more time later to become acquainted with this place.

“So, Hui –“ He perks up at you speaking to him, and it’s so cute that you have to stop just to recollect your thoughts. He peers around your room with thinly veiled interest but keeps glancing back at you like you’re the most interesting thing in existence. It’s flattering and adorable. “Considering we’ve talked about it before you know that I prefer to be more dominant, and you –“

“Find it incredibly hot?” He finishes your sentence for you, a happy little smirk on his face at your surprised expression as he darts in to kiss you once, quick and chaste and filled with delight.

“I – I was going to say, ‘you’re okay with it’, but what you said was so much better.” You’re smiling now too, still a bit shell-shocked – really, what sort of luck did you have for an incredibly attractive and sweet guy to also be down for being submissive for you? – but definitely not complaining. You cup his face in your hands and draw him towards you again for a sweet kiss – it lingers just on the side of ‘too passionate’, but neither one of you have enough self-control to reign it back in. You can feel his flush underneath your fingertips. “How did I ever get this lucky?”

“Should I say the cliché thing about thinking the same thing?” His voice is soft, one of his hands coming up to slip underneath your own, fingers curling around your palm. “Because I was.”

“You really are a hopeless romantic sometimes, you know that?” You couple your rhetorical question with another kiss – you were one hundred percent addicted to them now, you knew that for a fact. “We should really talk about what you’re comfortable with happening tonight, Hui.”

He must not be thinking clearly (he’s not, all he can think about is you and how you keep kissing him and how it’s all he’s ever wanted in his entire life) because he says “anything” in a strained whisper, breathless and needy before anything has even happened.

“Anything?” You can’t hide the surprise in your voice, though you try to soften it at the last second – he flinches anyway, like he was embarrassed with how eager he had come across, his gaze somewhere at your hip now. “’Anything’ is a dangerous thing to say, Hwitaek. What if all I wanted to do was finger-fuck you?”

He knows you were joking – he can hear it in your voice, the way you’ve tried to lighten the mood to make him more comfortable. He appreciates it, but it does absolutely nothing for him considering the effect your words had on him. “…I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Really?” Again you’re surprised, but this time you seem slightly eager – he raises his gaze to assess the situation, and yes, you did look interested. The excited, nervous little fire burning in his core feels a bit stronger suddenly. All he can do is nod, mute in the face of your presence, your power, your effortless aura that has him sinking down gratefully onto your bed at the slightest push of your hand against his chest.

Your fingers press at him, hard, and he feels breathless when they slide underneath his hoodie and t-shirt both in one go, hitch it up to above his navel. He thinks about all the marks you could leave on him there, hidden under clothing between promotions, and the sly grin you share with him when your fingernails rake a teasingly shuddering line down his side makes him think you have the exact same ideas he does.

Those two articles of clothing are lost quickly, dropped somewhere over the side of your bed as you kneel between his legs and kiss him until he can’t breathe, a wonderful feeling that has him drifting along in hazy bliss until he realizes what you’re doing.

“You’re a bit more dressed than I am, suddenly..” He tries to make it teasing but it comes out as something soft and reverent, and your lips when they smile at him are a slash of color that he can’t tear his eyes away from. He can feel your curious fingers dipping under the waistband of his athletic joggers and he does his best not to lose his fucking mind at the connotations of it.

“That’ll come. Later. Let me focus on you first, Hwitaek.” And how could he even argue with that? Why would he argue that? He’d have time to see your body later – and to be completely honest, he was perfectly happy with seeing however much of you that you were comfortable showing him.

(Still, he thinks, as you gently push him to lie down on your bed, he hoped you weren’t too uncomfortable with showing your body. As you drag the fabric of his briefs slowly down his legs he thinks about how much he really wants to eat you out, and what a shame it’d be if you weren’t comfortable with that. Regardless, he’d find some way to pay his respects to you and your body, even if his regular go-to’s turned out to not be an option.)

“You’ve done this before?” He doesn’t sound nervous, just questioning, having slung a  forearm across his eyes. You let him leave it there for now, knowing he must feel a bit vulnerable in his current position.

“Mhm, I have – and you?” It’s almost laughable how casually the two of you are speaking, like you hadn’t just been feeling him up and wasn’t currently in the middle of warming lube on your fingers. When he nods you hum and use your clean hand to grip him under the knee, pulling it up high enough you can place a kiss on the inside of it. An amused laugh leaves him in the form of a surprised exhale at the surprisingly tender action.

“I have – don’t worry, I’m not new to all of this.” You can’t see his eyes but you can see the rest of his face, see that he’s still smiling – you keep a close eye on his expression as you circle his rim teasingly, watching with rapt attention the way the smile disappears as he tenses with a soft sound that’s not quite a gasp before forcing himself to relax again.

“With women or men?” You keep it casual, careful to keep your voice unaffected, and he laughs again but it’s more disbelieving this time, pulls his legs up so his knees bracket you on either side.

“Yes.” Hui simply answers, and it’s your turn to laugh, your free hand smoothing soothing circles into his bare hip. You think he looks absolutely beautiful like this, spread out just for you and you alone, a small notch in his brow from the way his expression has twisted as you carefully slip your first finger in.

“You’re really cute like this, all vulnerable and naked for me.” You’re teasing him, testing the waters – from the way he flushes though, the little hitch upwards that his hips make, you think you might have just discovered something fun. “Hui, do you like me talking to you like that?”

He doesn’t answer you right away, moves his arm so he can look down at you between his legs. Something about it must get to him, because he just looks at you for a moment or two, like he was trying to imprint the visual in his mind.

“You can add another.” He says instead, all breathy and soft like you’d already ruined him, wrecked him into pieces. It’s incredibly endearing, you think, dropping your gaze to where his cock sits red and shiny and untouched against his lower stomach, a small mess of pre-cum already smeared onto his skin. That was also endearing.

“I’ve barely even stretched you yet..” Your disbelieving murmur is clearly heard by him, and you raise your gaze to meet his as you test the waters with a second finger. It’s definitely tight (tighter than you would have preferred, if only for his own safety), but Hui just moans and shifts his hips more towards you, digging into your pillow as he tips his head back. “Oh – Hui the size queen, huh? Is that it?”

He laughs, but it tapers off into a sound closer to a moan than anything else. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“Does it suit you?” You keep one hand splayed flat on one of his hips – he’s doing a wonderful job at not moving overly much, but by doing this you can feel every small tremor that goes through his body, can feel his muscles tense each time he forces himself to stay still. “If I end up fucking you one day am I going to have to make sure it’s sized big enough to totally wreck you?” Your question is coupled with an inquisitive upwards quirk of your fingers, and he nearly kicks you in surprise at the liquid arousal that floods through his body at the feeling. (You teasingly bite at his lower calf for it, and the soft sound he makes as you press your teeth into him is definitely something you file away for later.)

“I know you’re just teasing me, but -“ He licks his lips, tries to gather his focus again as you add a third finger. It burns in such an exquisite way that it’s hard to concentrate on anything else except for the current points of contact between you and him.

“Do you want me to stop?” A pause. “Hui, look at me.”

He obeys, meets your analyzing gaze and offers a slightly strained smile as he thinks about your question – though he doesn’t think for very long, a burst of wonderful, embarrassed heat curling across his chest and through his stomach when he lets his upper body drop back down to the bed, shaking his head ‘no’.

“Oh, Hwitaek..” You sound vaguely pitying, and he hates it, but he loves it. “You’re just a little boy who likes to be teased and humiliated, is that it?”

He feels so small with you talking to him like that, like his body was three sizes too big for his skin and he was burning up from the inside out – whenever the heat becomes too much all he has to do is open his eyes and see you looking at him (you’re always looking at him, and it takes his breath away because the way you watch him makes him feel like he’s something special, something that should be treasured) and suddenly everything was okay again. It was like you were the one stoking the flames of his desire, but you could also cause that blistering heat to ebb away whenever it became too much.

He realizes he hasn’t answered you yet and frantically nods, heart threatening to dissolve into something sticky and sweet at the way your expression softens.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not going to delve too deep into that tonight without talking about it in more detail later.” He nods, because he really does understand (despite the slight burst of disappointment) and he appreciates that you want to talk out what his limits are first. “Besides, how am I supposed to talk to you like that when you’ve been so good for me this entire time? So pretty and vocal.”

He can’t help the whine that tears itself from his throat at your phrasing – it didn’t matter what you were saying to him anymore, every single word embedded itself into his skin and worked its way through his body like an electric shock.

“Oh? Sweet boy - are you an adorable whore for both degradation and praise?” He doesn’t even bother saying anything this time, just shuts his eyes tight - he knows you already know the answer, can read him so well it’s almost like his desires were written out on his skin in black ink. “That’s so cute. You’re just so responsive to everything, aren’t you? I love that - anything I say or do I’ll get a direct response to, won’t I, Hwitaek?” You wait until he nods, his eyes still shut, before taking the opportunity given to you. Your lips press a teasing kiss into the line of his pelvis, giggling softly against his skin when he gasps above you. “Yeah, just like that. So beautiful, Hui, and all for me.”

Yes, all for you he thinks, and even his thoughts are getting mixed up and hazy now because you’ve wrapped your fingers around him loosely and he is so slick already, the feeling of your thumb swiping across the head of his cock, tracing the lines of precum down the shaft to where they’ve collected on his skin causing his entire body to twitch in a mess of stimulation.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet for me already.” He can’t focus on anything, can’t think of anything, hears your voice through the haze like it’s faraway and he’s drifting underwater. He tries to force himself to be more present, tries to physically drag himself out of those depths, but you’re cooing at him sweetly and running your fingers over his cock softly, and any amount of shame he might have felt at having fallen so far into this headspace is eradicated by the sugar-laced kisses you press into his side.

“You really can’t keep quiet, can you?” Your voice is sweet but laced with amusement, and you can feel the way he throbs in your hand at the slightly degrading comment. “You sound like you’re going to cum just from three of my fingers – are you, baby? You going to make a mess of yourself before we even get to do anything?”

“Fuck..” Hui’s entire body feels like it’s on fucking fire, and when you duck your head to suck a bruise onto the inside of his thigh it’s all he can do to keep from crying out even louder. You were right, he couldn’t keep quiet, his head swimming and his fingers curled so tightly into your sheets that he could barely feel them anymore. “I’m –  you’re –“ He can’t concentrate, can barely speak, and he knows his words come out more as whines anyway.

“Do you think it’ll be okay if you cum now?” You’ve stopped moving entirely and his whole body feels like it’s buzzing, his hips trying to rock back onto your fingers or up into your hand with no real success as the haze slowly recedes from his mind enough for him to be able to form full sentences

“Y-yeah.” He pushes himself up onto his forearms to be able to look down at you, groan catching in his throat when he sees the way you’re peering at him openly, watching him with beautiful eyes and a graceful flush on your face, one of your hands slick with his pre-cum and the other still wickedly deep. He’d never been more sure of the fact that he loved you than this exact moment. “If – if you give me a little bit afterwards, it’ll be fine.” He knows he sounds breathless and wrecked already, but you smile so sweetly at him anyway, like he was something precious to you, and he feels like the ground and the bed he was lying on had just suddenly disappeared at the sight.

And then you’re lowering your head and wrapping your lips around him and it’s all he can do to keep his eyes open – you hadn’t eased him into it, hadn’t given him any indication of your plans at all. One moment you were asking him about his refractory period and the next you were doing things with your tongue and mouth that he couldn’t even begin to fathom, your fingers once again brushing against that spot deep inside of him that has him keening.

He’s not going to last much longer; he knows that with a sudden certainty that has him trying to warn you but is more disjointed pleas for you to not stop than they are anything else.

One of his hands grasps for your shoulder blindly when he hits his peak, fingers curling into your skin as he spills himself onto your tongue. It’s blindingly hot and you can see the way he fights to keep his eyes open to watch, brow furrowed and mouth open almost like he was in some sort of pained ecstasy as you continue to finger-fuck him through it until he’s trembling.

When you stick your tongue out at him tauntingly and show him the mess he made Hui groans from deep within his chest like you’re torturing him, sits up abruptly and crashes his mouth into yours. It’s messy and dirty and he licks into your mouth aggressively, chasing all essence of himself off your tongue and onto his own with a moan that rattles your bones. You do your best to withdraw your fingers as gently as possible but he whimpers at the feeling anyway, drops his head to begin kissing a sloppy trail from your jaw down to your neck.

“You’re so dirty..” Your head is spinning and you feel short of breath - each time you inhale his chest knocks against yours as he heaves his own breaths, though he refuses to pull away from your skin for long enough for him to be able to recover as quickly. You think you feel him murmur a soft sound of agreement to your statement against your collarbone.

As soon as you can wrest a big enough part of yourself back under control you lean back, holding him securely away with your thumb and forefinger gripping his chin. Hui looks at you with an expression of wrecked reverence, the perfect picture of debauchery, and you know that right here, right now, at five something am in your bedroom, he would do literally anything you asked – that at this point in time it was no longer your room, with the window showing glimpses of the outside world, the sounds of cars going past. This place, this moment in time, it was now something disconnected and intangible, where he had given you explicit trust (perhaps foolishly, considering how inchoate your relationship was) to control and lead him. To take care of him in whatever way you see fit.

And you know that right here, right now, in this nebulous place that the two of you occupied, you would strive to make sure he never regretted giving you that permission.

“Hwitaek.” Your voice is breathier than you expected – you sounded like you’d been kissed hard. You sounded like you were in love. “Hwitaek, you are messy and crude – you are such a dirty boy, and you’ve hidden that from me for years.” He is hanging off your every word and you suddenly feel like you have a choice to make.

It’s one you don’t think about for more than a second, because you realize that you don’t need to.

“And, Hwitaek – you are so perfect for me.”

.｡..｡. .｡..｡.

“You know something?” Hui says it casually, out of nowhere, hand still rubbing nonsense patterns into the skin of your lower back after having crept underneath your shirt some twenty minutes ago just for the skin to skin contact. He’s not focused on anything else but relaxing in his bed at the dorm with you, thoughts about producing and writing lyrics and being a leader far from his mind.

“Hmm?” Your head rests on his chest, listening to his heartbeat – it’s a comforting sound, if not slightly faster than average, and when you close your eyes you can hear it mix with the soft (and sometimes not so soft) sound of some of his boys arguing or laughing or just living somewhere else in the dorm, outside his shut door.

He still hasn’t spoken so you lift your head and gaze at him, admire his features as he looks back at you with an expression so tender you’re almost afraid to have the weight of it on you. His hair is back to brown now, cut a bit shorter than before, and you stretch an arm out to run your fingers through it lazily, watch as he leans into it but keeps looking at you.

“I think you’re perfect for me, too.” His voice is warm, probably what sunshine would sound like if it was an auditory thing, and you blink at him in confusion for a few moments before you understand what he’s referencing, press your smile into his until it turns into a gentle, surging kiss.

It’s not quite an I love you, something adjacent to it, almost there but not exactly.

And neither of you say those words yet, just smile and look at each other and press kiss after sugared kiss into each other’s skin, interlace your fingers and marvel at the way affection seems to blossom for one another in both your ribcages at the simplest of actions.

The two of you weren’t in any rush. You had time.

[smnthchrstn]

Sacrifice: the Rise of Adeline Goode | II. GUIDED BY A BEATING HEART

(an American Horror Story fic)

author’s note: hi, this is part 2/2 of a collaboration with @tempusinfinituum​word count is 4,299 words.

"There is a home and a family waiting for you."

Adeline sat cross legged on her fire escape, facing her bedroom window. She was leaned forward so she could get a somewhat clear view of the small box TV that sat on her dresser. Her eyes were fixated on the staticky screen. She'd seen that woman before. She'd seen her more times than she could count—but always when she was asleep.

Adeline knew she was different at a young age. She could do things her foster siblings couldn't—and when you were a child of the system, what made you different made you a target. It wasn't until the summer she turned thirteen that she met a young girl who claimed to be a witch. The girl shared a lot of similarities with Adeline, including things they could do like telekinesis or lighting a flame with their mind. Adeline had a constant sense of calm the few times the witch visited her.

They met on her first day in the group home. Adeline was having a hard time adjusting, especially after the incidences at her last foster home. She was sitting by a small brook, leaning back against a tree when she heard someone humming. The song was familiar; Adeline's subconscious recognized the melody and she caught herself humming along. The older witch was startled, not having seen the petite blonde curled up on the ground. The two of them started talking, and before long Adeline was having to rush home to try to make it there before curfew. It was at their second meeting that the girl admitted to being a witch, telling her that's what lead her to Adeline. "I could sense you were one of my tribe," the girl would say anytime they spoke about their first meeting. She taught Adeline what she knew—which wasn't much as far as structure goes—when it came to magic. In exchange, at the older woman's request, Adeline would read to her every day for an hour after school.

When the girl stopped visiting, Adeline shut down for a few days, an unexpected depression overwhelming her existence. It lasted for less than a week, then Adeline was back to her normal self. She started spending less time in the woods—it made her sad, reminding her of her long lost friend. This, however, meant that was more time she'd spend at the group home—which meant more time to be a direct target of abuse and torment at the hands of some of the other girls.

That day on the fire escape was the first day in a year that Adeline wasn't bothered. She wasn't being pushed, slapped, or cussed out every other minute. She convinced Rita to let her skip school, telling the older woman she was dealing with a stomach bug. Once Rita had left for work, Adeline got the bag she'd kept packed under her bed. She did that in every foster home she lived in, in the event she needed an exit strategy. She was climbing onto the fire escape when—for a reason she couldn't yet tell—the voice on the TV stopped her. She turned around, sat down, and watched the interview.

Adeline felt like she was seeing a ghost, or the physical embodiment of her childhood imaginary friend. She'd had frequent dreams that involved this person, and she knew that was a sign. She had to find her. When the news flashed the name of the school once more, and Adeline quickly memorized the address that was listed beneath it. She used to think her photographic memory was one of her powers, until she changed foster homes and met another girl who shared the same talent. She felt a twinge of sadness when the girl briefly crossed her mind, but she shook it off and started on her journey to Robichaux’s.

It was long after dark when Adeline finally arrived at the large manor. She, being a foster child in a group home, obviously didn't have a cell phone. She stopped at one of the tourist stores that frequented almost every block in New Orleans, using the small amount of money she had to buy a map. She walked up the front steps onto the large, cypress wood porch. "Wait," she stopped herself. "What the hell am I doing?" Her fight or flight started kicking in, but it was too late. Despite her stopping herself from knocking and making virtually no noise at all, Adeline heard the lock click as it was unlocked and the front door opened.

—

Cordelia took a deep breath, her heels clicking against the linoleum in the kitchen. She had a newfound confidence to her as Supreme. Something she'd been desperately missing for so long. Something she didn't know she could be capable of. The middle-aged witch could feel the presence of someone outside and made her way to the door of the school to allow an interviewer inside - for the very first time.

"I don't believe we need to hide any longer," the witch simply stated when asked why she'd chosen that particular time in the school's history to 'come out' about what used to be their own little secret. "There's no reason to feel ashamed. Or forgotten. Or lost or alone when you have a whole world waiting for you. People just like you, people who understand and want to help you grow in your powers and abilities - it's nothing to be scared of. It's a gift," the blonde witch assured anyone listening beyond that room. Cordelia whole-heartedly hoped she could reach hundreds of young girls who were in the predicament she found herself in years before.

Even though Cordelia never truly felt ashamed due to her witchcraft, her mother on the other hand, made her ashamed of herself. Cordelia always sold herself short and felt so small. Shipped off to school at a young age and so far away from home hurt the young witch. She never knew her father, but had only heard terrible things about him from her estranged mother. She wished that as a young witch she would've had a leader like herself. And that was her greatest accomplishment to date - taking care of, teaching and most importantly, protecting her girls.

It took a day or so, but Cordelia began to see the influx of young witches come to visit her at Miss Robichaux's. Some were certainly powerful young witches, some were just beginning to spread their wings, and some weren't witches at all. She managed to find the ones that belonged to her coven, assuring them that they would be loved, cherished, and protected.

On one particular day, Cordelia felt something deep inside her. Something gnawing at her heart a little bit, something she'd never really felt before. The witch felt a presence outside of the manor - one that held familiarity and curiosity. She stood, her heels clicking against the linoleum flooring as she got up from the kitchen table. Tap, tap, tap she went. Cordelia put her hand out and swiftly unlocked the door without a single touch. Her heart skipped a beat once she reached the door and opened it cautiously.

Adeline's breath caught in her throat when the older woman opened the door. She observed the woman for a moment—not long enough to seem creepy but long enough to take in her gestures. The blonde’s face was gentle and kind, her composure more proper than Adeline had ever seen in an adult. Adeline focused on her eyes—they had the same eyes.

When she was little and she dreamed about Cordelia, for a brief time she thought that maybe the woman in her dreams was her birth mother. When she saw her on TV, the thought crossed her mind for the first time in years. Now, standing before Cordelia, she questioned that. Maternal instincts were practically visibly radiating off of her; there was no way she'd give a kid up for adoption.

"Uh, hi I'm..." she debated for a second on lying about her name in case the woman called her social worker, but she wasn't great at lying on the spot. "My name is Adeline. I saw you on TV...and I think I might be a witch."

Cordelia couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity once she'd opened the door and set her eyes upon the girl on the other side. She knew she'd never met her before - right? She didn't look familiar..but somehow she felt familiar. She studied her for a few seconds, although it somehow felt like much longer.

Cordelia had always dreamt of being a mother. She always wished so badly that she could give a child the exact opposite that she'd had growing up. With her husband, she couldn't get pregnant and it broke her heart. She held so much resentment inside - but now she knew why. She needed to be there for her girls - and having a baby probably would've stifled her from doing so. It didn't mean that she didn't still have that urge every now and then, even though she truly did think of her girls as her own.

The witch studied her for a few seconds longer. "It's nice to meet you," she responded, her tone soft and caring, yet still a little cautious. "I'm Cordelia. Cordelia Goode, welcome to Miss Robichaux's." The witch felt inclined to shake the young girl's hand. She wanted to be polite and welcoming, but also yearned to know more about her.

Adeline felt her heart squeeze when she heard her voice. She'd heard that voice before...it was a very, very distant memory—it probably wasn't even real. She blinked a few times, trying to force the sense of deja vu to the back of her mind. Even if this woman wasn't her mother, she didn't think it would be fair to put the burden of caring for her on Cordelia. Adeline was damaged goods and she knew it. All she would do is self-destruct and bring down everything and everyone with her. That's what always happened. She looked back up at Cordelia; her fight or flight was starting to kick in.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered anxiously. "I think this was a mistake." Adeline turned to walk off the porch and down the stairs.

Cordelia studied the girl. She didn't really have judgment. She'd met so many young girls - so many young witches trying to figure out their place in the world and how this new part of them would play into their lives and their futures. She'd made mistakes herself - she had regrets. She certainly couldn't judge anyone else for what they'd done in the past.

The older witch took a step or two down once the younger witch tried to leave. "Why don't you come inside for something to drink? It's okay to be scared," she said, her tone coming across a little more gently. She understood that feeling. She understood it so well.

Adeline hesitated but nodded slightly, following the older woman into the house. She looked around with wide eyes upon entering the academy. Her eyes traced almost every inch of the room, almost in complete disbelief. "I've only ever seen places like this in movies..." she said quietly, scared that her voice would echo if she talked too loud.

The fact that the academy was as nice as it was only added to the inner conflict she'd been having. She pictured a real bed, with a mattress that was a thousand times softer than jail cot she was made to sleep on in the group home. She thought about the fact that their pillows probably all had pillowcases and the sheets weren't stained from all of the past foster children who occupied that bed at one point.

She felt like her body was playing tug of war—her heart was pulling her in one direction, which was toward Cordelia. Her mind, soul, and everything else that remembered that every parental figure or those who were supposed to act as such had either died, given her away, or abused her. Plus, she didn't know this woman. She knew there was a possibility that she misremembered her dream after seeing Cordelia on the news. Something about that felt wrong, though. "It's beautiful," she commented, looking around a little more.

Cordelia led the girl inside the manor, her heels clicking against the flooring again. "If you don't mind closing the door on your way in, I'd certainly appreciate it," she said politely, finally smiling a little.

Cordelia walked to the end table in the entry way and turned around briefly to lock the door. "It's spectacular, isn't it?" She had to admit, the manor was the most beautiful home she'd ever lived in - really the only place that she felt she could truly call home.

"I know I've already introduced myself but I'm Ms. Goode. You can call me Cordelia, all the girls do," she explained warmly. Something inside of her led her to the girl that had arrived outside of the school that day. She still couldn't quite place why. So she'd have to let it go for now.

"I'm Adeline... just Adeline," she half smiled, almost tempted to reach out and shake the woman's hand. This wasn't something she would normally do; Adeline wasn't proper by any means. She was basically a child of the streets. She didn't own a pair of jeans that weren't ripped, she skateboarded, and she rarely ever brushed her curly, blonde hair. That was another factor that deterred Adeline from the thought that the woman could be her mother. There was no way she came out of that. That would be a cruel joke for the universe to play on Cordelia. She noticed the entryway to the den area, the walls inside lined with portraits. "Could we go in there?" She asked quietly, curious about the pictures.

Cordelia knew that not everyone would be comfortable would touch and if Adeline didn't want to shake her hand then she wouldn't take it personally. "Of course," the older witch said rather quickly, being pulled away from her thoughts. Cordelia began to explain the portraits, speaking a little more slowly and carefully once she reached Myrtle's. "Myrtle Snow was one powerful witch - and so very nurturing, too. She took care of me. We were family," Cordelia stated simply, a soft twinkle in her eye.

Adeline looked at the picture of the older redhead and over to Cordelia, smiling softly. She looked back at the portrait, her heart sinking a little. "You seem to have really loved her," she spoke softly and carefully. Adeline always got a hint of jealousy when her friends would talk about their parents, but especially their mothers. Adeline had to go through everything by herself, when a mother's care and guidance would have eased some of that burden. She walked slowly looking at a few more pictures. In her peripheral vision, another portrait caught her eye. She turned, her eyes locking on the painting. She approached the painting, her heart starting to beat faster. She knew that face—she'd know it anywhere. "W-why is there a picture of Fiona in here?"

Cordelia nodded slowly, studying the picture of Myrtle - caught up in her own thoughts and feelings. "You could say that," she agreed, turning to face the girl again. Her smile faltered ever so slightly. Cordelia found herself caught off guard when she heard the younger woman's next words. She didn't think she'd introduced her to the portrait yet and she found it slightly peculiar that she'd bring up the topic of her late mother. Cordelia took a small breath and walked to face the portrait. It hadn't gotten easier for her. The burn she felt in her heart, the boiling hatred for the woman that caused her so much pain and heartache. "You're very smart. Fiona was our last Supreme. The previous Supreme."

"S-supreme?" She furrowed her eyebrows, turning her head to look at the older woman. Adeline's heart rhythm started beating more unevenly, a side effect of the heart condition she had after the car accident with her adoptive parents. "What's a Supreme?" Her voice was quiet, and she tired to keep it as composed as she could.

Cordelia had heard that question so many times before and smiled gently thinking about it. She never grew tired of explaining it. "The matriarch of our coven. An exceptional witch that can perform all of the Seven Wonders," she explained. "Have you ever heard of the Seven Wonders, Adeline?" Finally speaking the younger woman's name gave Cordelia a sense of deja vu. It felt more familiar to her than a name in a song or the name of an acquaintance.

Adeline zoned out a little after Cordelia explained what the Supreme was. She'd seen Fiona a multitude of times, but the difference between her and Cordelia—she'd seen her in person. Her breathing started becoming a little more erratic and her chest tightened. "I-I'm sorry. I can't—I need to leave." Adeline turned, sprinting from the parlor and out the front door. She thought she was home free, until she reached the gate. She pushed it with her palms, recoiling when she was met with a locked gate. "Shit!" She hissed, looking down at her hands. Blood trickled from a dozen small cuts from the thorns of whatever vine was wrapped around the gate.

Cordelia didn't know what was happening and before she could stop it it seemed to be too late. "Adeline - it's okay, what is upsetting you?" She asked, quickly following after the young witch. Her heels tapped rather quickly against the flooring and out the front door. She'd stopped in her tracks once Adeline had stopped and quickly noticed the blood on the younger woman's hands. "Let me help you, okay? I'll help you clean yourself up and you can go, if that's what you'd like to do," Cordelia assured her.

Adeline looked at Cordelia with tears in her eyes. She nodded slightly, but stayed silent. Her breathing was bordering on a panic attack, and she needed her hands clean so she could dig through her bag for her inhaler.

Cordelia took a deep breath, hoping she would mimic her breathing. She reached into her pocket, taking out a few clean tissues. She took the girl's hands in her own and couldn't have prepared herself for what she saw.

“Delia, let her go. It's time for her to go," Fiona spoke softly, almost sounding like she was actually comforting her daughter. Cordelia, after an hour of refusing and saying she changed her mind, loosened her grip on the baby. Fiona took her from Cordelia, who crumpled into Hank’s arms. Fiona put her thumb on the baby’s head, closing her eyes and whispering the spell over her. She handed the baby to the social worker before going back to her daughter. She waved her hand, and everything around her froze. She put her hand gently on Cordelia's head, a tear falling from Fiona's eye. She whispered the memory spell over Cordelia. She waved her hand through the air again, and everything around her was set back into motion. She stood next to her daughter’s bed with her arms crossed.

Cordelia gasped, stepping back abruptly. She suddenly felt like she couldn't catch her breath and suddenly remembered more than she had in years. She still couldn't piece it all together, but couldn't stop the shaking of her hands as she applied pressure to Adeline's wounds.

Adeline recoiled back, backing slowly away from Cordelia. She'd seen the same thing, albeit from a third person point of view. She was right. All of the thoughts about Cordelia being her birth mother. Her breathing was more strained, and she slipped into an asthma attack. She dropped down, opening her bag and digging frantically for her inhaler.

Cordelia knelt down beside Adeline. "How can I help you?" She asked, breaking her silence. She allowed her the room to get into her purse in case she had some kind of medicine to help her. She took the tissues back temporarily, making sure that she'd wiped the majority of the blood from the girl's hands.

Adeline shook her head as she pulled the inhaler from her bag. She shook it before putting it in her mouth. She took inhaled it a few times before she started feeling her airway open up. She was still breathing rapidly, but she didn't feel like she was on the verge of suffocating anymore. "I-I'm fine," she stuttered, tears falling from her eyes, breaking her obvious facade. "I'm sorry, I can't be here. I need to go." She stood up and threw her bag over her shoulder. "I'm sure you're great, but I..." her words were broken off by a strained sob.

Cordelia couldn't mask her confusion. She still didn't completely understand what she'd seen when she touched the newcomer's hands despite her sense of deja vu becoming more and more clear. "Is - is there anything I can do?" She asked, wishing she could help. "What can I do for you?"

"Explain what the fuck just happened," Adeline put her head in her hands, a thought popping into her mind. She pulled her bag around the front of her body and dug for her wallet. She opened it, pulling out a folded up picture and handing it to Cordelia.

Cordelia took the picture, her hands beginning to shake as she looked at it. The Supreme closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a second to feel the energy around the photo. Details came back to her like pieces of a puzzle, all connecting together. 

She felt like she couldn't breathe - actually, she knew she couldn't. "I don't want to, I can't do it. I've changed my mind. Hank, we can do this," the young witch begged. "I don't want to do this," she said, tears threatening to leak down her cheeks. "I want my baby. I want my daughter."

"What are you thinking?" Adeline still felt the need to run. She could physically breathe, but her body felt like it couldn't.

The young witch's body shook violently with each sob before suddenly she didn't feel anything at all.

"Is this you, in this picture?" She finally asked, breaking from her trance. "I - I don't know how to explain this. I - my God," Cordelia breathed, still in utter shock.

"The only thing I knew about my birth parents was that they didn't want me," Adeline narrowed her eyes slightly, even though she knew full well it obviously wasn't Cordelia's fault. "Fiona started showing up after my adoptive parents died. Said she was my great aunt." She crossed her arms stubbornly. "That's all I know."

Cordelia's gaze softened. "I.." she didn't completely know what to say. She remembered some parts, but not nearly enough to tell Adeline what she wanted to hear. "Great aunt?" She asked, trying to make sense of it. Cordelia started to feel queasy and tried to swallow down the feeling.

"Yeah." Adeline responded softly, not sure what else to say. She was hurt, confused, angry. She didn't know how to handle her emotions and she knew she'd eventually lash out at Cordelia if she didn't calm down. She crossed her arm and shook her leg.

Cordelia knew she probably needed time to process all of the new information - or old information she'd been given. She wished so badly that she could talk to Myrtle about all of this - and maybe she could.. "I would like a little bit of time to process this and to think about it more," Cordelia finally chose to say, scared of pushing the hurt girl away.

Adeline furrowed her eyebrows and nodded slightly, putting her bag over her shoulder. She started toward the front door, stopping to look back at Cordelia. "It was nice to have met you." She half smiled before putting her hand on the knob. Adeline was so used to people giving her up and not wanting her that it normally wouldn't bother her. And although Cordelia didn't say she didn't want her, Adeline's trust issues were so severe she figured she may as well have. This stung more than it normally did, and tears welled up as she opened the door.

Cordelia could sense the girl's feelings and felt guilty for the way she'd reacted. "Do you have a phone number I can reach you at?" She finally asked, mere steps before she'd possibly never see the girl again.

Adeline smiled sadly and shook her head. "They don't let us have them in the group home. A lot of girls got into a lot of trouble before they'd go there. But...if it's meant to be, it will be I guess. I don't know what I expected from this, but this definitely wasn't it."

Cordelia’s heart sank in her chest. She really had no other choice. "Why don't you stay here tonight? We have spare rooms. Or if there's someone I could call?" She suggested.

Adeline shook her head. "No, it's okay. You need time...I understand that. Don't worry about me—I'll be alright."

Cordelia knew she couldn't make or force Adeline to stay. "Okay, will you come back?" She asked with hesitance.

Adeline chewed her lip for a second. "Do you want me to?"

Cordelia didn't hesitant in her answer. "Yes, of course," she said solemnly. She always kept her word.

Adeline smiled sadly, nodding a little. "I'll come back if you want me to come back... but don't feel obligated or anything. I've been though worse." She repressed the tears that burned the brims of her eyes as she turned the doorknob and exited the academy.