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tinytennisskirt · 4 months ago

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Let It Linger

Summary: When post-canon divorced! Art goes back to high school for a fifteen year reunion, he’s met with strong memories of the his estranged best friend, the girl he loved those fifteen years ago. He gets caught in a rally between his past and present. A whirlwind of past yearning, casual touches, meaningful conversations and pining rushes back to him like the time never passed when he sees her again for the first time in fifteen years. Turns out not so much has changed.

Warnings: mentions of sex, alcohol, marijuana. casual touching, pining, yearning, MEGA SLOWBURN, a longer fic with time skipping between MRTA! art and POST CANON! art. AU.

Art wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was parked outside, in some dress shirt he’d owned far too long and the black dress pants he wore for when he did pre-game press. His hands on the wheel, lips pressed into a straight line. This would be interesting, he knew it would be. He was sitting in the parking lot outside the smaller gym of Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy and he could hear the music through the walls of the car and through the open gym door, he could see a purple cast of light from inside.

It had only been fifteen years. That wasn’t much time in perspective, but fifteen years felt like a lot when he remembered who he was that many years ago.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“My mouth, my mouth!” You called, opening your mouth and slowing your running to walking backward. Patrick tossed a marshmallow and you caught it in your mouth as the three of you ran down the hill, Patrick with a bag of marshmallows, you with the chocolate, and Art with the graham crackers.

Both boys cheered loudly and you jumped, triumphantly raising your hands above your head. Art nearly ran right into you with the momentum from the hill and you all ended up laughing way too hard at it, even with the marshmallow in your mouth. Art tried to catch his breath, his hand sliding over your waist as he passed you, trying not to stumble the rest of the way down the hill. Patrick just laughed. “I had no idea my aim was that good,” he said, teasing.

You swallowed the marshmallow, “You’re kidding? Your aim? That was all me.”

Art grinned, “I think it was a joined effort…” He played mediator. You hit him in the upper arm gently. “No, all you. All her, Patrick. Sorry.”

Patrick threw his arms up in forfeit. There was no winning against you. They both knew that. You giggled and shoved a marshmallow right in Patrick’s mouth before skipping down the rest of the hill, leaving both boys behind you. Art watched, a huge grin on his face. The three of you had found a great way to sneak out of your dorms at night. It was 11:42 and you were heading toward the back of the grounds with the ingredients for s’mores, a lighter, and matches for good measure. And maybe the remainder of a pack of cigarettes.

What good was your last year at the academy if not the one you rebel just a tiny bit? You were down the hill humming Groove Is In The Heart by Deee-Lite in your big Mark Rebellato sweater and yoga pants just happy to be out at night. You were fun, carefree, and bright, even in the dark of the edge of the property, away from all the fuss of the school. “You’re so slow!” You called out to them. Both Art and Patrick jogged to catch up to you, finding your regular spot between a few trees.

You sat on your regular log and pulled the blanket from your bag before getting up to drape it over. Patrick got to collecting the twigs from the stash and put them in the hole you three dug the first time you snuck out. Art took the seat next to you on the log, “Crazy, you have like seven tennis balls in here.” He laughed. You shook your head, nudging him just a little while he grabbed the three marshmallow skewers from your bag. He grabbed one of the balls out and threw it at Patrick.

“Can take the girl out of Mark Rebellato but can’t take the Mark Rebellato out of the girl,” Patrick said, catching the ball and throwing it back at Art. He got the fire started and lit one of the remaining cigarettes off of the growing flame. “You guys ready for that test on Monday?”

“Since when are you an academic?” You chuckled, putting a marshmallow on the end of Art’s stick.

“Since he found out Lydia Jennings is into smart guys,” Art said. You chuckled, biting your lip just gently. Art noticed.

Patrick blew smoke out the side of his mouth, “No- okay, she said she liked smart guys we all know there’s no way in hell I’m becoming a straight-A student like this one over here,” he gestured with the cigarette between his fingers to you. “She’s hot, she’s not drop-everything-and-study hot. I’m talking about the test on Monday because I know that with you two and Stanford, you’re obsessed with your grades… I am… not ready.”

You shook your head, looking up at him, “She is so drop-everything-and-study hot, you’re just picky. And I’ll lend you my notes tomorrow if you want- Art and I worked on them together, they’re pretty extensive.”

“They are good.” Art nodded, dangling his marshmallow over the embers. “You’re actually worried about it? I mean, the year is almost half-done, you’ve got time.”

He nodded, “I know, but I have to graduate to be free of this place for good. No way I’m doing that GED thing.”

“My mom did the GED thing.” You said. “She’s doing just fine. It was only a setback. Plus, if you plan on truly going pro, it won’t be a big thing. Just player trivia.” Art laughed at that, pulling his stick back to pull the marshmallow off. You had already prepped his graham cracker and chocolate and pulled the marshmallow off between them for him. Patrick watched how you two worked so wordlessly- wasn’t his focus. “I will lend you all of my notes tomorrow, it’s just a matter of reading them a few times a day and you’re set.”

Patrick shrugged, grabbing himself the things he needed for a s’more. “Thanks.”

Art nodded, “You’re lucky you’re good with a racket.”

“Rude!” You said, shoving him backward off the log. He landed on his back in the leaves and it was all-around laughter again. The dynamic was this. Shoving, pushing, insults in good fun, but caring all too much. Art knew there was nobody in the world who cared more about anything than you did. He was, as your friend, able to enjoy just how passionate you were about the things and people you liked. He pulled himself back onto the log, shaking his head at you as you dusted him off and removed the leaves from his hair. You smelled good, like fall, vanilla, and chai, almost, but with a sweetness that reminded Art of the caramel apples from the fair. He shut his eyes as your hands picked the last little bits from his hair. You pat his cheek when it was done and the conversation moved onto the new tennis coach’s really bad toupée.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art got out of his car, shut the door, and locked it, car keys sliding into his pocket. He stared out over the grounds, past the outdoor tennis courts, and to the point in the field where it dipped down into the big hill. He wondered if they’d ever found your makeshift fire pit, filling it with dirt, moving the logs… He glanced at himself in the side mirror of the car, remembering when his hair was longer, more golden. Part of him wondered if he would even see you tonight. Maybe he’d see Patrick, which was a more likely occurrence, Patrick wouldn’t miss something like this.

If only they made it less of a surprise who you’d run into at one of these. He guessed it would be his class, a few extras, people who had settled down bringing their fiancees, partners, husbands, and wives. He wondered if he was too dressed up? Dressed down? And he was nervous, for some reason, when he shouldn’t have been.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“I know I shouldn’t be deciding on a dress this late but I can’t tell if this dress is too much?” You said from inside your dorm room. “I’m afraid Mark Rebellato himself will come to smite me for how much boob this dress shows off.” You spoke through the door.

Art and Patrick grinned at each other. “I’m sure it’s fine!” Art called back. Both boys had spent about twenty minutes tops getting ready for the mid-term formal. One of many formals the school so unfortunately had. “Can we see?”

“It’s not the right dress!”

“How would we know?”

The door to your room unlocked and you opened it, standing looking very unimpressed in a gorgeous purple dress. Both boys stood, a little dumbfounded for a second. “Too much?”

“No.” Both boys said in unison, gazing at you, your hair perfect, your makeup perfect.

Art blinked hard to snap himself back to reality, “You look… beautiful.” His eyes lingered a little too long on the slight shimmer to your eyelids and the gloss on your lips. Your eyes softened and you looked down at yourself again.

Patrick agreed. “Damn.” Both boys had themselves forgetting you were the same girl they called their friend on a day-to-day basis. “Mark Rebellato is rolling in his grave.”

“Is he dead?” You asked, laughing. Art didn’t find anything funny when you were standing there looking like that. He thought you were gorgeous, he could say that as your friend of a good few years, but this was breathtaking. You were.

The dance was more fun than both Art and Patrick anticipated, but you made anything fun. Patrick nudged Art’s arm as they stood off to the side with cups of punch. “She’s different this year.” He said. Both boys were watching you dance with one of your girlfriends. You were so free and you were once again the brightest thing in the whole room, purple and pink light cascading over your face and you were laughing.

Art hardly heard him. “Hm?” His eyes didn’t leave you.

“Exactly.”

Art nudged him back, seeing what Patrick was getting at. “Fuck off.” He grinned. “She’s just pretty. She’s always been pretty.”

Patrick nodded, sipping his punch, watching your dress swish around you as your friend spins you. “Too pretty.”

“Mhm,” Art sighs. The way he watches you is different from Patrick's. There’s something buried in what he feels, but he’s never acknowledged it much. Aside from when you met at twelve in a co-op game and you made fun of his ears. It honestly hurt his little feelings but Patrick found it absolutely hilarious that someone so funny-looking could say something so mean to someone else. Art laughed when Patrick defended him. But you, always so smart, nodded. And you smiled, which both boys didn’t expect. Then you apologized to Art and introduced yourself like nothing even happened. Art forgave you. There was something about you that both he and Patrick knew would make a good addition to the duo they’d formed over the first week. And it had been that way ever since. Didn’t make it easier when you stopped looking so funny and disproportionate when you turned fourteen but, being friends, it was ignorable. For the most part. They were only boys.

When presented with a slow dance, you excused yourself from the floor and came to stand with the boys, taking Patrick’s cup of punch right out of his hands and downing it. Patrick went to grab it but it was too late. You pulled a face, “Seriously?” You scrunched up your nose and Art laughed as he pieced it together.

“Didn’t give me a chance to warn you,” he chuckled. You felt the warmth spread down your throat- he’d spiked his own punch. Of course. Art, mouth agape, placed a hand on the small of your back without thinking. You just giggled and shook your head at him. Patrick took his cup back from you, sipping the very last drops. The couples and wannabes behind you continued to dance closely. “Awful, right?”

“So bad,” you giggled. Art twisted his mouth to the side, trying not to laugh too much. Your hand closed around Art’s wrist and pulled it up over your opposite shoulder and you kept talking about how gross it tasted, making fun of Patrick for spiking it so badly. If anyone sniffed it, they would have immediately known it was mostly alcohol. Art’s arm stayed around you, the perfect place for it, so it made sense to step a little closer. It’s only worth noting as something that happened because Patrick, who was used to your casual displays of closeness like this one- saw the angle Art kept his hand at so that his hand wouldn’t rest too close to your boobs. He laughed just a bit. Art just shook his head at Patrick and flipped him off with that very hand.

By the near-end of the night, you’re danced out and you asked the boys to come back with you, but Patrick had taken to chatting up Lydia Jennings, of course, so Art obliges. Patrick didn’t need a wingman, he would do fine on his own. Art holds the door for you as you leave and you’re immediately laughing as you cross the parking lot. “Fucking insane,” Art laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I always forget it’s not a school dance until Patrick sneaks in two shooters.”

“I had at least one whole shooter in that punch,” you said, knocking against him as you walked. The cool autumn air hit your bare skin and it was harsh. “It was disgusting.” Art felt you shiver just a bit beside him and he was already taking off his jacket to give to you. “He could have gone with vodka or something, spiced rum, and fruit punch is one of the worst things I think I’ve ever tasted- thank you.” You said, taking his jacket with a smile and pulling it over your shoulders.

“It was spiced rum?!”

“Yeah!” You laughed with him, still leaning against him as the two of you walked. “He ends up with Lydia Jennings she’s going to hate, hate, hate his breath. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom,” you said, pulling a pink toothbrush out of your bag. Art couldn’t help but laugh at the thing.

“Smart,” he grinned wider as you showed him the travel-sized tube of toothpaste that went with it. Art just flashed you his pack of mint gum in return and you narrowed your eyes at him. Art shoved it back in his pocket along with both of his hands. “So… you had fun tonight?” He followed up.

You smiled at him with those perfectly glossed lips parting to show teeth. “I did. However-

“There’s a however?”

“However…” You grinned, taking his hand and walking backward. You lowered your voice, pretending to be extra serious. “You need to dance more so you can dance with me.”

“You didn’t like the nodding I did? I feel like that was a lot, too much, even.” He held the door open to the other building and you mouthed another thank you as you passed him again. ”How much more do I need to do to dance with you?”

“You can always dance with me. I promise it’s a lot more fun when you’re not feeling centered out.” You told him, heading up the stairwell. It’s still early in the night so the girl’s dorms were mostly empty. “I knowww, I know how you get with it, but-”

“I’d dance with you.” He nodded, but squeezed your upper arm, “You didn’t ask me. I would have.”

“Okay then. Swear on your life right now that if I asked you, you’d say yes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting that neverending grin that lived on his face when you were around. “For what?”

“All future purposes.” You replied, stopping outside your room and leaning against the wooden door. “Where dancing is involved.” You held out your pinkie finger and Art took it before he got to question any more. You grinned and jumped a few times. “You just made the craziest promise, I’m going to make you hate me with that one.” Art just grinned.

You talked a bit more just at the door until both you and Art were wary about someone seeing him on the girl’s side of the dorms. You opened the door to your room and stepped just inside, about to say goodbye, but just one more thing before he left, you asked. For him to help you unzip your dress. Art should not have felt the way he did when you handed him back his jacket and turned around while lifting your hair. Your bunkmate had zipped it up before you had left and you had no idea when she’d be back, you explained.

Art wouldn’t say no to you. Who could? He stepped closer, met with the closer, stronger scent of your perfume and you still smelled sweet. You always smelled sweet. With gentle fingers, he took the small zipper and slowly unzipped the back of your dress. The sound of the zipper being the only thing in the empty of your room and he wouldn’t forget how when the zipper hit the bottom of its track, his finger grazed the bare skin of your back. Soft, softer than he could have even imagined. And you turned so that he wouldn’t be faced with the bare of it all, braless underneath, he could tell, and you thanked him for the night, for his jacket, for his help. Said you’d see him tomorrow. Usually, you’d hug him goodnight, but with your dress about to slip off you just smiled, making fun of the promise he’d made to you just thirty minutes ago before a real goodnight.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art looked over at the dorm building across the lot, looking at the exact path between cars you and him would have walked that night. His hands shoved themselves into his pockets, habit. He decided not to stand out in the parking lot anymore, swallowing hard as he allowed himself through the door and into the smaller gym, which was decorated just like the regular school dances. There were streamers and early 2000s radio hits and so many people.

It was almost immediately people recognized Art. He was possibly the most successful of the graduating class, though he hated to think it. He wouldn’t put himself above anyone. He was already getting pats on the back and he started in some small conversations but he was a little distracted.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“They have parties at Stanford?” You said, looking at some Stanford webpage on Art’s mom’s computer. “Frats, too. Insane. Hey Art, you should join the frat.” You chuckled. Art and Patrick were playing Jenga at the coffee table, two or three of the blocks wet from falling into the eggnog.

Patrick ruffled Art’s hair, “Frat boy Art Donaldson?”

You spun in the chair, “I could join a sorority, they have those too.”

Art grinned, “Yeah? You think they’d take Patrick?”

Patrick pushed Art into the couch and the Jenga tower toppled over once again. You laughed, watching him shake his head and reach for his eggnog, once again pulling a Jenga block out of it. You came and sat next to Art on the couch, sitting on the arm. His hand mindlessly wrapping itself around your ankle as your foot rested on his thigh. Gentle, like letting you know that he’s there despite the readily available knowledge that was your being. Something sweet. Patrick took a seat on the floor in front of you both. “I think they’d take me, but you have to be a Stanford student, so you know, it’s too bad.”

“Their loss,” You smiled. “Do you think I’m pretty enough to rush a sorority when we get to Stanford?” You asked. Both boys looked at each other.

“...Yeah,” Patrick said, nodding just a little. You narrowed your eyes.

“Yes.” Art said firmly. He squeezed your ankle just a little. You smiled at that. Art’s mom called you to dinner, christmas dinner, and in seconds both boys were bolting to the dining room. You exchanged a look with Art’s mom when you got there. She was lovely and she was letting both you and Patrick stay for the holidays. Her food was amazing and the conversation was Stanford, mostly, and your tennis plans for after graduation. The application process, the fuss of getting a dorm room there, and how excited she was for you and Art to be going to the same place. She loved you, his mom. She called you her daughter when the mailman came around during the holiday season and to whoever asked. She’d been in a household of boys for far too long.

The post-dinner conversation laying on your back on Art’s bed next to him while Patrick was laid at the foot of the bed was on exactly that. “Art, I think your mom likes Y/N more than you.”

“I know,” Art replied, hands folded on his chest. He turned his head to look at you, giggling.

“I can’t help it,” you replied through your laughter. “Everyone loves me, it’s not my fault.” Nothing about that statement was false- everyone did love you. And who wouldn’t? You were kind and sweet and loving and so warm to everyone you met so of course they all loved you. There was nobody like you so everyone who crossed paths with you would never be able to forget you. Art’s smile fell, looking at your freshly glossed lips and that unforgettably beautiful smile. He’d zoned out so when you rolled onto your side, nearly onto him, his eyes widened just a bit.

“You’re jealous?” You beamed.

“Not even,” Art scrunched his nose, using a gentle hand to push you away but you returned, giggling. “She’d go insane having a real excuse to go to sales at the mall.”

“Sugar mommy,” Patrick remarked. He had way too much pie, he was half-asleep. Art just kicked him with the foot that rested closest to his chest, eliciting an ‘oof’ noise from Patrick that you giggled at.

“You’re so jealous your mom likes me more, it’s crazy, it’s crazy,” You giggled, grabbing his upper arm. Art twisted his mouth to the side, eyes flickering from the gloss on your lips, to your eyes. “Don’t worry, when she comes to visit me at Stanford, she’ll probably have enough time to see you as well. I’ll make sure of it.” You teased.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Art said, pushing you back again and you just laughed madly, a laugh that was so room-filling and contagious and completely perfect. Art turned his head to look at you. You were more than sorority pretty. Who wouldn’t think so when you laughed like that?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art found that Lydia Jennings had three kids now. Three in fifteen years, which was a little crazy. She, of course, had pictures with her. Spitting images of her bright blonde, big-mouthed self and Art pretended to care, more than he cared to admit. There was no sign of Patrick. Lydia Jennings asked Art about his divorce, asking about his own daughter, but he had to real interest in talking about that sort of thing. Not with her. He excused himself, raising his head above the crowd to scan for anyone else he knew.

He ended up talking to an old friend who was already balding with his pregnant wife at his side. It was good to see just how well people were doing. Settling down, having quit tennis or only pursuing it on the weekends, some of them with kids in tennis classes already. Art was continuing to be congratulated on his career by even the partners of these past classmates.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You were dancing to some Tal Bachman song and Art was internalizing every lyric. “What song is this again?” He asked, leaning back against the tree. The light from the fire was flickering around your face that was nearly hidden by the winter jacket you had on.

“She’s So High,” you replied, spinning in circles. Patrick locked eyes with Art from across the fire, giving a knowing smile. One, because you were high, so was he, so was Art- Two, because Art was completely zoned in on you, the way you moved, the way you looked. And he couldn’t help it, you were the most fascinating thing around and he’d smoked quite a bit. It was like the song was written for you, he thought, out of his mind and red-eyed. You were dancing alone, like you hadn’t even though twice, the music coming from your little portable music player thing. Art met Patrick’s eyes and Patrick raised his eyebrows, nodding at you. Art shook his head, but Patrick jumped over the fire to sit next to him anyway.

“So are you telling her or am I?” He teased, ruffling Art’s hair and Art bat him away, huge grin on his face. “So when’s the wedding?”

“Shut the fuck up, she’ll hear you,” Art chuckled, shoving Patrick over just a bit. Patrick came back laughing. “It’s not like that.”

“You really think I’m fucking stupid, huh?” Patrick chuckled, pulling Art into a bit of a headlock in return. “I’ve known you both how long?”

“Too long,” Art laughed, trying to wriggle out of Patrick’s grasp, finally escaping just to shove Patrick all the way over. He was glad you were minding your business, occupied with the song. “It’s not like that.” He repeated, still keeping his voice low.

Patrick pulled himself back up, “Tell that to your dick,” he said, taking a shot at Art’s groin that he gladly blocked just to sock Patrick in his. Patrick doubled over just for a second and Art laughed a bit too hard, the fry of the weed that burned his throat making him cough. Patrick couldn’t stop laughing at the coughing and being high, everything was a lot funnier. It took a minute for them to stop laughing over the stupidity. Patrick sighed heavily, looking over at you still dancing mindlessly to a song by Avril Lavigne, then back at Art, who was trying to regulate his breathing, also staring at you again. “Maybe not always your dick but definitely your eyes. I’ve never seen anyone with bigger heart-eyes, it’s sickening.” He said.

Art looked at Patrick and twisted his mouth to the side. “I don’t think so. She’s just…pretty.” His eyes gazing back to you, spinning in your fluffy winter coat, swaying, firelight flickering over your face, defining your features in shadow.

“Uh-huh… You really think I don’t know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Art replied, pulling his eyes off of you again.

Patrick shook his head, adding more to the fire, hand still over his groin as the pain continued to die down. He kept his voice low, “Fuck off with that. It’s bullshit. I know it, you know it. You spend more time with her than me, she’s your partner for every co-op game, your mom loves her, you look at her like I’ve never seen you look at anyone.” He chuckled, “And you so want to fuck her.”

“Not as much as I want you to fuck off,” Art chuckled. “Okay, well, I mean- I might. She’s gorgeous, yeah, but I don’t think I could ever tell her anything. She’s perfect, too perfect and we’re friends. We’re her best friends, it would fuck everything up.”

“So you don’t even try? I’ve seen you ask for girl’s numbers within forty minutes of knowing them, it’s unlike you to not even try.”

“She’s different,” Art replied, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t. I make a move and she doesn’t want it, we’re fucked forever.”

“And you don’t make a move and you’ll never know,” Patrick replied. The weed made him oddly thoughtful. “I’ve seen you two with my own eyes there’s something there, I swear to god there is. You can’t just let things play out, you’re going to miss your chance. Think about Stanford next year, all the college guys hitting on her and you know they will, she’s Y/N… Fifteen years down the road she’s married to some frat guy she met at a rager and you’ll be wishing you told her while you could.”

The silence between them was filled by your music and humming. Art looked at you, eyes closed, lips glossy, boots in the dirt. And for the first time he let himself think that he could never want anyone more than he wanted you. He would never see past you, he wouldn’t ever feel this way about anyone else and in the moment, through the weed, it felt real. You, perfect, gorgeous, here.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art glanced around the room, feeling some familiar fire burning in the pit of his stomach. It felt oddly highschool, it felt oddly familiar. He wondered if you had kept up with tennis, he wondered if you had a husband and kids, he wondered if you’d gained weight, lost weight, changed your hair, were going just a little grey, even. He was nervous- that’s what he was and he could place that. It was then that he saw Patrick, coming in through the door across the room.

Art, over Tashi, had put her in the past, including what Patrick had done. Him and Patrick didn’t keep up much other than a few texts and meeting at the bar a few times, but the hard feelings were pretty much gone. Art started making his way over to his old friend just to be grabbed by another ex-classmate who wanted to catch up. He was faced with more pictures of kids and meeting someone’s wife and Art wasn’t so bothered to talk about his own daughter, he’d always take that opportunity. She was the best thing he currently had.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

You and Art sat on the bleachers in the gym, just having finished a co-op game, having won, of course. You both showered and got dressed again and met back up. The air was warming up, mid-spring and Art had still not told you yet. He decided he would at the end of the year and see if you’d make the first move, just to be safe. It didn’t weigh on him- he’d been friends with you for ages, liked you for ages, so it was a secondary thing.

“Hoping my tennis career is enough to buy an old victorian home,” You said, packing your things into your gym bag.

“I remember you saying that,” Art said, hauling your bag onto his shoulder along with his own. It wasn’t abnormal to have him carry your bag. It was sweet. “You want a blue one. Well, blue-grey.” He said. You looked at him, a little surprised he remembered the blue-grey thing. “With the white trim. I remember things.”

You nudged him just a little bit as you passed him. “I’m surprised, after so many tennis balls have hit you in the head.”

“And whose bad aim is at fault?” He teased back. You held the door for him and went out into the early afternoon sun.

You rolled your eyes at him with that gorgeous smile. “Bad aim, uh huh. Who’s to say it’s not on purpose?”

“Y/N!” Your girl friend called, bounding over. “My hair tie broke and I can’t go all the way back to the dorms in time for scrimmage, do you have an extra?” Art watched your full attention go to this girl, linking hands with her and everything. He watched you take the hair tie off of your wrist, the purple glittery one that you swore was your favourite. “Hi, Art.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, noticing him standing there. Art just raised his hand in a subtle wave.

“Of course,” you said, pulling the purple sparkly hair tie off and giving it to her, no questions asked. “Do you need anything else? I have a redbull in my bag if you wanted that before your scrimmage?”

“Really?” She asked. Art lowered your bag for you and you unzipped it, pulling the redbull out and handing it to her as she finished tying her hair up. All Art could wonder was how could anyone not love you when this was who you were? Art knew that purple hair tie was your favourite and you gave it up, just like that, and didn’t even ask for it back later. And your redbull that Art watched you go through your coins for six miinutes counting literal dimes and pennies to get it from the vending machine was in this girl’s hand just because you thought to offer it. You were kind and beautiful and Art moved the date up a little in his head- the date that he’d tell you how he felt. For now, he dug his free hand into his pocket and pretended like you weren’t absolutely perfect.

Saying goodbye to the girl, you and Art resumed your walk back to the main building. “You know Abbey, right?”

“Her?”

“Yes, her,” you giggled. “Don’t tell her I told you this, but she keeps asking me about you. Your favourite colour, song, movie, all of it.” You explained, gesturing with your hands and leaning against him as you two walked. “She likes you.”

Art was only half-surprised. But was more surprised at you bringing it up. “Likes me how?”

“Exactly in the way you think,” you replied. “I’m always down to play wingwoman, but I did tell her all the wrong information.” Your smile turned into a bit of a cringe. Art liked that even in your full care and support, you were just a little evil. Plus, what harm was it really? Art was only seeing you. He couldn’t spend a second on anyone else. Seemed impossible. “She thinks you’re a huge fan of Green Day.” Art couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah?” Art set down your things at a table in the cafeteria and the two of you got in line for food. “Playing interference?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, bowing so your head nudged his arm. The smile that pulled at your lips was one you appeared to want to suppress. A strand of your hair, wet, fell in your face and Art wasted no time moving it behind your ear. Your eyes met his as your smile broke into full action and your eyes fell back to the ground. Sometimes… just sometimes, he felt maybe you were worth ruining the friendship.

Your lower lip between your teeth, you grabbed a tray for him before you grabbed your own.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art finally made it over to Patrick, who looked decent. He shaved a bit, cleaned up just enough. Art thought about how strange it was to be back here with him after all this time. It almost felt right, was just missing you. “Hey, man.” Patrick said, reaching forward and locking hands with Art in a quick greeting.

“Hey,” Art replied. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Patrick replied. “See anyone worth talking to?”

“Not really. Lydia Jennings has three kids now, in case you were looking forward to that,” he chuckled. “She doesn’t look bad though. I didn’t check for a ring either, so.”

Patrick chuckled, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, wearing virtually what was the grey version of Art’s outfit. “Not for me.” He said. “I actually- I ran into Y/N in the parking lot. I thought maybe you’d be looking for her tonight.” Patrick added. Art hated the way his stomach did a little flip as if he wasn’t a full-grown man with a failed marriage and a daughter.

“She came?”

“Yeah, she headed in here before me. She’s good, she hasn’t aged much, it’s weird. You know what they say about the way good people age…” He added. “She’s in purple, said we’d talk more later but she was excited to be here.”

Art swallowed hard, “I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks, man.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

When Patrick left early to hang out with Lydia Jennings, swearing he was going to ‘get some’, it left you and Art in the boy’s room. How they’d been bunkmates for six years running you had no idea, having been room with at least four different girls. Their room was decorated with sports posters, tennis awards and medals, and Star Wars memorabilia. You weren’t supposed to be there, but oh well. “You think purple is my colour?” You asked Art, going through the nail polish you had in your bag, buried under the bag of cheetos you brought over.

“Hm?” Art slid off his bed and onto the floor where you sat, your back to the edge of his mattress. “Yeah. The medium one, though. Not the dark one.” He said, pointing to the bottle he liked better. You shot a small smile his way before grabbing that one.

“I haven’t painted them in ages,” you said, doing a bit of a jazz hand really close to his face and then pressing your hand to his cheek. Annoying, or trying to be, but casual. Art scrunched his nose and batted your hand away, though he really didn’t want to. “So about Abbey.”

“Your friend?” Art adjusted the way he sat. His knee overlapped yours.

“Mhm,” you replied,beginning to paint your nails. “Did she end up talking to you after class yesterday?”

Art thought back to after class when he was on his way to his next class to meet up with you and Patrick. She had come up to him, but he almost immediately shut her down. “Was she supposed to?”

You smiled, “Yes. I told her to ask you about your favourite Star Trek episode.”

Art grinned, you were still playing interference. He wondered why. “I brushed her off… I didn’t think anything of it I was on my way out.” He grimaced a little and you looked up from your nails, trying not to laugh. “I don’t think I was too rude…”

“Where were you off to in such a hurry?”

“You- And Patrick.” He saved himself. “I had someplace to be! Plus, she’s not really my type.”

“And what is that type? Girls with purple fingernails, maybe?” You laughed- Art wondered what you meant by that because at this very moment there was nothing you said that had ever been more true. “Your future girlfriend is going to hate me.” You followed up. Art’s heart sunk just a little at that. You then mumbled something under your breath that Art didn’t catch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

Art caught up a bit with Patrick, who was interested to hear that his daughter was just getting into tennis, but really liked ballet. Patrick himself had still not settled down, but he’d landed a good job adn was now making decent money, enough to find himself a good apartment. He talked about this girl he’d met at the mechanic and Art didn’t mind the tale of it all, but he did glance around every few minutes to see if maybe you’d be nearby or even come to speak to them. They way you’d left things he wondered if you’d say anything to him at all.

It’s not like you left things horribly… But he knew the way things went just weren’t ideal and that was the problem. It was the lack of grace in the process of losing touch.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“Patrick held both envelopes up. “Saw these on the mail piles, grabbed them before mail day.” He said. You, who had been mindlessly playing with Art’s curls on the couch in the corner of the library, and Art, who was pink from just how intimate the feeling had been, both perked up. Patrick shot a look additional to the excited expression he wore and Art just flipped him off. “They’re yours.”

You and Art looked at each other, Art tilting his head back to do so. Both of you scrambled from where you sat to grab the envelopes Patrick held, huge grin on his face. “Stanford Tennis,” you breathed. Art pressed his lips together. “Acceptance letter?” You questioned. Patrick shrugged, but continued to grin.

Art shook his head, “Should we open them? I mean- same time? Or?”

“I feel sick,” you said, words overlapping his. “Oh my god.” You pressed your hand to your stomach. “I knew they’d be here soon but this is so… late. I was getting scared I wouldn’t get anything, we got something… We got something.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, big crooked grin on his face. “Together?”

You swallowed, sitting back down, then standing right back up again. “No, you first.”

Patrick sat on the couch, ready to watch both of his friends excitement, arm up on the arm of the couch. “Hurry up!” He kicked Art in the back of the knee and Art didn’t even feel it, opening the big envelope. He narrowly avoided a paper cut. You paced a short distance, back and forth, back and forth anxiously. He unwrapped the papers, eyes scanning over the letter.

“Fuck yeah!” He exclaimed, all too loud for the library. He didn’t care though. “I’m in!”

You gasped and your grin was the first thing Art looked for. Your arms up and around his neck, so excited for him. “That’s amazing, I’m so so proud of you!” You exclaimed, also so loud. Art’s arms around your waist, squeezing you tight as you kissed his cheek enthusiastically. Patrick was there to clap him on the back, hugging Art when you let go. Art was glad for it- it helped hide how pink he went from just the kiss on the cheek. You were jumping up and down and you were beautiful and you were happy. It would be one of the last times Art saw you so happy.

“What about you?” He gestured to your envelope and you looked down at it like you’d forgotten you were holding it.

“I- I can’t, one of you has to do it,” you said. It was for sure. You’d met with the faculty there, the coaches, you were scouted two years ago when you weren’t even old enough to apply and the second you knew you loved tennis you knew Stanford was the best place for you. Patrick took your envelope for you, opening it as you nervously bit your lip, swaying into Art, letting your fingers intertwine with his just to have something to brace yourself. He squeezed your hand, smiling at his own acceptance, knowing that if anyone had it in the bag was you. But Patrick read it over and there wasn’t a grin- in fact the smile he did have fell just in the slightest. Art felt your hand squeeze his harder.

“What is it?” You asked. Art looked at Patrick, who then looked up at you with sorry eyes. “Patrick?”

“You’re- um-” he paused another moment and handed you the papers. “Waitlisted. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Art watched your colour drain. The obvious bright light you brought by just entering a room dimmed as you read it yourself. Art could feel the slight tremor in your fingers, so he squeezed your hand as hard as he could, just so in the new wave of overwhelming sadness, you’d know he was still there. He felt guilty for celebrating so soon.

“I’m waitlisted.” You repeated, monotone. “And not even until next semester. Next year. And even then there’s no guarantee.”

Art didn’t wait another second, he used the hand he held to pull you in. You didn’t resist, you couldn’t, you felt limp as Art wrapped his arms around you. Patrick’s hand on your back for just a moment, but Art’s hand on the back of your head and the other running up and down your back. His crush on you was unaffected by this hug because he knew that you needed it more than anything. You were the one with the plans, you were the one who knew exactly how things would play out and Stanford was the first step on every path you’d imagined. Knowing you so long, both boys knew you were right to cry.

Art held you, standing, for as long as you needed- his arms around you stayed tight and didn’t waiver once in the thirty minutes you stayed there. He was quiet, Patrick was just cursing Stanford for being fucking stupid and though Art agreed with him on that, because who in their right minds would look at your grades and your tennis stats and say they didn’t want you? Who wouldn’t want you?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

When Art saw you from across the room it felt like he was eighteen again. He’d anticipated feeling nostalgic for a time, but you were there and you were in purple, like Patrick said and he knew it was you from the smile you wore, reuniting with what looked to be a very-pregnant Abbey Campbell. Good for her, Art though, seeing past the bump and looking at you. Patrick was right- you’d aged like fine wine or whatever that saying was, but you were still youthful and you were still… bright.

“You should talk to her,” Patrick said, noticing where Art’s eyes had landed. As if he hadn’t been watching Art scan every five minutes during their conversation. “You haven’t seen her since…”

“September 2006,” Art replied, looking at Patrick.

“Have you kept in touch at all, or?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well fuck.”

“Yeah,” Art nodded, eyes not leaving you. You were different, older, for sure but not in ways noticeable. Many of the men in the room had grown into bigger bodies and were either unfortunately balding or had already gone bald for some. Mid-thirties you wouldn’t think it, but it was there. And you were there, looking youthful and bright and you were still one of the prettiest girls in the room. Women… in the room. He gestured to you, eyes not leaving you, scared to lose track of where you were. “I’m going to-”

“Good luck.” Patrick pat Art on the back to send him off and Art, drink in hand from his stop by the food table, walked over to you, ignoring everyone who wanted his attention this time.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- past

“You’re not telling her at graduation? You’re fucking joking.” Patrick said, shoving Art back onto his bed as the boys got dressed for one of their last classes at MRTA. “How fucking stupid are you, you can’t just not tell her.”

“I tell her and I ruin our friendship while I get to go to Stanford in the fall. I can’t do that to her.”

“You sound like a fucking idiot,” Patrick said.

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but even if I tell her and it goes well, we would only have the summer before I move all the way to fucking California. You’ll be on tour and this whole… thing would just be broken. And fucked up. I don’t want her for a summer, Patrick. I want her all the time, every day, like it was supposed to fucking be. I don’t want her for just a summer.” Art huffed, looking at his hands. The whole waitlisting bullshit threw a wrench in everything. Everything.

“You’d rather not have her at all?”

“I-” he flailed his hands around, “I don’t know! I don’t know how to tell her something like that and then move away.”

Patrick shrugged, “Could just kiss her.”

Art opened his mouth to speak and a knock on the door cut him off. Art pulled his shirt over his head as Patrick lunged to open it. It was you. Who else?

“You guys want to cut class?” You asked, arms folded over your chest, mouth pulled a little to the side, standing in your shorts and tank top, not dressed for class at all. Your hair was behind your ears, your lips just slightly glossy and you had that slight sparkle to your eyelids, but it was never too much. He would never get over just how beautiful you were, never ever. “I don’t feel like going today and I just want to do something fun or maybe even nothing?”

“That sounds great, but I actually was looking forward to doubles today…” Patrick groaned, putting a hand aside his head. Art knew him well enough to know Patrick was not looking forward to doubles. “But Art already has all his credits, I think he can stay. I’ll come back before dinner though?”

You nodded slightly and looked to Art, who still had his mouth a little open at the sudden position he was in. “Would you? I really don’t feel like going but I can just skip and meet you guys for dinner?”

Art nodded back at you, slowly. Patrick was playing wingman with expectations this time. ‘Could just kiss her,’ echoed around his head. He made eye contact with Patrick who, out of your line of sight, shot Art a telling look. He was giving Art a window. But skipping with you, being alone with you wouldn��t change the fact that when September came you’d be states away, alone, probably. The long distance would be hard and he knew he could maintain the friendship, but if he confessed and it went well, the long distance of a new relationship would probably kill him. And you. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” Art said.

When Patrick left for class, you came into their room and sat down on Art’s bed, next to him. You weren’t exactly yourself, the way you sat with your arms crossed and lacked that gorgeous smile Art looked forward to every day. You sat so close he could smell the sweetness of your perfume. “You okay?” he asked, looking at you with his head a little tilted, smiling gently.

“I can’t get the Stanford thing out of my head,” You admit. Art nodded. You’d been good about it. It upset you, he knew that it absolutely killed you, but you didn’t talk about it much- for Art’s sake, not wanting to depress him and Patrick with your delayed dream. “I know it’s stupid, I’m only waitlisted a year, but it was supposed to be different. They said I was a shoo-in, how could they say that and not mean it?” You vented. Art heard every word.

“They’re missing out for sure.” He said, hand sliding over your knee to rest just above it. “And Patrick is right- they’re fucked in the head and you deserved that place in the program more than anyone else.”

“Even if I deserved it, even if they’re fucked in the head, I’m still not going and that’s whats killing me.” You said, looking at him with sad eyes. He missed when they were full of light and happiness. “You know, it was supposed to be us. And now it’s not and I don’t know what I’m going to do without you- And Patrick.” Was Art mishearing or was there a pause? And us? Us. “I just feel so stupid and I’m suddenly so lost? I knew exactly what was coming and then it just stopped coming. And I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you both when we all go separate ways.”

“Couldn’t lose me.” Art said, eyes locked on yours. “I might be in California, but I have a phone. And it has a ringer and we have email and facebook and I don’t think I’d even know how to go a day without talking to you, so you know if you didn’t call, I would.” He said, admitting a little too much. “Patrick too, I bet.”

“I love that,” you smiled just a bit. “I just… I was so ready for things to change, but now I’m not. Even if I call you a hundred times in a day, would it feel the same?”

Art looked at the hand he had on your leg, at his thumb as it moved back and forth over your skin. “Probably not… But it would be the best thing until you come and visit. Or when I come home on holiday. It would just be to fill the spaces between, you know that the distance would mean nothing once we’re all together again.”

You looked down. “I know. I just don’t want it.” You sighed, leaning your head against Art’s shoulder. Art could smell your shampoo, it was soft and just as sweet as your perfume. “I’d just... I hate the idea of having to miss you. Distance fucking sucks.” You added. He agreed. Distance would suck. But right now you were here, next to him. He wouldn’t kiss you, he knew that. Not now.

But he turned his body just slightly and wrapped his arms around you, your head moving to just under his chin, resting against his chest. And he held you tight, he always would. And he didn’t resist his other urge, slowly tilting himself back so that he was laying down. You didn’t protest, you just held onto him tighter, laying next to him. Like most things between you two, they went unspoken. You in his arms, in his bed, god it was so telling but you didn’t say a thing. And neither did Art, aside from, “I don’t want it either.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

You didn’t seem to notice when he approached. You were heavily invested in your conversation with your friend, laughing and gesturing and you were even more beautiful up close. He could admit it to himself, he was amazed by how well-preserved you’d been. He maybe was expecting a bit of a grey streak, he remembered your mom being fully grey when you were only a teenager, but your hair was perfect. He was just a little bit to the side, in Abbey’s line of sight and she saw Art first, she looked happy to see him, he noted. Too happy for someone with a baby on the way. She put her hands up in the air like she meant anything to him and you looked over at him, seeing what Abbey was so delighted to see and for the first time in fifteen years, you locked eyes with Art.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- interlude

Art remembered the last time you looked at him. Confused eyes, sad ones, the ones he hated seeing, the ones he knew he caused. It wasn’t supposed to be the way it was. Your best friend felt like he just… wasn’t that anymore. Missed texts to missed calls after promises of hundreds in a day felt like lack of care. And it wasn’t on your end. When Art missed your calls, you stopped looking at your phone so much and you missed his. You visited him twice at Stanford, within the first few months and it was the same but he was so busy. So distracted, it seemed. You met Patrick’s girlfriend, Tashi Duncan and the only thought in your mind was that she looked at Art strangely. So when things unravelled, you asked him things and he answered honestly, leaving out the part that he knew went against his character. He was looking at you, thinking about how he should have kissed you at the airport before going to California but he was looking at a girl who wouldn’t kiss him. Not anymore.

And he missed you like he missed no one- when you stopped responding to his emails and Facebook posts. Your last post was October 4th, 2006, and it was a picture of you at a coffee shop you were beautiful, but Art was so lost on the guy next to you. He should have kissed you at that airport but he was tangled in this mess of Tashi who he had admittedly used to try and not miss you so much when you posted with one of your new guy friends, who you did not like romantically. But Art didn’t know that. He didn’t know how badly it hurt when you traveled to California to find him completely happy and distracted in a new life with new friends and forget that you were coming to visit. That hurt. He should have kissed you at the airport when he could before all of these things crashed and collided and brought you down. He was at fault, but you forgave him, you just didn’t speak again.

Patrick said it was fine, you’d come around. Art’s mom told him that you called to check in on her, but that growing apart does happen. He would ask himself how in the world did he end up growing apart from you. You of all people, but admittedly it was his own fault. These things just happen, distance ruins things.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ- present

But there wasn’t much distance now. You were standing in front of him. Your expression didn’t change- it was a gentle smile upon laying eyes on him. Abbey asked him how he was and just like years ago, he brushed her off with a ‘would you excuse me?’ and passed her, sheepishly walking over to you.

“Hi, Art,” you said, head slightly tilted, lips pulled into that smile he hadn’t seen in years. Art felt shy around it, he hated that, but he was happy to see it. And you.

“Hi,” he replied.

You gestured to Abbey, “Reminds me of something.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he replied with a small chuckle. “I-um… How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” you nodded. Art found himself glancing for a ring on your finger or maybe a baby bump he missed, but nothing. You were doing okay. “Oh, no ring.” You said, holding up your hand. “Wasn’t so lucky. How are you?”

He shook his head, still a little dazed that you were here in front of him, talking to him like you hadn’t gone fifteen years without doing so. “Not so bad.”

“That implies that there’s some bad,” you nodded, leaning against the wall. Your dress reminded him of another you’d worn. “Not so bad?”

“I’m okay…” He said. “Just… I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” As if he hadn’t spent every moment since RSVP-ing thinking about seeing you again. Finally seeing you again.

“Oh,” you nodded, understanding. “No, I get that. I didn’t think you’d come. Thought maybe you were busy winning some grand slam, too far ahead than the rest of us. It was a good win, your last big game in Chicago.”

“You kept up,”

“I couldn’t not. I’m not me if not nosey and that aside, your name all over everything tennis-related- billboards, even. You and Tashi.”

“You must have heard about the separation, then?”

“On the tennis new channel, surprisingly. Fuck them for making that public, and I am sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He replied, eyes not leaving yours. “It just wasn’t working out. She cheated.” He admitted, which he hated. Something about your eyes was a well-working trap for him to fall back into the exact boy he used to be in your presence. He wanted to tell you everything, he forgot what it felt like to be around you. But you weren’t different at all. You were still that same warm, caring girl you used to be.

“Art, I’m so sorry, that’s terrible. Nobody deserves that.” You said, eyes soft. Beautiful.

“It’s in the past.” He nodded again, looking at the ground. They hadn’t changed the gym floors since you’d left, he noted. They were the same. “Thank you, though. I actually, um, I have a daughter, though.”

“Lily,” you smiled. “I’m nosey, I told you. Is she much like you?”

“I think so.” He smiled back. You knew his daughter’s name and you knew about the divorce yet he had no idea what you’d been up to. “So, are you… working, are you…”

“I am.” You nodded. “I teach children with special needs how to play tennis, it’s a great job. Lots of fundraisers and events. It’s really lovely.” Art remembered when you were younger. You’d mentioned something of the sort- doing that. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had joined a company or made one. But he wouldn’t ask, the small talk was already killing him. “About your daughter though, I’d love to know more.”

He wanted to know more about you but he liked to talk about Lily and her hobbies and habits. It felt good to talk to you again as you engaged with him as if fifteen years was three months. It was strange, but the feeling of being around you and your light again, it was easy to brush it all off. Like he was eighteen and you were an addictive happiness. You were smiling as he spoke about his daughter. You were smiling so much that he had to stop at one point, unable to hide his own smile. “What?”

Your eyes went a little wide, but you kept smiling, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. I just… I always knew you’d be a girl dad. And you seem like a good one.”

“Always knew?”

“Oh yeah, I think I first thought about it in grade ten… A girl knows these things.” You said. Your body language changed slightly, you tilted your head to the door. “Hm- Do you still smoke?”

“Do you?”

“When I need to.” You said. “It’s not a habit, it’s an occasional thing. Come with me?”

Art was surprised by the offer. But how could anyone say no to you? He nodded and followed you out. You stopped outside your car, a decent distance away from the building and hopped on the trunk, sitting like you would so many years ago. Your car was nice, so you must make good money, he noted.

“How are you really?” You asked Art, eyes genuine as you lit the cigarette. Art, focused on you, didn’t know how to answer that. He was wondering how you weren’t someone’s wife or mother because even after all these years, he couldn’t find flaw in you. Not one. You were still sweet and kind and lovely and you looked amazing, so how did nobody find you and keep you? You asked him how he really was as if you still saw through him. “You’re really doing okay?”

Art took the cigarette as you passed it to him. “I’m okay. It wasn’t easy- any of it, but it happened and it’s in the past.”

“That’s good.” You said, watching him take a drag. The soft wind blew your hair around your face. “I am sorry about what happened, it sounds awful. I had to check in, really check in. But that aside, you’ve really made a name for yourself out there. Big games, high stakes and a good reputation.”

Art nodded, eyes on the ground as he inhaled again and passed the cigarette back. Something about being here with you was surreal. You’d kept up and he had no way to do the same. “Thank you. I planned on retiring three years ago, but second wind came around. I plan on retiring next year, thinking about starting to coach.”

“You’d be a good coach,” you nodded, smoke blowing out from between your perfect lips.

“Maybe…” He started. Silence.

You nodded, “You’re thinking about the elephant in the… parking lot.” You said, looking around.

“I might be,” he replied, straightening himself out. “It’s been fifteen years and you’ve not said a word to me since… And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. I’ve had a lot of time to.” Art rolled up his sleeves. You watched. “Fifteen years.”

“I know,” you replied, quiet. “But you have had an amazing career and you married the girl I was so worried about, had a daughter. Your life has been exactly what you wanted, that’s amazing. Could it have been the same with me in it?” Art wished it was you in it. “So I let time be time and do it’s thing, I know it’s been fifteen years.”

Art shook his head, “It couldn’t have been a space thing. Maybe I needed the space, but it was bound to exist anyway. We were best friends, you, me, Patrick- and Stanford changed things but you didn’t have to walk away. My life has been my life but it’s not that way because you walked away.”

You chuckled, “I know that. And I am beyond proud of you either way, but me, eighteen years old and in love with you? Showing up after a month of planning and you forgot I was even coming? Just about broke me. And of course, there was Tashi and-” You had more to say but Art felt all of his thoughts come to a halt. His fingers felt cold. He interrupted you-

“In love with me? You were in love with me?”

You laughed, so genuine, the sound was something he had missed sorely. “That’s even a question? Oh, I was so young, but I was very much in love with you. Patrick would never let me forget it. I had such a crush on you. You… you didn��t know?” You covered your mouth as you laughed, but Art felt a little bit frozen, but it was easy to laugh with you.

“I didn’t know, no.”

“So the fifteen years is because after you broke my little eighteen-year-old heart, I took the time to recover and I just… never did.” You admit, handing him back the cigarette, which he took without looking at. He was only seeing you. Part of him was kicking himself hard, angry that he hadn’t confessed when he had planned, knowing now, so many fucking years later than if he had said what he wanted to, he might have had you. There were the complications, but if he had you, there wouldn’t have been a Tashi situation. And in his mind he watched the possibilities unravel his life as he knew it- knowing that it could have been you. It could have been you. “As sorry as I am about it, I don’t regret it. You have an amazing-sounding daughter and the life that you and I used to talk about, going pro… And I have a job that I only got through staying on this side of things. If I was in California, I wouldn’t have met the sweet lady who started the company I own now.”

He hated that you were right. But he hated it more that he could have had everything he really wanted- the things you and him talked about- and it could have been with you. A house, a marriage, a child? The things he really wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to feel regret, but it was something close to the feeling. “I understand. I just- you liked me? Patrick knew?” His whole adult demeanour was destroyed by your youthful smile.

“He would play wingman,” you said. “It was awful, but it was still fun. And I think I should tell you, though it feels wrong, that I missed you. And I am sorry I didn’t reach out. It was too much.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he nodded back. “I missed you too. A lot. It took a while to get over what happened, but it’s been good…”

“I’m glad,” you replied. The cigarette was almost at it’s end. And for a while you just stared at each other. The words unsaid filled the air until it was almost suffocating. He could have had you. If he had said something. If he’d kissed you at the airport. Tashi might have been Patrick’s. Art hated to think about a world without his daughter but it was you. It was always going to be you no matter how many years passed. “I hate to ask this for the sake of my phrasing, but… no hard feelings?”

Art smiled down at his feet, hands back in his pockets, “No, no hard feelings.” He replied. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too.”

You smiled that beautiful smile, the wind blowing your hair a little more. There was something so painting-like about this moment. It could be frozen in time, he wished it could be, and he made a mental note to engrave this image of you in his mind. You were just as gorgeous as the day you left and sure, it hurt to think about a little bit, especially all of the ‘what if’s, but you were here now. And there were no hard feelings. How could he ever have any toward you? It was you.

“You want to head back in?” You asked, digging a foldable toothbrush out of your purse along with a tiny tube of toothpaste.You truly not changed much in your ways. Art wondered if you remembered the last time you’d brought a little toothbrush and toothpaste out. He dug in his own pocket and pulled out his pack of mint gum. He noticed the way your eyes widened at the parallel. But then you just grinned, starting to laugh as you half-brushed your teeth, half giggled. Art chuckled too, popping a piece in his mouth. And the laughter lasted a while. It was like you were the same giddy teenagers who wouldn’t tell each other their biggest secret. But eventually it died down and you headed back inside.

The moment you were inside, he noticed the song playing. So did you. You stood there for a moment, not looking at anyone but him. The Cranberries playing loud over dusty speakers. The only Cranberries song you ever liked, Art remembered. You couldn’t stand the voice cracks in the one about zombies… He was a little confused when you held your hand out, but when you smiled, he remembered. In the spirit of parallels, you were asking him to dance. He remembered the promise he made you, he wouldn’t forget it. He had pinkie promised and you swore to make him regret it, but he never got the chance to. You never gave him a real reason to.

“You pinkie promised.” You said, tilting your head just in the slightest. “You swore.” You said it a little sing song. Fifteen years forgotten- they didn’t exist. You were here and you were asking him to dance with you.

“I did,” he said, smiling, hands still in his pockets. And he did take your hand and with a youthful giggle, you pulled him to the dance floor. It was one of those songs where you could scream the lyrics, you could spin and you could maybe even jump, but you just stayed close. Art wasn’t sure what exactly to do, but it was okay. You led at first, swaying just a little to get him into it. He grinned, unable to stop it. Fifteen years felt like seconds, like you never even left. Like you were those same young best friends dancing around your feelings, your truth. And you were so beautiful, spinning and swaying and your dress following you as you did. You laughed and it was melodious, you were so unaware of the eyes on you, of Patrick’s eyes. They met Art’s from across the room and a knowing smile spread up his old friend’s face. He raised his drink in their direction and Art nodded back.

Time might have made Art a little bit harder, colder, but you made him right back into who he used to be before life existed. Your light was brighter than the strobes spinning the walls of the room. You got him into it with a nearly-sixteen-year-old promise. The music loud, but just dull enough to hear you. Art was drawn back into you like you were a magnet. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have you. That he didn’t get that life with you. But you were here and you were still so perfect.

The dancing had somehow melted itself into something slower, though the pace of the song didn’t change. It was almost a hug, the way his hand slipped around your waist. It felt familiar and you… smelled the same way you used to. So sweet. Your arms around his neck, close to him. It wasn’t even a thought in either one of your brains that you ended up this way, but it felt right and you just did it, so that’s how you were. Swaying, like a slow dance, and the end of the song rolled around, the music dulling to only an instrumental.

You pulled away just a little, your faces just a little bit close. “I think it’s best we went our separate ways. It would have killed to me to stay your friend and watch you and Tashi’s life in person rather than in pictures.” You said quietly. “And if I’m honest I think I might still be a little bit in love with you.”

Art met your eyes at your confession. You looked like you regret what you said, but the concern in your eyes changed, eased. You could still read his expression. “I did love you too, you know.”

“I know.” You smiled. He grinned a little sheepishly, his grin still the same. His eyes were soft and he looked at you like he always did. Such a familiar gaze. “And I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For still feeling the way I do. After what I did.”

“You’re not alone in it.” He admit with a small chuckle. And you giggled. And it felt like nothing else existed in the entire universe. Just you. Just him. He wasn’t blunt, but it was definitely still said. It really could ever only be you, no matter what. Even with Tashi, it was always you. A first love that could never truly be erased, despite the countless mistakes and sins of youth. It hadn’t worked, but looking at you now, he had that hope again. That it might.

You just continued to sway to the music. The promise to dance whenever you asked fulfilled. There was peace in saying what was left unsaid for so many years. There was peace in feeling it still. Feeling how he did about you was the most consistent thing in his entire life. He wasn’t who he had to be with Tashi, he was who he truly was with you. His big career in hindsight, his past with Tashi, his life that didn’t include you was behind him.

Patrick did wander over when the song ended. He came and stood beside you both, the lip of his bottle resting against his mouth. You and Art shared a look before you left the position you were in, hands slipping back to your sides. He was grinning a sly grin. A familiar one from back in the day. Knowing.

You just tsked, “You need to shave.” You said. Patrick just grinned, laughed.

“You too.”

“Really?” You laughed. “Okay, I see how it is.”

Art chuckled. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this. As much as he wanted just you and him, the three of you together were something entirely different. Who wouldn’t miss the better days? The three of you got a little more caught up, Patrick was free to reveal his position as a double agent in your teenaged slowburn that never really fizzled out… You and Art didn’t mention anything said during that dance, but he knew without being told. Everyone who knew you both knew that you belonged together. The night was still young, but Patrick lowered his voice. “I have an ounce in the car.” He said, shrugging. The three of you shared a look and in minutes the three of you were hiking across the schoolyard. Adults. Stupid adults with stupid nostalgia, laughter echoing across the empty courts as you all walked down the hill.

Art moved the dead leaves and under it was still that circle of rocks. The dirt had somewhat filled it, but it was still a bit of a divot. And the logs had thinned out but they were still there. You sat next to Art like you always would. You turned your body to face him and you just looked at him, studying the way his face had changed, his hair… but it was still very much so the boy you’d loved years ago. He looked over at you and he smiled and it was a reflection of so many years ago. The exact same spots, the exact same people, the same reason to sneak away.

You had hoped you hadn’t overstepped. You didn’t come to the reunion to say what you said, but it was right. And you knew Art felt the same. He said so. The three of you stayed and talked for hours like nothing ever changed. Time could never truly change the three of you. No matter who fucked who, who married who, who went where, who did what. It was always you. It would always be you. And that aside- you and Artwould figure that out- it would always be the three of you. Proven by your very own lives.

taglist: @swetearss @lalalandofive @xoxog0ssipg1rl @bayleequits @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa

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robin-evry · 3 months ago

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𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 🐲🐲

A dragon is a magical legendary creature that appears in the folklore of multiple cultures worldwide. Beliefs about dragons vary considerably through regions, but dragons in Western cultures since the High Middle Ages have often been depicted as winged, horned, and capable of breathing fire.

Ps : this headcanon has a lot of references to dungeon meshi my new favorite anime

( English is not my first language )

since dragons are one of my favorite mythical beings and the world has their own version of the dragons in their own culture, I'm planning on making two or more of different types of dragon!yuu head Canon and so I'll be starting with the western style dragons.

I imagine they have 3 forms of transformations.

( the first : human form ) one is basically their human form, the form where they usually interact with people. But some of their dragon features would still appear like their tail and horns

( the second : chimera form ) is basically basically their human form as the upper body while their dragon forms as the lower body with 2 pairs of large wings.

( third one : dragon form ) is just their full dragon form

The second form would be 11 meters. and the third form would be 30 meters. Depends on you guys headcanon, dragon!yuu could have feathers or not, you guys can add in your own unique features on them, I also imagine them being able to use magic and having some sort of healing factors

First scenario : basically dragon!Yuu were confused about where they were and their first instinct is to attack because they might get captured and so it leads to a dragon!yuu vs multiple students and staff, trying to detain them or calm them down. After a while they manage to calm them down.

Second scenario : they appear the same way in the game, in the coffin and when grim was setting the school on fire, dragon!yuu manage to save multiple students from the fire and cast a spell to stop the fire.

when fighting the overblots, I imagine them fighting in their chimera form and by flying to the sky opponent in hand and then crushing down their opponents to the ground, very effective or not they might use their tail to launch their opponent backwards and then cast a spell on them. But don't worry when the battle is down, dragon!yuu will heal the injured characters using recovery magic or ressuraction magic to heal damages That might be permanent.

Malleus and dragon!yuu would definitely build a connection with each other, both of them came from dragon descendants. They would definitely have a deep relationship with each other whenever or not it's platonic or something romantic depends on you guys.

imagine dragon!yuu has a habit of hoarding things they might think is precious, I imagine dragon!Yuu shows it off to people that are the closest to them with so much pride.

Dragon!yuu would also have a large appetite, they can eat an entire cafeteria worth of foods in one day without troubles but they have to suppress their appetite to make sure most of the students get some food. So they usually go hunting for food in the forest or somewhere else. They also have a strong digestive system to the point it can withstand Lilia cooking without troubles and also with a little help with their healing factor abilities.

#disney twst #twst headcanons #twst scenario #twst mc #twst x reader #twst yuu au #twst wonderland #twst yuu #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #malleus x reader #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #dragon!yuu

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am-i-interrupting · 5 months ago

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Connected Stars

Summary: A moment between Aaravos, his daughter, and his wife.

Tags: Season 6 spoilers, autistic!reader, autistic!Leola

Once Aaravos thought he was living a life that was perfect. Oh, how wrong he was.

It took him time to realize but time was something he found himself having much of. He thought that life was pondering the mysteries of the cosmos but those mysteries paled in comparison to what he had now.

He looked up from one of his many books and out the window. On fields of green grass he saw you and his precious unicorn. Neither of you had a care for the rain that was dripping down onto your horns and hair.

In fact, it was rather the opposite. The two of you relished in it.

Leola had her head down but a bright, shining smile on her face. Her arms were tucked near her. Her hands flapped back and forth, shaking the water off her hands.

Your head was tilted backwards with a soft, content smile on your face. Your arms were stretched upward. Your hands clenched and unclenched like you were grasping at the rain.

Both of you jumped up and down.

Leola’s height was big. She moved up high. Her knees curled close to her body. Her legs bumped against her arms. He could hear her shrieking laughter from inside.

You didn’t jump as heigh. Your feet barely left the ground. When they reconnected with the earth, they were in a different spot than the last though. You spun in small, tight circles.

Aaravos stood from his desk. His work was something he could continue another time. This joy you shared with your daughter? That was precious. No tomb could ever hope to capture it.

For a moment, he watched the two of you. Leola’s laughter a more calming sound than the rain could ever hope to be. It soothed aches in his soul he never even knew existed.

With all the noise, it took no effort for him to sneak up behind his daughter and stop the rain from touching her skin with his upper body. It didn’t take but a moment for her laughter to stop.

Her head slowly tilted up before she shrieked.

Your relaxed posture snapped away. In less than an instant, your hands were poised to cast a spell. It was only when you saw your husband that your hand fell and the tension left. What replaced it was a flat expression that caused his smile to grow.

Leola ran from her father and he darted after her. It took no time for Aaravos to scoop her up within her arms. He shifted her to his hip as she reared her head back with a final shriek before her hands reached up, mimicking your own movements moments before.

Aaravos’s eyes softened as he looked from her to you. With his eyes on you, you began to spin once more. Your arms spread like a bird by your sides before they moved to the sky like your daughter’s.

Even with your eyes closed, it did not surprise you when Aaravos’s free hand grabbed your waist. Your hands swayed to the tune you hummed as they descended down. It was memory that allowed your hands to find his horns. They moved down into his hair and then to his neck.

His hand traveled up your side, past your shoulder and to your chin. He led you and you followed blindly into a kiss.

“Let us go inside,” Aaravos said.

Leola’s eyes shot open as she groaned. “Noooo,” she dragged out.

“Daddy’s right,” you said. “We wouldn’t want our precious unicorn to become ill, would we?”

You poked the tip of Leola’s horn.

“No,” she said softly.

Her finger curled around a section of Aaravos’s hair. The wet strands latched to her fingers. His hand moved back to your side as he led the two of you back inside.

#tdp spoilers #aaravos x reader

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happy74827 · 7 months ago

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And… Action?

[Colt Seavers x Actress!Reader]

Synopsis: In which a minor… stunt caused the meeting of the stuntman himself who always seemed too busy, too focused, and too far away {GIF Creds: fleursial}

WC: 1121

Category: Mega Fluff, Suggestive Ending?

Why is there still so little of Colt?? I don’t understand it 😭

『••✎••』

It wasn’t unusual for you to find yourself staring at Colt Seavers from across the set. You liked him, liked the mysterious presence he displayed. Sure, half of it was because you never had the courage to approach him, despite how friendly he was with the rest of the cast and crew, but he always seemed so busy. Plus, your character never needed to interact with the stunt crew so you didn’t have a reason to walk across the lot. And even if you had, your scenes wouldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes anyway.

However, when the very last scene of the day was called, everything changed for the better. You were moments away from leaving the set, having already said goodbye to almost everyone else, with the feeling you weren't going to see Seaver ever again.

Until he bumped into you, quite literally.

You let out a surprised gasp, almost dropping your script as you stumbled backward, but a pair of strong hands were quick to steady you by your arms.

"I am so sorry, miss… woah," he said as he looked down at you, taking in your face for the first time, his hands still resting on your upper arms. You felt yourself go red, suddenly unable to look him in the eye and instead opting for looking anywhere but.

"No, no, it was my fault; I should have watched where I was going," you said.

He shook his head and released his hold on you. "You’re… man, you are really beautiful," he said.

"What?" you asked, surprised.

"I mean—uh, you were really beautiful… out there! On set, you know," he corrected himself, and you swore you saw a faint blush form across his cheeks.

You bit your lip and finally found the courage to meet his gaze. "I appreciate the compliment."

"Yeah, no problem. How come I’ve never seen you around here before?" he asked, crossing his arms and tilting his head in curiosity.

That right there… it took everything in you not to melt right then and there. You could see the indentations of his biceps from under his tight-fitted jacket, the arm cross just amplifying them. It didn't help that you also just barely came up to his chest, which, while intimidating, also made him all the more attractive.

You swallowed thickly and averted your eyes. "Well, I never needed a stunt double, so…" you trailed off.

"Yeah, that’s fair. Totally get it, yeah." He clicked his tongue and nodded, looking away momentarily. Before you could turn to see what he was looking at, he squinted, looking back down at you. His hand peeled away from his arm to hover in front of you.

"Colt," he said, extending his hand. "Name's Colt Seavers… I’m kind of a big deal around here. You know, doing car crashing, rope climbing, cliff-diving stuff," he explained with a smirk.

You let out a small, quiet giggle as you reached for his hand, giving it a shake as you stated your own name. His hand was big, rough, and calloused, no doubt from years of hard work and training, but it was warm. A strong grip, but ever so gentle.

"I, uh, do the acting stuff." You repeated his words, and his smirk broke into a smile, one that nearly took your breath away.

It was then, looking at his smile, that you realized the opportunity before you.

You had to say something, had to tell him, and you weren't about to let this opportunity pass.

"I think you're pretty beautiful, too," you said, and that caught his attention, his eyebrows raising.

"You do?"

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod. "Out there… on set, I mean."

He let out a short laugh, his hands moving back to his pockets. He was sort of swaying, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. It was adorable.

Alright, you needed to do something. The fear of letting another moment like this go to waste was far too much. So many guys had slipped through your fingers because of your hesitance—a real shame, too, considering how most of them weren’t even remotely attractive.

But Colt, though…

"Listen, um… maybe I'm jumping the gun here, but would you like to—"

"Yes," his answer was nothing short of immediate. “Absolutely, yes… yeah hundred percent, yeah- yes… yes."

It took him a second, took him a long second, to realize you hadn’t even finished your question. His eyes went wide as fear evidently started to creep in.

"Shit, uh- sorry. Yeah, uh… yeah, I'm listening. You can keep going." He motioned with his hand for you to continue, and you had to suppress a smile.

Well, this is definitely promising.

"Maybe we could hang out sometime? Have dinner or something?" you suggested.

"Dinner, yeah- dinner is good. Dinner is… great. I love dinner. Dinner is, uh… dinner is great," he stammered, and you couldn't help but give him a small laugh, one that was cut off when his eyes went wide yet again.

"Sorry, I'm just… yeah, sorry, I'm just- I'm gonna… hey, can I get your number?" His question was followed by him digging into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone, which was cracked beyond belief. “Not so I can bother you or anything, not that I would- I mean unless you wanted me to bother you, I guess, which- no, sorry. Just, like, text you, I guess, yeah.”

Your eyes went wide at the state of his phone. "How does that even work?"

"I'm a pro. Just a quick swipe to the left and a few presses, and it works fine, see?" He tapped the screen a few times before opening his contacts, and he handed the phone to you. "Here."

"You know what? I'll just put it in my phone if that's okay," you said.

"Oh, yeah, yeah- absolutely," he said, nodding. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable, yeah."

You quickly punched in his numbers and sent a text, a small, simple message. One that escalated to where you were now, weeks after that dinner, his hands roaming your body as he pressed you against the door of your new and current trailer.

You should’ve known you weren’t going to run lines that day.

A stuntman running lines?

Yeah, right. He runs through scenes instead, and… this was definitely a scene.

God, how ready you were for that first take to start.

[@kcisahoe + @adeesthetic] Since you guys asked so nicely, here’s another Colt fic!! There needs to be way more out there because he’s just so… 🤭🤭

For all you Tom lovers out there, don’t worry!! I didn’t forget about you. He’s in the works so I’m praying my work/study schedule aligns with me finishing it 😅

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werewolfghoul · 2 months ago

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Ghoul teeth headcanons anyone? (Hey tag spam and long post! Sorry ^^') - 🐕

ALPHA: Alpha's teeth are large and dull. They were once sharp and pointed, however, because of his terrible chewing habit, they have gotten marginally duller. Despite his duller canines, he has a throat and tongue similar to a penguin, covered in backwards pointed spines.

OMEGA: Omega's top teeth are flat, and so are the majority of his bottom teeth. However, he does have two tusks that peek out from his bottom lip in an orc-like manner. They are about 5 inches or 12 centimeters in length and need to be kept maintained.

CHAIN: Chain's teeth are similar to a shark's, all of them being sharp and regenerative. However, Chain only has one row of deadly teeth, but frequently gets them knocked out or loses them. He can be missing teeth one day and have brand new ones the next.

BIG EARTH: Earth's teeth are entirely flat, resembling a goat's or other grass eating field animals. This is also an evolutionary result of his extremely long tongue not having enough room in his poor mouth.

LAKE: Lake has no teeth. He is completely nonverbal and cannot speak if he tried, he can only make small noises. Unlike other water ghouls, he is most closely related to his element. He does not need food, so he has no need for teeth to chew.

AERO: Aero's canine teeth are retractable, but aside from that feature, his are most close to human teeth in the cast of Opus/Infestissumam ghouls. Similar to Vampires in modern media, he can retract and detract his fangs. However, this is for intimidation and not sucking blood.

IVY: Ivy's teeth are also very similar to a goat's mixed with that of a human's, his underbite leaving him a bit of a snaggletooth exposed from his jaw. It's very rarely seen from stage because of his mask, but without it, it is one of his most distinct features.

RIVER: River's teeth are piranha-like. Unlike Chain's, they are not thick and sharp. His teeth are small line needles, opening his mouth to reveal a line of unevenly sized sewing needles. He was evolved to eat smaller creatures, hence why he does not have massive and tearing teeth.

DELTA: Delta's teeth are flat and hidden in the back of his throat like a goldfish's. However, he does wear dentures since he worries about scaring the Papas or his human fans and friends. Whenever he eats, he takes them out and seemingly swallows food whole, chewing in his throat.

COWBELL: Cowbell's teeth are more adjacent to an actual cow's. He only shows the bottom row of his teeth when he talks, because he does nor have an upper layer of teeth. He is a pure vegetarian simply because he is not evolved to eat meat.

MIST: Mist's teeth are sharp, jaded like the spine of a porcupine. She has to wear protection under her mask considering they scrape the inside of her mouth when she plays. She also needs her mouth guard to sleep. Because of the way she evolved, it makes her having her mouth closed very uncomfortable.

IFRIT: Ifrit's teeth are nearly identical to a wolf's, just featured in a smaller maw. He has long canines on his top and lower jaw, a gap between his front teeth and his canine so his lower canine can comfortably place in his mouth. His back teeth are also extraordinarily sharp, his mouth was made for ripping and tearing.

AETHER: Aether's teeth most closely resemble a human's out of the whole cast. He has regular molars and slightly sharp canines but not to an inhuman extent. He is the one who manicures Omega's tusks!

DEWDROP (WATER): Dewdrop's teeth are varied and also resemble a human's, but with the unfortunate twist that they are completely retractable. He usually is toothless whenever he is by himself, but unleashes his teeth on stage or in questionable situations. Similar to how cats use their claws. Sometimes they go away or come out on their own without his say, which annoys him deeply.

ZEPHYR: Zephyr's teeth are normal as well, but he has two layers of them. This is because he has evolved to open his mouth and protrude the outer layer to make himself seem scarier despite his dull teeth (considered dull to other ghouls). He can also unhinge his jaw like a snake! Which lets his mouth look bigger and scarier than it is as well.

PEBBLE: Pebble's mouth is almost a beak if it wasn't for the sharp teeth circling around the inner part of his mouth, just bordering his throat. Unlike the other Earth ghouls, Pebble's mouth almost comes off as more of a predator mouth than that of prey.

MOUNTAIN: Mountain continues Big Earth's legacy with the flat teeth, still akin to a goat's. This is more fitting considering Mountain's body resembles a goat strongly as well. However, his teeth are rather crooked, so he currently has braces to fix their appearance.

CUMULUS: Cumulus's front teeth are much sharper than her back teeth. Her front row of teeth can be mistaken as a carnivore's, but her back molars are very useless for chewing meat as they are just as dull as Mountain's. She does like to use her bitey front teeth to spook her friends, though.

CIRRUS: Cirrus has the sharpest teeth out of the ghoulette's, even rivaling Mist's. However, she evolved to avoid Mist's plight of uncomfortable teeth. Her two large canine teeth are constantly exposed, poking out from under her lips. They look like the fangs of a Sabertooth, if not as long, length and thin but extremely sturdy. They are venomous when she chooses them to be, but work as a sedative and not a poison.

SWISS: Swiss is... Well, his teeth are very regular on the surface. His teeth are rather normal, a bit sharper than your average ghoul. His special feature regarding his teeth and mouth is the fact he can show his gums similar to a threatened dog. His gums are black, like most ghoul's, but contrasting with his pearly whites can be a frightened sight if you are in the middle of a dark room.

RAIN: Rain's teeth are sharper than a normal person's, but not quite shark level like Chain's. It is very clear that Rain descended from the same generational evaluation that Chain and Mist did, his teeth being thick and sharp, and he has two long canines right beside one another.

SODOMIZER (FIRE): Sodo's teeth are still somewhat retractable, but other's have permanently stuck in place. His fangs got sharper after the element transformation, making it much more difficult to retract them or the surrounding teeth. Overall, his teeth just got much sharper and similar to Ifrit's but not quite as canine-like.

SUNSHINE: Sunshine has a row of sharp teeth on her upper row, her lower jaw being much duller. She has a bit of an overbite as well, leading to her mouth being open a lot of the time. Her canines are her sharpest teeth, thick but sharp on the ends. She has kind of the "classical monster" mouth.

AURORA: Very similarly to Swiss, Aurora's teeth are not her main attraction. She is a snarler, even unintentionally. Her gums go farther down onto her teeth than Swiss's, so even when she smiles, it gives off the ominous impression of a grimace. Her teeth themselves are quite sharp, only a tad sharper than other ghouls, but duller compared to most.

PHANTOM: Phantom's teeth are very human-like since he is very evolutionarily close to Aether, he didn't really have a need for large fangs or harsh bites.

PHIL: Phil is a shapeshifting ghoul so his teeth are pretty varied. However, for interviews, he usually sticks with the classic human look, or sharp canines and nothing too excessive.

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metamatar · 8 months ago

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As the 19th century gave way to the 20th, the caricature of the enemy shifted more decisively from the West to the Muslim. As the desire to homogenise the Hindu community took hold, Hindu Right organisations began engaging with Bengal’s marginalised castes in a way the Left did not even contemplate doing till the late-20th century. The slow incorporation of lower castes within the Hindu fold went hand-in-hand with the steady expulsion of Muslims from the national body.

Organisations like the Bharat Sevashram Sangha and Hindu Mahasabha played a crucial role in both processes, often providing what we can call intellectual justifications for such strategies. If Mukherji propagated demographic fears, the Mahasabha and the Sangha worked on the ideological mission of keeping the Hindu community together. This required preventing restless and assertive lower caste communities from breaking away from the dominance of the upper caste bhadralok.

Founded by Swami Pranabananda in 1917, one of the Sangha’s primary missions was urging Hindus to fortify themselves as an unbreachable, unified community. Such a mission called for an end to caste discrimination and the practice of untouchability. To achieve its ideological ends, Hindu organisations identified tribals and Dalits as their primary target groups. [...] The campaigns, aimed at reorganising the village economy, carried out social work in backward areas. [...]

By 1926, the Sangha ran more than a dozen ashrams in areas of eastern and southern Bengal dominated by marginalised caste communities. The organisation founded Hindu Milan Mandirs, conceptualised on the lines of mosque gatherings, apart from launching Rakshi Dals comprising armed volunteers to defend Hindus against enemies. This movement for the assimilation of Hindus (Hindu Samanvyay Andolan) worked on multiple registers. The Hindu Milan Mandir provided spaces to hold prayers, conduct rituals and festivals, and deliberate on issues related to Hindu society. The young were taught history, the elderly given an education in the Shastras. There were libraries with books on Hinduism and the Hindu way of life. Schools of martial arts training were set up for self-defence.

Through the 1930s and 1940s, both the Mahasabha and the Sangha worked in tandem to fortify the Hindu community as one. Even as the BSS urged upper castes to end untouchability, it also asked lower castes to integrate themselves with the larger Hindu community by giving up their “hatred” of upper castes. These organisations wanted to direct Dalit anger at Muslims, representing them as the primary other and threat to Hindus. The Sangha’s spaces of Hindu congregation, Pranabananda believed, would facilitate organising as a homogenous, non-porous community. They served, or at least attempted to serve, the purpose of subsuming smaller oppositional caste-based identities into a sweeping fold of Hindu identity. Such a ubiquitous Hindu identity, proponents hoped, would steer groups away from caste antagonism and towards building a Hindu Dharma Rashtra. In some ways, the scale and operations of this intricate organisational network resembled the structure of the RSS, founded in 1925. During riots and famines, Hindu Milan Mandir volunteers would rush to the aid of Hindus, collecting monthly subscriptions and food from each member.

#caste #hindutva #excellent article on sanskritization and hindutva #and the murder of caste politics in general i guess

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witchofthesouls · 6 months ago

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I am haunted by Miko/Tarn.

I have a very specific AU for this pairing. A combination between that soulmate ask and this Other ask where the kids are dealing with post everything, including their heritage.

The Primal Artifact is Quintus' Emberstone that cyberformed the young adult trio into full-framed Cybertronians.

Each of them eerie in their own way...

Jack is definitely something bird-related. Dark frame and dark wings, glossy raven-black, a face as pale as a moon, and blue optics with a grey cast. Has an armored coat.

Raf has his draconian heritage on display. Bulky and overlapping segments of plating. He's sharp. Angles and spikes on his broad frame. More reptilian features.

Miko is a War-Forged Seeker. She's not a small nor sleek femme. Way too much teeth with optics that remind her of her yōkai ancestress.

Because Miko's bloodlust and frenzied states grew exponentially with her new form that actually began to turn her into a liability on the field. Ratchet can't keep up with her brute force and savage style, so-

Here comes June Darby, who makes a deal with Soundwave inside the Shadowzone.

Who better to help a War-Forged Seeker who was once a human with seablood than the very mech that tied with the Champion of Kaon.

The Nakadai family still have cultural practices and beliefs that stem from the sea. Unlike the red string of fate, they have something that's considered far more intimate.

Soulsong or Dreamsong. A harmony from another that is compatible with your very essence.

Miko has one. She dreamt of it. Over and over. It was one of the first things she learned how to play on piano.

The Empyrean Suite.

Of course, the Decepticon Justice Division makes it way to Earth. Not only is it the last stand of High Command, but Tarn can actually get a proper location of his fated bondmate. What was once a whisper to muffled broken note is now a blazing presence.

The vibe I'm going for is that Meg Boggs meme:

Miko: "I don't want to be strong like man who look ✨️ pretty ✨️. I want to be strong like bitch that fights bears in the forest!"

Tarn: "She's thinks I'm pretty."

______

Miko's increasingly worrisome measures to put Tarn off, including playing more into her more ghastly yōkai traits, but it just endears him even more because he's an obsessive freak.

Tarn: "She's beauty. She's grace. She will rearrange a face."

(Everyone else watching Miko rip apart a carcass with her jaw strength and many serrated teeth, trying to be as gross and gorey as possible.)

Jack and Raf: What a fucking simp!

______

Soundwave's and Ratchet's attempts to stay busy and disappearing acts because Miko wants to shake them down on what's sexy versus hideous to their species.

Ratchet is a Medical-caste (middle-to-upper) Autobot has no idea how to help her, an ex-human turned morbid Seeker femme. Not with the backward 'con culture of territoriality and savagery, but he doesn't want to be the one who breaks it to Miko that fated bondmates and Resonants are a huge cultural phenomena across Cybertron.

Soundwave has been a major pillar of the Decepticon movement and complied Tarn's dossier, including his neuroses... Soundwave doesn't need telepathy to know it's a lost cause because Tarn gets interested, he becomes obsessed.

______

Running joke that Tarn finally got pegged, and it's by a wild animal. A magic, demon fish. Not Megatron.

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asvterias · 6 months ago

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𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟩: 𝖲𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝖸𝗈𝗎, 𝖵𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖬𝗎𝖼𝗁

the cast // series masterlist

chap. 1 || chap. 2 || chap. 3 || chap. 4 || chap. 5 || chap. 6 || chap. 7 || chap. 8

‼️ DISCLAIMERS FOR THIS CHAPTER ‼️

#ScrewYouVeryMuch, #NoTalkAllTongue, #MuscularGirlsCanGetIt, #NoThoughtProcessJustWords!

Flirty!Reader, Clueless!Energetic!Reader x Pussyblocker!Adrianna x Annoyed!Clarisse, Reassuring!Sympathetic!Reader x Angry!Flustered!Clarisse, Kinda Player!Clarisse, Protective!Reader x Defensive!Clarisse, Iconic!Reader x Hidden!Impressed!Clarisse

Detailed Making Out Scene, Slight Intimate Wandering Hands, Slight Innocent Hand Touching, Clarisse is kinda a bitch to reader, Our Fav Couple First Fight 😔, Words can really REALLY hurt 😢

Bashing of Parents, Mentions of Dead Parents, Coping with Grief and Losses, Calling out on mindless behaviors, Future Gf who’s quick to call you out on your shit and still loves you regardless of the situation (Absolutely Reader), Both Reader and Clarisse are in the wrong in some way, A LOT Angst At The End

Italics Alone are Reader’s Thoughts

Bold Italics are Other Various Character’s POV

word count: 5.4k+

tag list: @starless-nightz @starvviss @lov3rgiiirl @random-girls-loves @coolgirl458 @kjisbae17 @s0r0ws @a-fucking-sappho @lvc-lv @watchesstuff

author’s note: anyways, i hope you liked this chapter! please don’t be a silent reader and interact within the chapter. uh oh 😕, reader’s and clarisse’s first fight, not going great for the future couple so far, let’s hope they’ll make up soon.

🌊 🐚 ✘ 🔥🗡️

CHAPTER 7, EPISODE TWO

“Unless you never had a first kiss.” You feign clueless, hiding back a smirk. “Oh my god, that’s so hilarious.” You laugh, wiping a single tear from your eye. Her fingers remain around your upper thighs, barely moving, too scared to overstep any boundaries you might have personally established.

“Shut up.” She seethes, gripping the clothed flesh around your thighs tightly. The La Rue girl ignored the fuzzy feeling in her chest, causing tiny goosebumps as your fingers lightly brushed against her bare skin.

“Oh yeah, Ms. Confident, why don’t you prove it then?” You challenged her, closing the gap between your faces. Just like that, the heat rushes back to Clarisse’s face, leaving her a stammering fool for you to witness and tease again.

A small whimper left her mouth, and although she tried to play it off, it was too late as you already heard it.

Why couldn’t she control herself around you? What made you so special that her heart was fluttering like never before? Is it bad if she doesn’t want this abnormal feeling to stop? This feeling is new and thrilling for her, and she wants you to continue whatever you do.

“Don’t tell me that you’re getting shy all of a sudden.” You tease her, a smirk adorning your lips.

All of a sudden she quickly regains her senses, shoving you to the ground as you scramble to make it back on your feet, and your confidence shimmers down immensely.

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” She stalks closer to you as a predator does to its prey. The Ares girl chuckles, watching you back away.

You stumbled backward until your back hit against a rough surface, one of the many trees surrounding the camp.

“I’m not going to lie but seeing you stumble away makes me want to just pounce on you.”

“What are you, a damn cougar?”

“I could if you want me to be.” The demigod replied nonchalantly.

Keeping your eyes locked onto Clarisse’s, you noticed that her eyes were shifty and she was agile with her movements, keeping up with your pace. Soon enough, she stormed up closer and you flinched, turning your head sideways, avoiding it, missing the way, her face dropped at the sight of you scared of her.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, pretty girl.” She gently reassures, performing the triangle trick on you, “Wouldn’t want to scar you in any way, you’re too gorgeous for that.”

You seemed to miss the action of her eyes lingering on your face, especially your lips.

“Then, what do you want?” You questioned her.

Clarisse was being weird, one minute she was dedicated to kicking your ass, courtesy of your brother, and the next minute, she was being flirty with you.

Which one is it? Is she mad at you or flirting with you? Does she want to have a hot angry makeout session with you or not? Regardless of what her final decision is, she needs to confess it so you won’t be all desperate in anticipation.

To be honest, you were loving the attention, partially skeptical of the recipient but regardless, her flirty remarks made you swoon. You stared at the girl, waiting for an answer but her face remained neutral, restricting any sort of hint.

Her face hardened, still a glimpse of sincerity, tone indicating boldness. Clarisse wanted you to break first, “I want you.” The small smile crept upon her lips as she analyzed your body language.

Did you hear that correctly? Clarisse La Rue wanted you?! Don’t fall for it, Y/N– oh fuck it, you already did, eh, who’s it gonna hurt? Besides you got her exactly where you wanted, distracted and with all of her attention directed at you.

Suddenly butterflies in your stomach appear as you flutter your eyelashes at her. Your balance falters and your body heated up as your shocked gaze meets her fierce gaze. You gulped, avoiding her stare as you awkwardly rocked onto your feet.

Were you dreaming? You certainly have to be dreaming.

There was no way Clarisse wanted you, figuratively or literally, simply refusing to believe that possibility. This whole thing is weird. Clarisse is being extremely weird. Why would she want you anyway? You just met her, and she’s attracted to you already? There was something wrong, and you were determined to figure it out before it was too late, ending up with you hurt in the process.

“From the moment we met, I felt something for you, and I just didn’t know what it was. That was until Aphrodite’s daughter told me…”

You’re the first to call bullshit but decided to play along, wanting to see the outcome.

This piqued your curiosity even further, “What’d she tell you?”

“I don’t know, I refused to accept it.”

She has no absolute reason to lie to you.

“What do you–“ You were simultaneously confused and flustered, sufficing that you were so dangerously indecisive for your following words, “Well, you can’t have me.”

“Hmmm…..” She peers, closing the gap, your noses are now touching as you feel the warmth overtake your cheeks. You swore you saw her lips curl up into a knowing smirk as it disappeared just as it appeared. “And why’s that?” She inquired with an eyebrow raised, the jealousy bubbling beneath her veins, “You have a little boyfriend back home? Sorry to break it to you, doll, but you’re not returning back to the real world, not unless you were chosen for a quest.”

“Whatever.” You scoff, lightly shoving her and she cautiously stepped a few feet back. “My love life isn’t any of your business. You don’t see me asking you about your love life, now do you?”

She cockily smirks, tilting her head which makes your knees weak, “I wouldn’t mind it.”

All she heard was a wicked laugh erupt from you.

By your reaction, Clarisse’s frustration and annoyance replaced her confidence. “What’s so fucking funny?” Her eyebrows bunch up together in irritation, squinting her eyes at her.

“You…” Your laugh dies down, “When I arrived at this camp, I didn’t expect the big bad bully to be this flustered over me.”

“Get over yourself, water girl.” She groans, crossing her arms as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t get flustered by anyone, especially over some random girl who just arrived at this camp in the span of two days.”

Yeah like, because she’s been extremely convincing so far. How truly delusional is she? Not that you’re one to judge, coming from another delusional girl. Come on, you’re self-aware, not hypocritical, and have some dignity.

You clicked your tongue, totally unconvinced by her, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, La Rue.”

If she was gonna lie to you, it wasn’t your problem anyway. She wasn’t your responsibility, she wasn’t your girlfriend…not yet anyway.

“A good sparring session helps me.” She managed to inform you of that.

“Oh, I can tell,”

“Wanna do a 1 on 1 sometime?”

“With you?”

“No shit Sherlock,” She bites back a smile, “Would you rather spar with somebody else?”

“No, no, no, if it’s with you I’m great,”

“Don’t expect me to go easy on you either, Matthews.”

“Why not?”

“C’mon, you singlehandedly took down a Minotaur, that was pretty badass if I do say so myself. You must have some skills in fighting, right?”

“I don’t!”

“You don’t?”

“Yes, I don’t,”

“So how’d you beat and mercilessly killed a freaking Minotaur?”

“With a sword and shit ton of adrenaline…perhaps a bit of vengeance too.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess that makes sense,”

“Done with the questions?”

“For now, Matthews,”

“Great,”

She rolls her eyes, getting back onto the current topic, “So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Don’t act dumb right now, Matthews.” The curly-haired girl snapped, a scowl resting upon her lips.

“I’m not acting dumb, you didn’t give me enough context for me to understand.”

“Do you actually have a boyfriend back home?”

“Why are you so curious? I thought you don’t get flustered by anyone, especially me. What’s with the sudden switch up?”

“Okay,” She ignored your questions, knowing you wanted a reaction, “How about a girlfriend?”

“Still not any of your business.” You retorted back. Clarisse scoffed, folding her arms and glaring at you. Figuring out she was getting madder at the minute and it only urged you to further push her to the edge.

Are you wrong to think every emotion Clarisse expresses is kinda attractive, certainly excluding her sadness? Probably not, but you kept that to yourself.

“Would you stop being such a smartass, and just answer the question?”

Hmmm…no! Where’s the fun in that? Lead her on, stray away from the topic, and just do whatever to keep Clarisse on her toes. It’s definitely more entertaining than fighting with her.

“Enough about me, let’s talk about you.”

Clarisse became shell-shocked, “What!” She stared at you in disbelief, “This isn’t about me, this is about you. I wanna talk about you.”

“So you admit you care for me?” You grin slowly at her.

“Those words never left my lips.” The Ares girl was quick to defend herself, “Y’know what just forget it, it’s obvious you’re single.”

She began to saunter off, annoyed by your tactics, and proceeded with the camp game. You were quick to follow behind, still wanting to converse with the hot-tempered girl.

You didn’t expect Clarisse to be an amusing conversationalist, but she was, further entertaining your attention, and increasing your chances of winning Capture The Flag.

“C’mon ask me again, I promise I’ll be completely honest.”

A faint smile tugs at Clarisse’s lips and she stops any further movement, turning around to face you once again.

“Now let’s start our conversation again.”

“Of course,”

“Are you or are you not in a relationship?”

You shake your head at her question, this time being honest like you promised.

“I prefer words over gestures, pretty girl.”

“No,” You grumble, folding your arms, “I'm not dating anyone.”

“That’s more like it.” She hummed appreciatively.

“Is that all you have to sa–“

She grabbed the front of your shirt, balling it into her fist, any ounce of hesitancy soon hindering. With a swift tug, she crashed her lips onto yours, kissing you with the utmost passion you have ever experienced.

Too stunned to react, you reciprocated the kiss as your eyes fluttered closed, melting into it. The kiss became more ferocious as her hands moved downwards, pulling you by the waist closer.

Clarisse might be a cold, ruthless girl but her lips, and her kisses tell a different story. How could someone be so cold but her lips be so soft and alluring?

Your hands caress her face, gently rubbing on her smooth skin and her hands wrap around your waist as the kiss deepens. As her hands linger on your jeans, trailing slowly directly onto your hips, and settles her hands there, gently squeezing it.

“Is this okay?” She whispers breathlessly against your lips, disconnecting the kiss. Her eyes were hooded and her lips were already swollen as she stared at you.

“It’s fine…” You nodded.

“Good,” Was all she breathed out, maintaining her grip on your hips and her eyes locked onto yours. Her lips were magnetic, immediately finding her way back onto yours again, reconnecting the passionate makeout.

Squeezing the clothed-covered piece of flesh frequently, Clarisse’s calloused hands enjoyed the fabric as you inhaled and shuffled during the kiss. You both breathed in slowly, not slowing down the kiss but keeping it consistent.

Soon enough, the kiss started to become more intimate, hands wandering across the other with light touches grazing over the exposed skin. It was too much to handle, too hot to handle for either of you, but that was a stupid thought disappearing at the back of your mind as the makeout intensified, too engrossed with the warmth provided. Your lips pressed firmly against her lips, molding perfectly together, but the intense passion didn’t stop the makeout, it was the lack of air that was desperately needed.

Clarisse bites down on your lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, causing a small whimper to escape your mouth. The Ares girl grinned at the reaction, kneading her lips with yours, pressing harsher to produce more blood.

Pulling away from the kiss, you stared at her, “Promise me that you won’t bully my brother anymore.”

For a moment, it looked like Clarisse was desperate to feel your lips again, that hunger and pleading look in her eyes. It made your heart swoon and almost gave in to her needs, but you knew better. You weren’t gonna make it easy for her, she’d have to earn it.

“Yeah, whatever.” Clarisse easily agrees, shocking you to the core. For a girl who was defined as fiercely stubborn, her compliance caught you off guard.

“You’d actually listen to me?” You inquired.

“Yeah, as long as you promise to keep on kissing me.” She indulged, eyes still hooded and lips swollen.

“Pinky promise me.”

“What?”

“Pinky promise me that you won’t hurt my brother anymore.” You urged her to interlock her pinky finger with yours.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadass,” You blinked, wiggling your free pinky finger in her face, “Now pinky promise!” You whined at her reluctance.

The Ares girl sighs in amusement, a genuine smile overtaking her features as she interlocks her pinky with yours, sealing the simple promise she can try to maintain.

“Yay!” You grinned happily, keeping your fingers locked a little longer than usual before dropping her pinky from your grip.

“Is that all?” Clarisse quirked an eyebrow.

“Hmmm…for now, but of course!”

“You’re a piece of work, Matthews.” She chuckles.

“For your sake, that’d better be a compliment,”

“It definitely is, pretty girl. Now, can we resume our makeout?”

“That can be arranged.” You smirked at her, pulling her in for another kiss but froze at the sudden scream of someone.

“Just so you know this game is called Capture the Flag and not capture each other’s tongues. My eyes are officially scarred because of that.” Adrianna piques, surprising the two of you.

You stared over at your best friend, giddiness overtaking your features, “Oh hey, Adri, this is…” You gestured to the girl in front of you, “Clarisse…”

“We’ve met before.” Adrianna rolls her eyes. “Can’t say I have the energy to befriend a hot-tempered girl such as Clarisse.”

Clarisse distanced herself away from you as she turned to face Adrianna.

“Adrianna.” Clarisse disdains.

“Can you stop making out with my best friend? We have a game to continue.”

“What does it look like we were doing, blondie?” Clarisse snarks, irritated by the girl’s intrusion.

“Something my blessed eyes weren’t supposed to set sight upon,”

Clarisse scoffs, taking her spear out of your hand gently and storming off, to finish the game.

“Can’t believe that you’re so easily distracted,” Adrianna frowns, crossing her arms with a disapproving look, “That kiss might have meant something to you, but it’d probably meant something totally strategically with Clarisse. For all we know, she might have used you as a decoy for her plan.”

“Well, I am a very pretty decoy, thanks for the compliment,”

“That you are, but try not to get too carried away at the moment, especially with Clarisse.”

“Why’s that?”

“Haven’t you heard, Ares kids don’t do love at all, just because their dad had a fling for Aphrodite, they see no use for love and I don’t want you to get hurt,”

“Trust me, I can handle myself.” You reassure your best friend.

“I believe that, but I still worry for you,”

“What do you have against Clarisse?”

“It’s nothing, personal Y/N, our dads have bad blood between them, which is supposedly genetic. According to other Ares and Hephaestus children, they manage to get along well, just not me and Clarisse.”

“That’s just a bunch of bullshit.” You commented.

“My intuition tells me that she’s not done messing with you,”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Y/N, why are you such a dumbass? Of course, Clarisse didn’t actually like you, she just used you to her advantage and had some fun with it too. That’s it, you’re never falling for her traps ever again– no matter how alluring her lips are– snap out of it Y/N! She tricked you and she’s currently going after your brother to plummet him into an early grave!

Huh, that makes more sense.

“Oh no!” Your eyes widened in realization for your brother’s safety, “Percy, she’s going after Percy! We have to get to him before she does!”

Adrianna winces at your panicking state, “It might be too late for him, Clarisse is known to be pretty vengeful,”

“Not helping, Adri! I’m not being down one less brother! Already down two mothers, not losing any more family anytime soon! Let’s go!” You grabbed her wrist, tugging her along with you as you sprinted in the same direction Clarisse did.

Why does life just happen the way you hate?! Why couldn’t things work in your favor for once? And she promised you. Who breaks pinky promises?

Finally stumbling onto the scene, spotting an array of trees and an outlook of the lake. You spotted two girls lying on the ground, hopelessly defeated, as the aftermath of Percy’s and Clarisse’s fight settled down.

Witnessing Clarisse’s enraged face, looking down at her spear, crouching down on the ground. You gulped as she slowly came to the realization of her now broken spear. Her hands shakily held onto the bottom half of her spear as you anxiously waited for her next actions.

You heard a deafening scream break through the silence of the woods, escaping from Clarisse’s mouth.

Shit, that’s certainly not good!

The Ares girl quickly arose to her feet and stalked menacingly towards the blonde boy, ignoring his flinch. She gripped Percy’s breastplate and pulled him closer to her, glaring down at the boy in hatred.

“Clarisse!” You shouted, running up to the two.

She glanced at you, her eyes softening slightly and her terrifying grip on Percy loosened at your presence. Instantly, she switched back on her mean facade, bringing him closer to her, and scaring him even further.

Despite being a cold girl who fought for everything, you saw her for who she truly was…a sad girl, clinging to the validation from her father, who often despised that. You couldn’t really blame her either. Parents have a big reflection on their children’s lives, mostly shaping out to be a mirror-like version of them.

No wonder, she’s a glorified daughter of Ares himself.

She liked the fear that she held over other people. She liked being in control, knowing everything; including people’s fears so she could manipulate them to her advantage. It kept her balanced and calm from being a constant raging ruckus of a demigod teenager.

Walking up to them, standing between them and you looked at Clarisse. “Let him go,” You calmly commanded, your tone firm and assertive.

She huffed, contemplating whether to listen or not.

“I don’t like repeating myself at all. Let go of my brother and deal with me instead,”

Percy breathed out a sigh of relief, feeling her grip on him loosened and was no longer met with her flushed angered gaze.

“Thank your sister for saving your ass.” She shoves Percy away from her, causing him to fall to the ground. Adrianna helped him up off the ground, distancing him from the infuriated girl, waiting for your control of the situation.

Clarisse avoided your gaze, rendered speechless to say anything as you stared at the girl.

All of a sudden, campers came running and screaming in victory, gaining the four demigods’ attention. With Luke leading the victorious team, the red flag clasped in his hand and sticking the item in the dirt, reclaiming their win.

You grabbed the top half of her spear from Percy’s hand and hesitantly rested it in Clarisse’s palm. Gently you closed her hand, letting the broken weapon linger there as you held onto her hand, a form of reassurance.

You didn’t know what you were reassuring her about but you felt the need to be the one to reassure her. Not anyone else, just you, and just you alone. Pretty sure, Clarisse wouldn’t allow anyone else but you attempt to comfort her anyway.

You felt her shudder slightly under your movements, her breathing shaky as her mean facade broke down.

“I’m so sorry, Clarisse…”

Just like that, her mean facade instantly countered again, like a mask.

“Yeah, whatever, sorry isn’t going to fix my spear, now is it, Matthews?!” She shoved your comforting hand off of hers.

Oh, so she was pissed, pissed, pissed. This might also be extremely difficult to subside her raging fuel of fire for your brother at the moment.

“You’re right, it’s not,”

“I know I am,”

“But you can’t just blame my brother for all of this!” Stop while you’re ahead, Y/N. You’ll only make it worse for yourself and others. As a matter of fact, fuck it, can’t get any worse than it is. “You are at fault for some of this too!”

There we go, it’s all out in the open now, and there’s no way going back! God, you didn’t hope it’d come back to bite you in the ass.

“Blame him?! I’m not blaming him if it’s the truth. This is all his fault!” She protested, glimpsing at the young blonde boy, standing a few feet behind you.

Ohhhh, so she wants to play the blame game around here?! Checkmate, then, you got something for her ass, alright.

“For starters, you bullied my brother and attempted to shove his head in a toilet,” You stepped closer, pushing her back, jabbing her chest with your fingers as you continued to go off. “Let’s not forget that you planned an unsuspecting and unfair fight against him with your sisters! I admire the determination to defend yourself after embarrassment but still…! You can’t pin all the blame on Percy, take responsibility for your own fucking actions, Clarisse! Did you really think you were going to walk away unharmed?!” You exclaimed, “You’re many things, dangerously hot being one of them, but you’re not stupid, we both know that.”

She got up close, her nose flaring in anger, smacking your hand away from her chest, “Fuck you, Matthews! Just because we interacted twice doesn’t mean I like you, I barely tolerated you.”

They had to be lies. Yes, they certainly were lies. But were they actually just lies or was Clarisse just holding back the truth from you?

You didn’t know why you felt your heart clench in sadness at her statement or why your stomach churned in uneasiness.

“Then why’d you kiss me like that?”

God, you hoped that didn’t sound pathetic or embarrassing.

She blankly stared at you, “Oh, please, you think that kiss meant something to me then you must be extremely delusional. For me, it was strictly strategic for my team to win.”

Although she was acting entirely different during your makeout sessions, purely dominating it, and now it’s official that it was all decoy, probably pretending to enjoy that too.

You didn’t know what to believe anymore. Whether she liked you or pretended to like you for her benefit. Either way, you know one thing. You weren’t going to fall for her tricks anymore, no matter how convincing they were.

“And yet you still lost, what did you truly win? Cause I can guarantee, it wasn’t Capture The Flag that you won!”

“Come off it, Matthews, it’s not like you didn’t have a plan of your own and we both got what we wanted out of it. So stop taking everything to heart and move on. I don’t like you and probably never will.”

“Fuck you too, La Rue! It’s not my fault you won’t admit you’re also wrong in this situation.” You yelled, fury overwhelming your mind, “Besides, it’s not like I claimed that I had a crush on you, so you need to get the fuck off your high horse and stop blocking or pushing down your emotions because it’s only gonna hurt yourself in the long run. I’d hate for you to feel it when it’s too late. Still, I hope when you feel it, you should feel it, hard, like your whole world is collapsing and there’s nobody to support you.”

She swung her spear head lunging at you, missing barely by your quick instinct to dodge the incoming hit. Still, she managed to scrape across your lower arm, wincing slightly at the forming gash.

“Why didn’t you dodge my spear?!” She furiously asked, glancing at the injury she caused. “Why did you just stand there? Did you want to get hurt?”

“Because I didn’t expect you to use your spear against me?!”

“Whatever,” She rolled her eyes, venturing forward, observing your bleeding wound, “Is it bad? How deep is it? Go get it checked out at the infirmary.”

You pushed her away from you, “What’s wrong with your emotions? This is exactly what I’m talking about! One minute, you’re furious with me then you’re so concerned about a stupid gash that you caused?! Get your emotions in check, La Rue!”

“Shut up,” She murmurs, avoiding eye contact, “Feelings are very confusing.”

“Trust me, I know,”

“Stay off my ass for one second, can you?!”

“No, I don’t think I will! Did you really hurt me just because I’m being honest with you?! Real classic, La Rue, always ready to fight and avoid confrontations. Is it a genetic thing, a trait you inherited from your father?”

“You don’t know anything about my father!” She snarled.

Looks like you hit a fatal nerve within her, and instantly regretted it, swallowing down your guilt, “Fuck, Clarisse, I didn’t mean that–“

“But you did mean that! At least, my father has the decency to claim me! You’re just a lousy nobody with a lying little brother, so stop bitching to your friends about being a demigod and get used to it! It’s your life now and it’s Percy’s life now. What just happened with Percy, was only a preview, to show you for the real world because those monsters are ruthless and bloodthirsty. If you aren’t careful, you’ll die out there, just like your moms did, all weak and alone, all because they were humans.”

She scoffed, brushing past your shoulders harshly and storming off, probably back to her cabin for some privacy.

How did she know about your moms’ deaths? You didn’t tell her, and she doesn’t seem to be the observant type.

Percy saunters over to you. “Are you okay?” You held back tears, staring at your younger brother.

“Of course, I’m okay, but are you okay?” You clicked your tongue at his question. For once, you couldn’t give him an honest reply.

“I’m always okay, why would you ask that?” You shrugged off, struggling to keep the tears from falling.

“What happened in the woods with Clarisse?” Percy pressed on, “Did you give up your first kiss to Clarisse?”

“It doesn’t matter anyway!” You snapped, “She doesn’t matter!”

Well…that was a fucking lie!

Yet, in the back of your mind, you hated how she still did matter to you, even though she completely disrespected your moms’ deaths. God, you hated feelings but loathed your feelings regarding a certain La Rue girl. Why couldn’t your dating life just be simple for once? Why did it have to come crashing down before it even started?

Why did you say what you said? Why did Clarisse respond the way she did? Everything was so confusing and annoying to you at the moment, overwhelming you with a whirlwind of emotions.

Forget about Clarisse La Rue, you can always find someone else. She’s not the only girl in the world. But that’s the problem….you don’t want any other girl. Why is liking Clarisse La Rue so goddamn hard?! Whatever, it’s clear she doesn’t like you, so accept the rejection and move forward, that’s all you can do at this point.

“Not bad, heroes.” A familiar voice rang out.

“Bad timing, Annabeth.” You rubbed your temples as Adrianna gave you a comforting hand.

Annabeth appears from her invisibility cloak, lifting the cap above her head, and stalking closer.

Percy breathes out, “Were you here the whole time?”

She looked bored, coming closer, “Yes?”

“You were here the whole time and you didn’t help me? Before Y/N came to my rescue, you couldn’t help me?!”

“Yes.” She replied monotonously.

“Why?”

“Listen…Percy…” She seems sorrowful for a second but it quickly diminishes. “I’m sorry, both of you.” She was apologetic, yet determined to follow through with her plan.

Eyebrows furrowed together in confusion when Annabeth pushed you two by the chest with the uttermost amount of strength, sending you back into the lake.

The two siblings landed in the lake with a loud splash, immediately getting soaked.

“What is wrong with you?!” That gained everyone’s attention.

“Are you crazy, Annabeth? This is not how you apologize to people you just abandoned! A decent dessert would be nice for an apology treat, not a freaking soak in the lake!” You exclaimed, appalled for words, “We have got to work on your apologies later on!”

Drenched and weighed down by your clothes, you weakly stood up as Percy followed in pursuit. You turned to your brother in shock, rendered speechless as you watched the phenomenon unfold.

“What’s happening to your cut?” You questioned, gesturing to the disappearing cut from his left cheek.

He touched his cut cheek, seemingly disappearing as it did on his arms.

“More like what’s happening to that deep gash on your arm,”

You looked down at the gash on your arm that Clarisse gave you, watching it fade away in nothing like the wound never existed.

“I don’t understand.” You whispered, glancing at Annabeth.

The young girl stared at the two siblings, more like something above your head. Tilting your head upward, you gasped in astonishment at the glowing turquoise trident, lingering above you and Percy’s heads.

“Your dad’s calling.” She smirks.

“You two have been claimed by Poseidon, Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Y/N Matthews, and Percy Jackson, children of Poseidon,”

Huh, guess you were right about being forbidden children, kinda regretting saying that now. Damn it, you hate it when you prove yourself right!

“Oh, fuck me.” You groaned. If single-handedly killing a Minotaur didn’t give you enough attention, then being a forbidden child of Poseidon would definitely bring all unwanted attention, especially from bloodthirsty monsters.

Why couldn’t you be normal? Why couldn’t your life just be normal and boring? Why did your dad have to be a powerful god? Why did your mom meet your dad and willingly sleep with him? More importantly, why were you born a half-blood forbidden kid?

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#her pretty girl series #clarisse la rue series #dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x black!reader #clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader #daughter of poseidon

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sebastianswallows · 2 years ago

Note

hello!! i started reading dangerous and delightful and i am so hooked on it LOL. i love how you write sebastian sm. i saw one of the tags was breeding kink 👀👀 and so i was hoping (if you are taking requests) if you would be able to put a little fic together for that? i don’t think i can wait for it to happen in the story and need something to satiate that thought now LOL

Alright so, this was a hard one 😂 But I finally have it for you, nonny. I'm sorry it took so long!

As I mentioned in that little preview snippet I posted the other day, I had a conflict on whether to write this as con or noncon, and ended up going with noncon cause it just... fits. And you said in another ask that you don't mind, so... I'm hoping it's all satisfactory 👀

Anyway, here goes! Probably the filthiest thing I've written for this fandom yet.

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader (characters are aged up)

— WARNINGS: smut, angst, noncon, vaginal penetration, breeding kink, size kink (Seb is a big boy), creampie, cunnilingus, dirty talk, a bit of bondage, wet & messy, manhandling, fingering

— WORDCOUNT: 12k (yes it's long af)

He kissed her. It was gentle, but his big broad hands held her face still and she couldn’t get away. She muttered into the kiss — in surprise, outrage, shyness — but wouldn’t know what to say even if she were allowed to speak. Sebastian’s soft lips caressed hers until he noticed that she wouldn’t stop struggling, and then he kissed her harder. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her body flush against his, and kept pressing himself into her — his chest, his legs, his mouth, even his breath that fanned hot and fast against her cheek. She moaned and mumbled and scratched her little nails against his shoulders, but it did nothing to stop him.

When he got tired of her trying to dislodge him, he parted his mouth from hers, frowned at her for a few frantic heartbeats, then lept down for another kiss while walking the two of them forward until her back was against the wall. The glance he’d caught of her face — shocked and a little tearful — broke his heart, but Sebastian was determined to see this through.

He could hear her try to say his name, all muffled into the kiss, but he couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t stop, until she gave up and submitted. His hands moved down to her hips to hold them in something between a tight grip and a caress — he wanted to caress her, wanted to love her, to show her how much he loved her… And if she wouldn’t have it willingly, he would have to make her take it.

He swallowed her gasp when, with a sudden jolt, he pulled her away from the wall and started walking her backwards to the bed. Finally able to move her head back, she dislodged herself from his kiss and started begging him.

“Please, Sebastian, you don’t ha—”

But then he leaned in to kiss her again, because he didn’t want to hear it.

The bed was narrow and quite old, as good as he could afford while in the middle of his research. The mattress sagged a little and the pillows were thin, the sheets a muddled brown with an ugly leafy pattern. He felt sorry that this was where it would happen… He’d imagined it many times, with her, and it was always somewhere better, something soft and clean and bright, something she deserved.

“Sebastian,” she gasped when he grabbed her by the upper arms and pushed her down.

Holding onto her with one arm in a bruising grip, he summoned his wand from the desk — a trick he’d learned from Ominis — and used it to undress her.

“Divesto!” he cast, and in the blink of an eye, all her clothes fell off her body and pooled around her ankles. Even her shoes were taken off her feet.

She yelped and tried to cover herself quickly. Sebastian used the moment to push her further on the bed and plant a knee between her legs. He kissed and kissed her as he laid her back against the pillows, his hands shakily caressing the body that he had only now just scarcely caught a glimpse of, but had so often dreamed about.

The high bone of a hip tickled a line across his palm as he trailed his hand upward, while the other held her right thigh apart. He felt over the smooth plane of her stomach, so tense, so warm, so soft, still dimpled with traces of her corset… Her hands gripped at his sleeves strongly enough that he thought she might tear them open — but then she grabbed his wrist with both of them when his right hand reached her breast. He cupped her while he sighed into her mouth, his face tense with pleasure, lips never ceasing to press his love into her mouth through gentle, tender, patient kisses. Nervously, he brushed a thumb upwards and caught the round little tip. He flicked it back and forth until it hardened, and then, like a loving peck, took it between three fingers and pulled at it a little. Against his mouth, he could hear her whining, pleading, stealing every breath she could against his frantic kisses in an attempt to say something that, she hoped, might stop him.

Her heart was nearly beating out of her chest — from the fear, the humiliation, the sheer shock of what he was doing — and her breath felt frozen in her throat. And only minutes ago, she had been so happy to see Sebastian…

He’d invited her over at around 8 o’clock, offering to have dinner together and saying that he needed her help with it — and she understood instantly what he referred to. She knew something of the nature of his research from what he’d told her through the past few months.

Sebastian had been searching for something he’d read about in a book recently translated from ancient Greek — a Casket of All, or Casket of Plenty, or something like that. It was said to be a container of modest size, probably a box or an urn, that, once opened, would grant the owner their every desire. But it had to be opened with a key, and when last she spoke with Sebastian, the only clue he had was the cryptic translation of a line that said the key ‘would already be in the owner’s possession’.

It was the sort of research that he needed wealthy sponsors for, people connected to the sort of wizards that could lead him in the right direction. He had considered the Notts and the Malfoys, among other even more nefarious sorts. It didn’t help that Ominis absolutely refused to introduce him to the wealthy pure-bloods he knew. In the end, Sebastian spent months ingratiating himself with the Lestranges by tutoring their eldest son, Cyrille, in the dark arts. It was perhaps as harrowing of an experience for the boy as it was for Sebastian, who had never had a particularly good relationship with teachers and found it even more awful to become one himself.

She, however, was very much amused. And whenever they went out together, be it for a picnic or for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, he complained and complained for hours how impossible it was to get little master Cyrille Lestrange to remember basic wand movements. It was supremely funny, in a way she couldn’t explain, to see Sebastian so frustrated with a child.

And after finally learning from Mr Lestrange where the Casket of All was, he travelled to it. She never quite found out where he went, but judging by the duration of the journey there and back, she estimated it was somewhere in Southern France or Spain.

Back in England, researching how to open the thing seemed to take even longer, and she saw Sebastian less and less often as he immersed himself in interpreting old texts and ancient poems. On the rare occasions that he would let her help, they’d spend all day and night and until morning lost together, going down a rabbit hole of synonyms for “opening” and “cleave” and “pour” — because it was obvious, as soon as Sebastian inspected the item, that the Casket was not opened by any conventional key. It had only a little orifice at the top, just large enough to let… something in.

And the meaning of ‘the owner already having the key’ had still evaded him the last time they saw each other — when she fell asleep over his chest on this very bed, his warm hand cupping her shoulder, his chest pillowing her cheek, her legs thrown over his… She’d woken up a little embarrassed and dazed, but Sebastian just smiled, so warm and tender, and brushed his finger over the indent left on her cheek from the fold in his shirt.

She hadn’t suspected anything untoward when she knocked on his door today. He’d smiled upon seeing her and let her in — looking tired but bright-eyed, as he often did lately — and nothing was different about the room except for a few more melted candles than the week before… He offered to take her out to dinner and asked if they should deal with the Caskey before or after.

“After, of course,” she’d said as she took her coat off. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve learned about it.”

His smile had been stilted and sad… Sebastian rarely had sad smiles. That should have been the first hint that something was wrong.

The second hint came when he told her that the key to opening the Caskset of Plenty was proof of consummate love… in liquid form.

It took a few awkward glances from Sebastian and a few more questions from her to drag it out of him that they had to make love. He’d invited her to his home that evening to make love. And the combined release of their pleasure, as he so delicately put it, once poured into that opening no wider than a child’s pinky, would open the Casket. He’d already prepared a vial for it, she saw it laying, nice and corked, on his bedside table.

She refused, of course. It was absolutely outrageous and insulting. Never mind that she’d been in love with him for years. Never mind that she counted the days until she could see him again. Never mind that her whole body flushed at the briefest idea of his naked body over hers. And now, his clothes were unbearably thick beneath her hands…

“Seb—” she muttered when she got the chance to, once his kiss let her breathe for one moment.

He only took a moment to catch his own heaving breath, and stared down at her with haunted brown eyes while his hands stilled on her body.

His room was cold and she trembled, but his hands were so warm… One on her breast — holding it, cupping it, caressing it with teasing flicks that drove her mad — the other at her thigh. And Sebastian kept looking into her eyes, only her eyes, pleading with her in his own silent way... Accept it. Take it. Take me. He leaned down again, slower this time, and kissed her once again.

He kissed her like he loved her mouth, like he loved her taste, like he wanted to take her breath inside of him and live off of it forever. His kiss spoke silently to her, telling her how dear she was to him, how badly he wanted her, how he had thought about this and dreamed about this for so long… It wasn’t even about the Casket anymore, if it had ever been.

She trembled beneath all that tenderness, overwhelmed by an intensity of emotion that had never been directed at her before — not by Sebastian, not by anyone. It was dizzying to feel so afraid, so exposed and vulnerable, but it was twice as dizzying to feel so deeply desired.

And then a shock went through her body and all her thoughts evaporated from her mind, when the hand at her thigh moved.

He still thumbed at the stiff little pebble of her breast, while his other hand caressed, slowly and almost shyly, the full length of her slit — up and down, up and down, over the surface of those plump folds in search of… something.

Sebastian gasped into her mouth when he found it, that little pearl she had, hidden in her intimate places.

She cried out into his mouth when his finger started rubbing at her nub at the same rhythm with which he teased her breast. Her back arched traitorously into his grip and her legs tensed on the bed, scrambling to get away from him.

But there was nowhere to go.

He held her legs down with his own, kneeling above them in a careful way so as not to hurt her, and he let as much of his weight as he safely could onto her torso.

She could only shake her head away from his kiss, leaving him to press his lips into her neck and down, down, down to her clavicle while she pleaded with him and insulted him in turn.

“Damn it, Sebas— STOP! You’re a m-monster! No, not— not like this!”

He answered by nibbling harder on her collarbone, all the while rubbing those two sensitive points on her body — making her burn from one teased little tip to the other, from beneath her legs all the way to her heart, making her sweat and drip over his sheets and writhe beneath him — until the heat began to spread in every little part of her body as if he’d cast some strange spell on her.

“It will be alright,” he whispered against her chest, his lips trailing messily toward her breast. “It will be good, you’ll see…”

“To hell with you!”

“I love you.”

“Get someone else for your stupid experiment!”

“I don’t love anyone else.”

She took in panicked breaths that shook her, and as long as she had strength she scrambled for some hope of freedom, but eventually, under the pressing weight of him, her legs stopped squirming. His breath fanned over her breast and she felt the heat of his face on her skin, so close…

“You don’t love me either,” she whispered tearfully, staring absently at the desk. The setting sun cast flaming blades over it, and over that terrifying Casket.

Sebastian sighed and took her nub into his mouth, still flicking the other. She trembled and cried out while he pressed her sensitive point between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, his lips opening in wider, wetter kisses as he tried to take as much of her flesh within him as he could.

Her nails left his clothes to dig into his scalp and try to pull him off that way. He moaned when she tugged at his hair — first in pleasure, then in pain.

“Stop thinking!” he growled, finally releasing her from his mouth. “Stop thinking and just let yourself be loved for once!”

He pressed his mouth to hers, as if afraid of what she had to say, kissing her breathless before raising himself to look at her again. His eyes were wild, but there was a certain innocence there that seemed out of place. With a look that was a mix of desire and fear, Sebastian brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and brushed her tears away. If being gentle and loving with her didn’t work, perhaps frightening her would…

“Do you understand what I will do to you?” he whispered. “Do you understand what I will do to you if you won’t be mine?”

She whimpered and bit her lip, too scared to even beg to be let go anymore, too limp to fight.

Seeing that she was quiet and scared, he signed and kissed her once again, slower this time, a languorous drip of love, love, love from dry lips onto a sweet surrendered mouth.

He let go of her cheek for a moment, and she was afraid that he would touch her body again — but it was even worse: he reached for his wand. Her eyes went wide; he was a talented wizard who knew more curses than she knew spells, he could force her to submit to his will in horrifying ways…

But instead of pointing some cruel hex at her, he only pointed it at himself.

“Divesto,” he whispered, and his clothes fell all around them. He brushed them aside with another wave of his wand like a soft gust of wind, and then he laid the wand somewhere out of sight, beneath the bed.

She couldn’t even remember where hers was anymore; probably in her coat pocket.

Her trembling was even stronger now as he looked down at her, and she looked down at him, at what parts of his naked body she could see pressed parallel to her. Sebastian caressed her cheek and smiled down at her fondly while her eyes drank him in — round shoulders, tapered waist, and a sprinkle of brown hair and freckles all across his strong, broad chest. She blushed fiercely just at the sight of his skin against hers, let alone the intoxicating feeling of it, the intense intimacy of the moment. His legs felt warmer as they laid across her own, his hips narrow and straight above her softer ones, and against her stomach, she felt…

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his smile dampening to something even gentler. “Don’t worry, not yet…”

His hands took hold of hers and pressed them down beside her head while he gentled her with kisses — from her lips to her chin and her cheeks, trailing upwards to her forehead and around her hairline, each kiss more patient and innocent than the last.

“You don’t have to worry about anything while I’m with you,” he whispered into her hair, breathing her in deeply. “I’ll protect you from everything.”

“Will you protect me from yourself?” she hissed bitterly against his neck.

Sebastian chuckled and leaned close enough to kiss her lips once more, his mouth just resting against hers. “What do you mean, darling?” And at her tummy, she felt his manhood laying heavier, pressing into her soft flesh. “I’m protecting you from myself right now,” he murmured into her mouth.

She whimpered unhappily into his kiss, her eyes squeezed shut in a stubborn frown, but Sebastian chuckled, and caressed her again, and started kissing from her mouth back down again while his hands both slid down from her wrists, her arms, her shoulders, to her chest. He held the birdcage of her ribs between his hands while his lips declared his affections in little pecks and licks and nibbles that went down, down like waterdrops, until his mouth hovered over her heart. He could nakedly see the thin bones moving up and down with the flutter of the heart beneath.

“Just let yourself be loved,” he whispered against the core of her chest, “let yourself be loved by me.”

Above, he heard her whimpering unhappily again, but she had no words left to say to him. She had surrendered with her mind and body, although not with her heart — not yet.

“If I could only make you see how much I care for you,” he sighed, lips kissing gently down her torso, “how much I want with you… have wanted you… and for how long…”

He kissed her stomach now, hands coming down to hold her hips. Sebastian’s eyes slid up to hers for a moment and saw there a more urgent kind of fear, like an animal in a trap — the same wide look, the same fear and hatred, the need to escape, to escape him.

There was a tension in her stillness now that he had not felt before. He almost warned her not to do something foolish, but thought better of it. While holding her gaze, his hand left her hip to slide beneath the bed, and almost as soon as he held his wand again he pointed it at her arms, binding them with a red length of summoned rope.

“Wh—?!”

She was at once surprised and angry with him, looking from her bound wrists back down to him, his face so close to a place where she was so vulnerable.

“I want everything with you,” he said as he held her gaze — scared, furious, and desolate — in his — resolute and fierce.

He scarcely finished saying it before he kissed her, right on her lower stomach — right where her womb was. His eyes were closed in a serene, dreamy way. He opened them again and looked right up at her, and kissed a little to the left, and then a little to the right, roughly where her ovaries would be. It was such an unassuming part of her body, but he knew how special it really was — as magical as any enchanted Casket, as capable of creating wonders inside of itself, and all the more deserving of his desire and greed and possessiveness. Sebastian worshipped this part of her while he took in deep breaths, filling his lungs with her scent just like he filled his mouth with her taste. He wanted all of her to be in him, just like he wished for all of him to be in her.

She frowned as she looked down at him in fear and somewhat confusion — did she really not understand, or did she just not want to understand? Did it, perhaps, not cross her mind why he liked this part of her so much? Why it meant so much to him? Why he lusted over it?

Sebastian parted from her lower stomach with a teasing lick and moved himself a little lower. Her eyes broadened in shock, but he continued to kiss her, more and more intensely.

“I love you,” he said again, “I love you,” as if he was finally telling her some long-held secret, a secret he could no longer keep to himself.

“Seb—”

He kissed her mound. Her legs twitched and she kicked him in the ribs, but it was dull enough that it didn’t even hurt him.

“STOP!” she cried.

He smirked and opened his mouth for a wider kiss before shifting even lower... He held her legs now with his arms, elbows at her knees, palms holding down her thighs. His lower body was almost completely off the bed, but the discomfort hardly mattered.

With a whimper of desire, Sebastian held her thighs apart with his thumbs and gazed at her, right at her. He felt his eyes go dark, lidded in a satisfied way at this sign of his conquest. He could look at the most shameful parts of her, and she couldn’t stop him. And she was so beautiful, so fragile looking, so maddeningly enticing. It made his stomach twitch and his manhood stiffen and his mouth water.

“Please, stop!” she begged, “d-don’t! Let me go!”

“Stop what?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

He continued to hold her, looking at her directly, making up for all the nights he merely dreamed of having a glimpse of this part of her.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked.

She wouldn’t answer, her lips stuck in a shocked, revolted, angry gasp, words so jumbled in her throat that they got stuck there. Sebastian frowned at her silence, and instead leaned still closer, looking down at the thing that he wanted so badly. He had never seen something that could make him feel this way, that could drive him so wild in a way that he would do anything to obtain it. He wasn't ashamed of himself in this moment, not anymore — not ashamed of what he wanted, or what he was willing to do to get it.

He held her down more firmly and pressed his lips against her folds. She yelped and pleaded with him more, but Sebastian barely heard it. Her legs struggled in his grip and he could feel the bed jolting slightly as she tried to tug her arms free, but he only kissed her womanhood more passionately, pressing into her, dipping his tongue between them to lap at her little hole. She was wet against her tongue, and only got wetter as he serviced her.

To say he was desperate would be an understatement - he needed, wanted, craved her flesh and he had to have it. So, when she started to beg and plead with him, it did not make him stop, but it did fill him with a deep, all-encompassing anger. He pulled his mouth away from her for a moment, his words a mixture of affection and anger.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Do you want me to tie your legs down as well?”

She breathed frantically as she stared into his eyes.

“Please, Sebastian,” she whispered tearfully. “Don’t do this to me… Don’t do this to us… We had — we were —”

“We were nothing,” he said lowly. “Platonic, touchless, kissless lovers pretending to be friends, while we were neither one. I want us to be something. I want us to be both. I want us to be everything.”

“No, no, you just want to open that damn —”

“That’s not what it is!” he growled, his hands becoming tighter on her thighs.

He took a deep breath, his eyes softening, and then he kissed her lower lips again. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, it calmed him down — as if her taste was all he needed for a bit of happiness to bloom in his heart.

“It’s not about my research. It’s not about the Casket, not really,” he sighed against her delicate entrance. “I want us to be everything together. I want to have everything… with you.”

A plea got stuck in her throat as he dipped his head again and lapped at her greedily, and instead of saying whatever it was she was about to say — denials, rejections, refusals — she moaned. His thumb left her soft inner thigh to rub her pearl while he dipped his tongue inside of her.

“Sebastian!”

He let his groans of pleasure sink into her. She dripped on his tongue as her body welcomed him, opening itself up to him. His thumb flicked her little nub in brutal little motions while he fixed his lips around her core and lapped at her insides. She was so warm and frail there, and tasted so sweet, so raw… Sebastian moaned deep in his throat, his breath coming out in heavy pants that drove the scent of her womanhood up to his head and drowned him.

Slowly, the jerking of the bed stopped as she relented, her wrists laying still in their bindings. Her legs around him also lay now sapless, soft and cold on either side of his chest. Sebastian sighed and finished his tending of her with one last, long, deep kiss the sticky sound of which resounded in the room. He lifted himself from her on his elbows and licked his lips.

“So beautiful,” he sighed, his thumb pleasuring her slowly, coaxing her entrance into rhythmic clenches. “And still so tight…”

Sebastian gazed up at her. She looked ravaged. Her flushed face was damp with tears and her hair had fallen from its elaborate bun into a hazy mane that framed her face, sticking to the sweat on her forehead or streaking across his pillow softly.

“Every time I look at you,” he whispered, “I fall in love again…”

“Don’t say that,” she groaned, shaking her head. “Don’t say you—”

“I love you,” he insisted, swallowing the taste of her. “I love you…” And his thumb started flicking her nub again while the index of the other hand tickled a path up her thigh to poke at her entrance.

“Don’t!”

He looked at her intensely, breathless, watching every frown and tensing of her face while his finger eased itself past her hole.

“I have to, my beloved,” he whispered tenderly.

He pressed in almost shyly, then retreated, then pressed in deeper, making her moan. Her hips twitched beneath him, trying to buck him off. To soothe her, he flicked her nub a little faster.

“Shhh… shhh… there there,” he gentled her. “I just want to feel what you’re like inside…”

His thumb eased off her pearl and Sebastian leaned closer instead, touching it with his tongue for the first time. She yelped and her hips twitched, but he held her down firmly while working his finger deeper, deeper, a little bit deeper inside with each thrust. With a dark look in his eyes as he gazed up at her and a cheeky smirk, Sebastian curled his tongue beneath her nub and just let it rest there, holding that very sensitised part of her on the soft, warm, wet cushion of his flesh. He heard her moan loudly, her back arching — was this her surrender? — and she twitched on his tongue. He closed his lips around her hot little button and suckled on it.

“It’s too much,” she whispered, head thrashing left and right, hands twisting senselessly into the rope. “Sebastian, it’s… too much…”

He chuckled and sucked her deeper into his mouth without mercy. While she was distracted by this, he removed his index finger from inside her and moved it to part one of her plump folds, holding her open as he placed in its stead his thicker middle finger at her hole. Rubbing back and forth he opened her up a little more, a little more each time, making her more pliant, more wet for him. Her juices dripped out of her around his knuckles, dirtying her upper thighs.

She clenched when he reached all the way inside. Her whimpers were drowned out by Sebastian’s hungry moan when he felt the end of her on the tip of his finger.

“Aaah! Stop it!” she hissed through her teeth.

Her legs struggled out of his grasp and kicked until he caught one of them in his hand. He held her by the knee, close to his neck, forcing her open while he ate at her, licking and sucking and teasing her with kisses from her nub to her hole where his finger kept stretching her. He parted from her with a suckling pull at her folds that nearly hurt, then began kissing her inner thigh while he thrust his finger faster and faster, preparing her for what he was about to do.

“Why is it so difficult for you to accept being loved?” asked Sebastian, looking into her eyes. It didn’t even sound like a tease, it sounded as if he was… sad for her, and genuinely curious to know the answer. “You’re not afraid of me,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly, “not really… You’re afraid of being vulnerable. With me...”

She frowned at him angrily, and he could tell she was gritting her teeth from the clench of her jaw, but her eyes were so fearful and tender, spilling over with tears.

“You’re afraid of what will happen, aren’t you? When you allow yourself to be loved…”

She hissed a curse at him and tried to struggle more, turning her head away into her upper arm and hiding her face in it.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, easing a second finger into her.

She ignored his question and gasped at being so stretched, her back arching sharply. His fingers were thick and strong, those two already larger than three of hers together.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asked lowly, his eyes never leaving her face even as she tried to hide it. “I won’t,” he growled. “I’m working right now to make sure I won’t hurt you.”

And he shoved his fingers deeper, working them faster into her channel, making her leak into his palm and filling the air around them with humiliating sounds. Her thighs trembled and she moaned, her voice hoarse and breathless. When Sebastian decided to cruelly curl his fingers and press against the soft spot above her entrance, she cried out.

“Sebastian!”

“I’m right here,” he whispered, kissing her thigh while his fingers worked her faster and faster. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t leave you,” he promised.

“Sebastian, s-stop,” she mumbled, “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Can’t what, hmm?” he teased, letting his tongue dip a little lower and rest against her button. With every canting of her hips, she rubbed herself against him.

“Seb—!”

He smiled and lowered his lips to her nub again and kissed it lovingly, reverently, while he thrust his fingers into her harder, louder, messier — until he felt her start to clench. She screamed and thrashed, begging him to stop. Her leg nearly slid out of his grip, but he kept his mouth on her and pleasured her until it ended. It hadn’t quite been an orgasm, more the beginning of one, a shock of pleasure that had taken her over for a few moments and scared her.

Sebastian moaned against her hot little flesh and carefully pulled his fingers out. Almost immediately, he wrapped his hand over his manhood, slathering it with her juices, squeezing it to temper himself. It had been hard this whole time, tickling his stomach, drooling all over itself with how much he desired her.

She relaxed, her tearful wet face falling away from the crook of her arm to look down at him. Her gaze was so hazy he wasn’t sure she knew what she was looking at. Sebastian slowly made his way up the bed, arms pressing down on the bed on either side of her, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” he whispered hotly.

She bit her lip and took in deep, shaky breaths.

“Don’t what?” he said again. By this time, he was right above her, his lips hovering over her own. “What, darling?” he sighed, looking at her with nothing but love. His hands caressed her arms, rubbing them up and down. “How about we set you free, hmm?”

With a brush of his arm, the summoned tethers fell away. He caressed the soreness out of her wrists while he balanced himself above her, his knees on either side of her waist. Between them, his shaft twitched anxiously. His sac slotted itself right at the dip of her core. He smiled to himself at how warm and welcoming she felt down there, so wet he could feel her dampening him.

“W-will you let me go now?” she asked in a small voice.

Sebastian chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, that wasn’t enough.”

She groaned and began panting again, her body going from hot to cold with fear. Her arms slipped from Sebastian’s gentle massage and went up to his chest, trying at the same time to push him away and scratch him. His skin was tough, but he still hissed sharply when her little nails left pink welts on his skin.

“That’s it,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and holding them up. “Be good, now,” he said firmly, struggling with her on the bed, “be good for me…”

She grit her teeth at him and fought him all the way, her body weak and cold but more lively now that it was no longer dazed with pleasure. But she was no match for Sebastian, who was so much bigger and stronger, a dangerous man even without his wand. He held her wrists together and pushed her back on the bed, laying on top of her with all his weight.

“Let me go, please!”

“It’s alright,” he hissed, holding her wrists to her chest with one hand and brushing the hair from her forehead with the other. “It won’t be so bad, you’ll see…”

“Let me go, Sebas—!”

He kissed her into silence, swallowing her angry moans while he moved his legs between hers. His knees edged her thighs apart, and then he caressed down her side with his right hand until he reached her knee. He lifted it slightly so that he could fit even closer to her, and wrapped her leg around his waist, holding it there until he finished kissing her.

“I do love you, even when it doesn’t sound like it,” he sighed.

She frowned at him, but then she jumped in a little shock when she felt something hard and smooth against her core. Her lips parted, and she was ready to beg again — for a delay, for him to change his mind, for anything — but he kissed her again.

Sebastian closed his eyes as he drank in the sweet taste of her lips, dry and salty with tears as they were, swallowing her moans and pleas while he tried to find her hole. His hand left her leg to grab hold of himself and steady his twitching shaft.

“S-stop,” she muttered against his lips as she barely managed to twist her head away.

Sebastian’s mouth parted from her with a gasp when he felt her at his tip.

“It will be alright,” he whispered, his eyes aimed between their bodies. He couldn’t see much, but his heart thumped in his chest at the sight of his manhood, thick and throbbing, resting right at her entrance. “You’ll see, everything will be good…”

She didn’t seem to believe him, and instead struggled more and cried, and tried to pull herself away from him.

“Shhh…” he gentled her, frowning in his own kind of suffering as he eased the tip inside.

She cried and struggled in his grasp, screaming to be let go, crying again, thrashing on the bed, but Sebastian’s grip was strong even while he was so deliciously distracted.

“There you go,” he whispered, his head tilted back in pleasure as he felt her, he felt himself entering her. “There you go, that’s my good… good girl,” he moaned, biting his lip.

Sebastian let himself lay more heavily on top of her, curling his large body over hers. His forehead was braced against the pillow a little to the side so he could keep kissing her cheek while he worked to get as much of himself into her body as he could before he had to still himself. She was in pain, and as much as he wanted to take her, he had to wait.

She swallowed in greedy, deep breaths, the skin of her chest meeting Sebastian’s, parting in sweaty pulls after they stuck together. Her core still pulsed, struggling to contain the length that forced it open — and he'd barely shoved the whole head in.

They breathed together for long moments, her wincing occasionally, him moaning, both of their bodies aching for the other in ways that were obvious to the two of them -- she leaked around him, he leaked inside of her, easing the passage, helping her stretch, and their whole bodies were aflame even while so exposed in the cold air of the room. All the while, their hearts beat together, side by side.

Sebastian tried to slip a little more inside of her, pressing forward with his hips. His fist still held his member at her hole, keeping it steady as he pushed inside. He moaned and bit his lip at the warmth that met him.

“Aaah!” she cried, gritting her teeth as he conquered a little more of her. “S-seb—!”

“That’s it,” he cooed, “that’s it, my beautiful girl, my love…”

He was relentless, and didn't stop until the whole head of his manhood slipped inside. Around his waist, he felt her legs tense for a moment, and then give up.

Feeling her so limp around him, Sebastian let go of her wrists and braced himself above her on his arms, his face right above hers pressing gentle kisses that swallowed each wince of pain. His member was securely in her core, fighting against the tight clenches of her channel.

“Open your secret place to me,” he breathed, his brown eyes pleadingly looking into hers. “Let me come inside of you…”

“No,” she hissed. She shook her head weakly, although she didn’t even remove her hands from where they rested above her head, where he had placed them.

Sebastian groaned and leaned down to take a tight little bud in his mouth, and she moaned. He smirked against her skin — he knew she’d like that. He suckled on it while he gently thrust his hips, feeling himself dripping into her, his shaft pulsing, trying everything to ease his taking of her. He switched to the other breast, holding her puckered flesh gently between his teeth to lave at it with his tongue. It made her a bit more wet, but hardly relaxed her core. She winced every time he tried to reach deeper inside.

“Try to relax, my darling,” he sighed, lifting himself off of her.

With a soft look at her, Sebastian eased out — what a shock the cold of the room was after having been inside her — and slid once more down to her waist. She hardly had a chance to glance down at him when he took hold of her thighs and placed his mouth at her core again.

“What are you—!”

He started lapping at her hole again, but so much more passionately this time, tongue slipping from the bottom of her slit to deep inside her hole and flicking upward before going down again, lashing her womanhood with quick, maddening strokes again and again and again until he felt her begin to pulse.

She moaned and wailed in pleasure, confused about what he was doing but too dazed to care.

When he thought he pleasured her enough that she was more relaxed, he raised himself, gripped her hips, and shoved his manhood into her once again. It went in a little deeper this time. Sebastian moaned and shivered when he felt her juices dripping down his shaft all the way to the nest of dark hair at his base, like she was slobbering all over him.

His arms tensed holding him above her, but she felt so good around him, softer and wetter and just as feverishly warm, hotter and hotter the deeper into her body that he reached. He grinned as he looked down at her.

“That’s it, there you go,” he whispered smugly.

He let himself lean down with one elbow bent around her head, cupping her gently, the other holding him at an angle so as not to lay too heavily on her. And as he worked his way inside her, thrust by small thrust, he pecked little kisses on her lips.

“Seb-bastian,” she gasped, looking tearfully into his eyes. “I… I…”

“What is it, my darling?” he whispered, his thumb reaching down to smooth her tense brow. “Hmm? What is happening? Do you like it?”

“It… mmmm…” She bit her lip and frowned, closing herself off to him again.

“What?” he asked again, “What is it? What do you feel? What am I making you feel?” he murmured, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers.

She winced and turned away, her forehead set in a frown and her lips parted as she breathed out heavily. “H-hurts,” she whimpered.

He couldn’t resist her, couldn’t resist wanting to comfort her. Sebastian groaned and stopped thrusting, letting his manhood just rest inside her. His thumb kept brushing against her hairline, trying to soothe her, and he kissed gently all over her cheek. With a steady sigh, he slid his hand down her body, caressing her soft stomach on its way, and quickly found that erect button above her entrance.

“Ah!” she yelped, her hips canting upward at his touch.

He smirked and kissed the corner of her mouth and began rubbing her pearl in tight circles. With satisfaction, he felt her begin to shiver in the same pleasant way she did when he was licking her. His hot chest rested over hers, rough hair rubbing her already tight and tender buds as they breathed in heavily together. And then he started rubbing her button faster, flicking it messily until she could no longer swallow her moans down and she pulsed and throbbed — and that’s when he tried again to shove himself deeper inside of her.

“—bastian!”

“Yes?” he chuckled teasingly against the corner of her mouth.

“No, t-that’s… aaah, too much,” she said, her back arching.

“What is it, my beauty?” he asked sweetly. “Hmm? What is it?”

“I… I… mmm…”

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, her head facing away again. Sebastian quieted his moans by kissing her neck, taking greedy mouthfuls of her flesh, but trying not to bite too hard.

“What are we doing? You and I?” he asked hotly, his closed eyes resting in the dip above her shoulders. “Tell me… Tell me what I’m doing to you…”

“Y-you’re…”

“Yes…”

“You’re… t-taking me,” she whispered with a choked little sob — and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought she sounded pleasured by it.

He chuckled and reached up to kiss her lips, his fingers brushing her forehead gently.

“What am I doing, darling?” he asked again with fake innocence.

“You’re taking me,” she said quietly.

“And what are we doing together? What is it called?”

She whimpered, and he could hear her biting her lip. She couldn’t say it.

“Are we making love? Is that it, my darling?” he moaned.

“Sebastian…” she whispered, her voice full of defeat.

“I’m taking you,” he moaned. “And you’re taking me. Right here,” he moaned. “Right inside this little body…”

Sebastian looked down at her warmly and pressed his cheek against hers, rubbing her tears away with his skin while he kept pressing deeper.

“Right inside this naughty little hole that isn't used to being opened like this, is it? It's not used to it, is that right, my girl?”

He felt, more than heard, a moan bubble up her throat, and the movement of her head could have been a shiver, or it could have been a nod… Sebastian was entranced by the sight of her trying to take him, forced to submit to him, accepting — finally accepting — a bit of the pleasure he had to give her. But it wasn't enough for her, he could tell it wasn't nearly enough... It was his fault, he'd forced her, he'd scared her.

His finger had eased at her pearl, allowing her to focus just on the feeling of his length inside her, but she only clenched tighter — either from pain or fear or something else, he couldn’t tell. She was so tight now he could hardly move. Sebastian sighed.

“Let’s try it a little differently, my love,” he said, parting from her with one little kiss on her lips.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled his member out and lifted his sweaty body off hers for a moment. She breathed in deeply in relief, but then he cupped her hips and motioned her over, onto her front.

“W-what is this?” she asked in a tired voice.

“Something that might help you,” he smiled.

Sebastian brushed her hair away from the nape of her neck and kissed her skin while his fingers pet her sides. The bed felt worse this way, its rough springs almost digging through his flimsy mattress, but perhaps if she didn’t see him she might feel less nervous about the whole thing, and her body could accept him.

It was easy to move her, she hardly put up any resistance anymore. Sebastian set her on her knees and eased her down, holding her carefully and shushing her, until her chest lay flush against his pillow — and how delighted he was going to be from now on to rest his face on the pillow that her breasts had rubbed against. With his knees set on either side of her, he held his shaft in his hand and led it to her entrance again.

“Easy there, my love,” he cooed when he heard her wincing.

“Not again,” she whined, her hands clutching at the pillow in angry little fists.

“It will be alright…”

“No,” she complained, “I don’t want it… I don’t…”

It was harder to work his tip inside her this time, her hole opening and closing in such strong clenches that it got Sebastian to grit his teeth in frustration.

“You need to relax,” he said, one hand caressing her ribs, her chest, slipping down to cup her breast and hold it warmly.

She shook her head, forehead pressed into the pillow.

Hurriedly, almost angrily, Sebastian let her go and slid down the bed again, a growl crawling its way up his chest. While holding her hip with one sweaty palm and her ankle with the other, so that she wouldn’t kick him, he brought his face to her womanhood from behind. He stared at her clenching little hole, all red and sore and a little puffy, all his frustrations melting away at the sight. He brought his mouth down onto her again.

She yelped, she screamed, she twisted to look back at him in outrage, but he held her tightly and kept her there, to lick her pain again. It was quite different from his angle, but she felt that much more at his mercy this way, and Sebastian closed his eyes in delight. His tongue first came across her hard little nub then pet its way up it, as it were, from its plush hood to the erect tip and quickly falling into her throbbing hole. He curled his tongue until it met the edge of her entrance and he held it there, pushed in a little, easing it with loving and gentle licks, showing it how much he adored this part of her. He licked and licked and filled the air around them with messy, sticky sounds that scandalised her, but made her drip shamefully much on his tongue… Sebastian smirked and kept lapping and sucking, moaning right against her folds.

“You're so much sweeter when you're sore down here, did you know that?” he teased, speaking right against her most vulnerable place as he held her down, forced her still for him to pleasure. “You're dripping down my tongue... down my throat,” he moaned. “Like you're drooling from this little mouth,” Sebastian chuckled.

Vaguely, he could see that she had covered her head with both her arms while she moaned, hiding herself away from what he made her feel. He groaned as he laved at her.

When he felt satisfied that her womanhood was wet enough and pliant and sufficiently convinced of how much he cared for it, he got up on his knees again and settled firmly behind her. His member rested right between her folds, tapping against them — tensing up with every lustful twitch, then pulled back down by how heavy it was.

“Is it better now?” he whispered in her ear, penetrating her slowly.

She gasped and wailed into the pillow when the tip entered her again. She felt so exposed in this humiliating position, so vulnerable… It made her throb.

“Is it?” Sebastian asked again, his hot breath right against her neck. “Is it good for you like this?”

Steadily, holding himself to her hole, he pushed and pushed and groaned and pressed deeper until he was halfway in again, and then he rested his sweaty forehead on her back. His trembling hands gripped her around her waist as he steadied himself. Then, slowly, he moved one palm upwards to cup her breast before he began to pump his length inside of her.

“Mmm… that’s it,” he moaned, “you do feel better like this, don’t you?”

She said nothing, burying her tears in his pillow, together with her moans and whimpers and every embarrassing sound — both of pleasure and of shame. Sebastian was so hot against her back, his body broad and heavy and so firm, his skin tough but smooth, chest rough with hair, stomach flexing with each thrust, and the base of his manhood — so rugged it rubbed against her rear a little sore in a… not altogether unpleasant way, she blushed to admit.

Her traitorous womanhood opened for him, clenching hard then parting like a greedy mouth, and all it wanted was him — his shaft, thick and hot, leaking a sticky trail inside her with each shove. She felt him so deep she could almost taste him on her tongue.

When she started panting, rendered breathless from what he was doing to her, she tilted her head to the side — and now there was nothing left to hold back her moans.

“S—e—bas… aaah…”

“That’s it, my sweetheart,” he groaned.

His hand at her breast plucked her erect little bud, teasingly, moving sometimes to the other to not let it get too lonely, while around her waist his arm held her firmly against his front — as if he was constantly afraid that she could escape him.

“My darling, my lovely girl, my heart,” he rambled, pressing hisses against her shoulders and her neck and wherever on her back that he could reach, “my love, my one, my only…”

He groaned from the bottom of his chest when, with one long and stubborn thrust, he reached all the way inside her. She cried out and nearly burst into tears at the sensation.

“Sebastian!”

“Oh f— that’s…”

“Seb— it’s too deep!”

“Shhh, shhh,” he whispered against her hair, “easy… easy, that’s… oh, that’s… damn, that almost hurts me too, it’s so tight,” he laughed madly.

He stilled inside her, giving them both time to adjust, and slowly, she relaxed. It was as if the pain had pierced her and through her and left her behind with nothing but a feeling of... overwhelming fullness. She lay quite sapless on the bed, her hips held up only by his grasp around her middle. As Sebastian eased himself out a bit, she felt her core cling so tightly to his shaft that she nearly panicked for a moment, but then he shoved back in, and she sighed in relief and pleasure. It now almost felt like home to have him there… and she hated that she felt that way.

“Sebastian,” she groaned, pleading for… for something, she didn’t know what.

He cooed in a deep and breathless way, his lips against her ruffled hair, and he started to thrust slowly in and out. The hand around her waist relaxed enough for him to slip his finger lower, back on her abused nub, rubbing it again. Her hips jerked and she whined, but that didn’t stop him — just like nothing else did.

“You’re getting wetter for me,” he whispered hotly, “I can feel it… can feel it against… against my skin…”

With each thrust inwards, his heavy sac pressed against her folds. They throbbed right against it, kissing it in greeting. And then, he pressed himself even deeper, pushing her down, shoving her almost completely prone.

“My lovely girl,” he sighed, finally giving up on holding her upwards and letting her lay on her front while he pounded her into the bed. “My girl, all wet for me… taking me…”

Her blushing, tearful face was buried in the pillow again.

“Taking me while I’m taking you, isn’t that right?” he chuckled, resting his forehead on the nape of her neck.

Both his hands slid up her chest, each cupping a breast and holding it, letting her flesh rest in his hands while he shoved himself inside of her, pushing the breath out of her, harder and harder the more his manhood loosened her up. Every clenching of her was battered away, her channel opened up forcefully and held that way by his sheer girth. The heft and curve of his shaft aimed always his thrusts always slightly lower, against the soft spot above her entrance that made her way to cry.

“Seb—!” she gasped suddenly, raising her head from the pillow when the head of his member brushed against it.

“Yes? Is that good?” he moaned, hissing his way down her neck. “Is that good, my heart? Right there?” he teased, starting to deliberately beat away at that tender spot.

“Aaah! S-stop!”

“I don’t think so,” he groaned, “I’ll keep doing this to you until you give me what I want.”

“Please, Seb…”

“Until you give me what I want... and what you want to... Admit it... Admit it...”

“You’re mad,” she spat, sounding angry but being genuinely more afraid than anything.

She had never felt such an intensity of feeling aimed at her before, and it drove her to distraction that it would be kind and playful and bookish Sebastian who would give this to her.

But he didn’t seem to take kindly to the insult. With a growl through clenched teeth, he took his hands away from her breasts, one threading through her hair — gently, but threateningly — the other going to her stomach. She wasn’t sure what he wanted to do there, but then she felt it — he pressed slightly on her lower tummy, and right against her flesh, he felt himself.

“Do you realise how deep I am inside you?” he whispered angrily in her ear. “Do you understand… how much I love you? How much I… I want to be inside of you… With you…”

She tried to hide her face into her shoulders, her hands coming up to cover her head.

“And this is how you speak to me?” he continued. “Do you feel nothing for me?”

She didn’t wish to tell him yes — partly because she was afraid of how he would react, and partly because it wasn’t true. She did love him, had loved him for years, but this was not the sort of way she’d wished to be joined with him.

“Seb, you’re scaring me,” she whimpered.

He sighed and forced himself to ease his grip, softened as he usually was whenever she showed even a bit of vulnerability. But his thrusts only got harder, and his grip against her lower stomach stayed. He felt his tip press against her and into the cup of his hand with each pumping of his hips.

Beneath Sebastian’s lustful moans and the creaking of the bed, she could hear the humiliating sound of his flesh slapping into hers — his sac, churning with cum and dripping with her juices and his sweat, his hips, his thighs... She could smell his body too, salty and sweet and very distinctly sultry, devastatingly virile and male.

“I… I’m so…” he groaned nonsensically into her hair, “I could finish in you right now,” he threatened. She clenched at the promise. “Won’t you do it too, darling?” he murmured. “Please, I… I need it…”

“Never,” she bit back, and all around his shaft, he could feel her tightening rebelliously. She didn’t wish to be part of his experiment at all.

“I need it,” he said again, “more than you know… Come on, my love, my heart… I know you need it too. Tell me,” he panted, “how do you want to be pleasured?”

She kept quiet. Only little whimpers were pushed out of her by his heavy, deep thrusts.

“What do you need to make this little hole flutter for me?” he whispered.

Her legs tensed and her womb clenched. At her stomach, she felt his fingers begin to stroke a little up and down — stroking the head of his manhood with every inward thrust.

“What do you need? You need my love?” he said, kissing behind her ear. “My hatred?” he added, kissing her neck this time. “Anything… anything…”

“I want nothing from you,” she whimpered.

“You want my seed?” he asked — and that was it.

He felt her body clench, her little hole bubbling with cream in the areas where there was enough space for it to leak around him.

“Oh is that it?” he chuckled breathlessly, teasing her with a lick at the nape of her neck. “You want it? Hm? You want my seed inside this” — and he shoved especially hard — “little hole?”

“Sebas—!”

“You want me to make you pregnant?”

“Sebastian!”

“Want someone to breed you, is that it?”

She began struggling in his grasp, a last attempt to get away, because she knew what was coming. Sebastian wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her against his thrusts that wouldn’t, wouldn’t stop. If anything, he started battering at her womanhood even harder now, sliding wetly in and out in spite of how much tighter she got.

“Oh, but my girl is naughty, isn’t she?” he growled with a wide grin.

When she kicked a little higher with her left leg, he grabbed that too and hugged it to her chest, opening her up helplessly as he claimed her.

Her hands held onto the pillow now no longer as a distraction, but out of need to hold onto something. She wailed and buried her high, frail cries into it.

“Let me love you,” he begged roughly as he shoved himself into her, his thick manhood scraping against her tender, clenching walls in a way that made her scream. “Come on, let me love you… Let me feed this little hole,” he hissed. “It’s been so lonely, hasn’t it? Nobody’s loved you before, have they?”

“Bastard!” came her muffled, angry cry.

“No, darling,” he sighed, pressing deep, deep into her and holding there, pushing her higher on the bed with the force of it, making her legs shake. His tip had reached her cervix. “No, darling, you love me,” he whispered right in her ear. “Like I love you. Do you feel that?” he asked, his hips holding his manhood deep and then thrusting a little more. “You feel your thick little lips down there kissing my balls?”

“Seb—!”

“I certainly feel it,” he moaned, grinding into her while he let his forehead rest against her back.

His arms tightened around her waist with her leg still trapped there, her hole stretched more vulnerably open than it had ever been.

“Feel it warm and wet, dripping all over it, drooling over me… You’ve been as desperate as I, haven’t you? So lonely… so unloved… You’ll never be unloved again,” he promised hotly, and then resumed his thrusts, but this time slow, tempered, hard, deep, battering against her cervix every time.

“Your womb will be full of my seed,” he breathed against her skin. “I’ll force it into you, you’ll have no choice, I promise that,” he whispered. “Hold you opened up, make your beautiful body swallow it…”

She whimpered and tried to crawl away before she realised there was nowhere to go. And behind her, Sebastian kept thrusting that shaft into her swollen channel, her muscles too weak to clench against his penetration anymore. She felt conquered and completely helpless.

“I’ll do it as often as you need it,” he said with a sweet, warm sigh, “I’ll make you all warm inside… Keep you safe. Keep you full of me…”

His thrusts started getting faster, less deep now but almost angry, almost desperate, and she wailed at the sensation because he rubbed against her spot with every thrust and it felt good, she hated how good it felt.

“And then it will take, won’t it? It will have to… I’ll breed you, I’ll get you pregnant… And everyone will see what I did to you,” he growled.

“Sebastian, please,” she moaned weakly, no longer having the strength to pretend he didn’t make her feel good. “Please, I… I need…” Her tearful eyes looked into his, dark brown and hazy, over her sweaty shoulder.

“Shhh, I know, I know, darling… ” he cooed. “Release for me, my love,” he whispered, his full lips coming to rest near hers. “Release for me, and I’ll release for you, alright?”

“Aaah…”

“It’s alright,” he said gently, kissing her. “It’s alright… stop thinking… Stop being afraid…” he coaxed. “Just let me love you, let me love you, take it… take it from me…”

She whimpered, and burst into tears. Her body shook in his grip, trembling not only from his powerful thrusts but from the pleasure that licked its way from her womanhood all through her chest and her limbs and her heart and her head… Sebastian’s hands around her tightened, and her hip almost hurt from how sharply her leg was held against her chest, but her core had never felt more satisfied, more perfectly content, more cared for and loved and wanted. He fed his manhood to it, and she was forced to take it, and she wanted — she realised with shame — she wanted his seed.

“Seb-bastian,” she sighed, sounding genuinely pleasured for the first time, completely surrendered to the pleasure both her body and his were giving her.

“That’s it,” he whispered encouragingly. Around her waist, she could feel his thumbs brush against whatever skin of hers he could reach to pet her, even as he held her flush against his chest and he thrust rough and hard down into her. “That’s it, my heart, there you are… I’ll give it to you, but you have to take it, alright?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, not knowing really what he was saying anymore, “yes, I… I…”

“You’ll have to take it, sweetheart, right in this tight, hot, secret little place of yours…”

“Sebastian!”

“I’m here,” he smiled, kissing her again on the lips — briefly, as each of his thrusts jolted her away from the reach of his mouth. “I’m here with you. I love you. I love you more than any—”

“Aaaah!”

“Oh, is that it, darling?”

“Aah! —bastian!”

“Is that it? Is your womb opening up for me?”

“Seb—! I feel… aaah…”

“Too much, my darling?” he grinned.

She nodded, eyes closed, mouth open in one long moan.

“I feel the little throat you have inside opening up for me?” he groaned, the head of his shaft pounding at her cervix. “Think I can get it inside?”

“No!” she cried.

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, not wanting to hurt her, and knowing how small she was compared to him, but he teased her anyway but pressing deeper, aiming for that flexing opening. He bit his lip when he felt the tip of his member get lightly pinched by it.

She scrambled uselessly beneath him, her back arching into his sweaty chest, hips canting, and Sebastian kept thrusting into her. The little pearl that he’d teased earlier so much peeked out with interest, and his sac now met its tiny kiss each time it swung forward.

“Too much!” she wailed, her body tensing and relaxing and tensing again in the grip of some unfathomable wave of pleasure. “No more… no more, please!”

“Take it,” he groaned, “good girl, take it…”

And then that wave of pleasure crashed into her, and she screamed. Sebastian cried out too, a low and pained sound. He stilled his thrusts when he felt her core tighten around him. It gripped him as if she was going to swallow him whole, as if she wanted to drink everything he had to give — and he gave it to her, because at that very moment, his orgasm hit too, and his sac churned painfully and pushed his seed out of him in wave after thick, thick wave.

“Aaah! Oh f— my darling,” he moaned, hips twitching into her reflexively now, “my dearest… my love, my… ohh…”

He pressed grateful kisses into her neck and moaned out every endearment he could think of, and her name, and his promises to take care of her, to give her everything she deserved, to love her until the day he died…

She mewled weakly, too tired to cry out, too tired even to open her eyes. Her body had never gone through anything like that before, and as her pulses quieted and her core relaxed, Sebastian eased himself as deeply into her as he could. She could feel his seed pooling at the end of her, warm and heavy. Finally, he released her leg and let her relax fully on the bed, his own body laying for a moment on hers before he slid to the side, sapless.

She could feel and hear his heaving breath against her back, and beneath it, the frantic beating of her heart.

Sebastian kissed her shoulder one last time before he moved away, seemingly to get up. She then realised he had only retrieved that vial.

With great gentleness and care, he bent down to her core and stroked her lower back. She barely had the chance to look down at him, frowning, when she was struck by the humiliating feeling of his release and hers dripping out of her in big, pearly gushes.

“Oh,” she groaned, hiding her face away.

She didn’t see, but she could hear Sebastian chuckle.

“I know this part is a little awkward,” he said. “It… it isn’t how I wanted to end this, but…”

He stopped there, saying nothing else while he collected what he needed.

She sighed and pushed her sweaty face away from the pillow when she felt him part from her, his caressing hand stroking her leg gently one more time before he got up. She had new cause to blush when she peeked at his naked behind, firm and shining with sweat, and the length that could be seen swinging between his legs — still a little hard, still wet, tip blushing a raw, delicious colour. She felt sure a similar colour was blooming at her ravaged core, and she hid her face into the pillow again.

Sebastian’s hands were shaking. His sweaty skin felt the chill of the room more keenly now, especially after his chest had been so wonderfully warm from rubbing against her. He still had so much excitement and pleasure coursing through his veins that made him almost unsteady on his feet… But he had to see if this would work, he had to try to open the Casket.

He put one hand on its side and held the vial aloft with the other, its mouth poised just above the little orifice that would take the ‘key’.

He bit his lip to try and steady himself, and tilted the vial… The content was white and syrupy, and he blushed at seeing it. He had to wait for it to drip out… Once it reached the edge of the glass, it fell quickly, pulled down by its own heaviness right into the hole.

Sebastian held his breath as he waited, fearful for a moment that it had all gone wrong, that he’d been misled, that this had all been a terrible mistake… But not even a few seconds later, something happened. He felt a little tremor against his hand, as if something moved inside the Casket, and he pushed against the lid. Where many times before it had stood as firm as if the whole thing were one solid piece, this time, the lid slide away without resistance.

His eyes widened, and he started in quiet wonder at the open relic.

“Did it work?” she asked from the bed, her voice sleepy but still slightly interested.

Sebastian laughed, not able to take his eyes away from the inside of the Casket. It was supposed to provide its owner with whatever they needed at the time, and it certainly did that… Inside of it were two silver bands, one slightly smaller than the other, plain and unadorned, of exquisite purity: two engagement rings.

“It… it did,” said Sebastian with a bright smile.

Still, he wasn’t sure now was the right time to ask her… He felt a bit monstrous after what he'd done, and worse still for not regretting it. He was lucky that he got her to feel pleasure, to accept what he was doing, that he found the key to her lust — but it could just as easily have been the end of everything between the two of them, and he didn't know what he would have done if he'd lost her. How close he had come to that, due to his own mad desire for her, scared some sense into him now after everything was done. So he took the rings out of the Casket, quickly opened a little drawer on the side of his desk, and placed them inside.

He then walked back to the bed and joined her, squeezing himself beside her on the narrow mattress. She was hiding her face again, leaving him only her neck and shoulders to kiss.

“I apologise,” he sighed.

She mumbled.

“Do you hate me an awful lot?” he whispered with his lips against her nape. “You can tell me honestly…”

She said nothing.

“I did apologise, but I’m not sorry, just so you know,” he continued, his hand brushing the hair away from her shoulder in slow, long caresses. “I’m sorry it happened like this, but… I honestly can’t find it in me to regret it. I’ve wanted you for… a long, long time. I hope you know that. And it pained me how… how you always held yourself away.”

“Stop,” she whimpered, still facing away from him.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, the little of it that he could reach.

“I meant it, you know,” he whispered at the corner of her mouth. “I’d want nothing more than for us to have children together…”

“Sebastian, that’s—”

“I know you might not want it with me, or not at all, but… but I want it, I want it because it would be with you. But only with you.”

He sunk his face into her neck, hiding away from her rejection, hiding away from himself, but wanting all the while nothing other than to sink inside of her in every way — with his body, with his mind, with his heart. The sheets were a mess around them, half-fallen to the floor, and both she and Sebastian were sweaty and cold and messy with each other, and it was uncomfortable for both of them to lay that way together on a hard and narrow bed… But there was no safer, sweeter, better place in the world for Sebastian — nor for her, she quietly realised.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and curled his body around her from behind, seeking comfort in her. He had thought, those past few months, that he would get everything he wanted once he opened the Casket, but now he knew he could only find what he wanted in her.

She breathed deeply, accepting his embrace, and not knowing… what to say, how to confess to him what she, too, felt, even though she burned deeply with the need for him to know her, really know her, and how profound her love for him was. She lay quietly in his arms, her chest moving steadily up and down. And then, before he knew it, her hand came to rest on top of his own. Against the back of her neck, she felt Sebastian smile brightly, and she couldn’t help but smile too.

#sswallow;answers #Sebastian Sallow #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow smut #Sebastian Sallow x reader #Sebastian Sallow x MC #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics

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swifty-fox · 3 months ago

Text

a casual John Egan exorcism for your thursday?

from I follow fires, my Halloween WIP

“Do you repent?” they ask him when he surfaces again, shivering enough to crack his teeth and held up by harsh hands.

His wrist throbs, icy cold.

“I do,” he gasps, vomits black water.

Cold, callous, uncaring hands shove him down again. Huglins face twisted red and furious, spittly flying as he curses the devil from John’s body, the last thing he sees before the water closes over him again. Rushes into his nose and mouth and ears rendering him a dumb blind thing. The muck from the riverbed has been kicked up by his slowly dying body and it turns the water murky, impossible to see through. Even the sunlight seems to have abandoned him as his heartbeat pounds in his ears. The rosaries around his neck vice tight, choking is already drowning lungs. All he sees is void, all he hears is a muffled voice, shouting.

Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord, the God of Hosts.

He wakes on the riverbank, dripping and shivering and a crucifix pressed to his bare heaving chest. His throat his burning, his lungs and his wrist and his eyes. Hair muddied, tangled through with leaves and crawling creeping things from the riverbed. Turning, John vomits more black water onto the riverbank, watching it trickle in sticky slimy rivulets back to the source.

A hand on his upper back, bruising fingers around his upper arms hauling him up onto his knees and leaving him to sway there naked and ruined by the riverbank.

His wrist throbs. His wrist throbs. His wrist throbs.

Tilting his head backwards, body held upright by the lock of his joints rather than any true effort, John meets the eye of Father Huglin, dressed dark and stern.

“Do you repent, my son?”

“I do,” John croaks, in his ruined voice.

A thumb brushes between his brows, up to down, left to right, dragging against the water bloated flesh.

“I cast out ye devil, from this son of God. I cast ye out.”

Father Huglin crosses him again, places a hand on atop the crown of his head and declares him free of demon and unholy spirit alike.

John closes his eyes, tilts his head to the sun and tries to ignore that string, down in his gut and tied around his spine, quietly tugging.

That split moment before unconciosuness, where for a single moment he’d heard that voice humming a tune in his ear.

It doesn’t work

John isn’t sure why he thought it would. He’d long since accepted whatever followed him was not the Devil. It asked no barters nor trades nor souls. Merely John’s flesh and blood. Asked his death, quiet and obedient as a lamb to slaughter.

You couldn’t exorcise Death.

When John leaves Clovis he knows, deep in his gut, he won’t be coming back alive.

#swiftywrites #clegan #john egan #mota #mota halloween 2024

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anthropologyruinseverything · 5 months ago

Text

“Warm Nights”

Chapter 1 - 1.8k words

Damian Priest x Black!CurvyFem Reader

Pg-13 for this chapter but much more intense spice to come!

By request for @xbutterflius-effectusx 🥰

Drop a comment if you’d like me to tag you in the updates plus I will make the whole thing into a single post when done

Authors note: I am happy to do requests for all kinds of works for a variety of characters. However, I am an Indigenous woman and that’s the perspective I usually write from so I may make some mistakes when writing other folks. If there is ever something in my writing that is incorrect, insensitive or wrong in any way, I apologize and please correct me. Please let me know and I will learn and do better. Thank you and hope you enjoy!

Now on with the story!

Chapter 1:

**Your POV**

Sweat ran down your back as you ran the ropes in the seemingly empty performance center yet again. Your success in NXT was the result of hard work and dedication paying off big time and you weren’t about to change that approach now. No one could tell but you still felt the sting of insecurity over being a little older than many of your cohorts and it drove you to work even harder and make your time count.

“Creep!” A loud thunk and pained yelp followed by a string of curses in Spanish made you pause and turn towards the commotion on the upper level.

Damian Priest appeared, hands held up begging an unseen assailant for mercy as they chased him down the steps. Rhea Ripley came under the lights next, wielding a thick practice mat she’d been using to beat him. Only once everyone was under the bright beams of the lower level did she stop swinging. Turning to you she smirked. “Caught him lurking.”

“Wasn’t lurking perra loca!” He made a swipe for the mat she wielded but Rhea moved it out of his grasp.

You leaned against the top rope smothering a grin under your hand. The tall man had clearly had his feathers ruffled and it was fun to see the normally collected Damian flustered.

It had nothing to do with the crush you’d harbored for a while now. At least that’s what you told yourself.

“Then what were you doing?” Hand on her hip Rhea shot you a smirk. You two had fallen into a quick friendship over long hours at the performance center.

“Paul asked me to stop in and talk with the talent, same as he had Cody do last week. I just noticed Y/N practicing and…ugh, I wasn’t lurking.”

“Want some hair tips?” Damian whipped his face towards you with narrowed eyes. Your multicolored locs were the envy of the locker room after all, even if you’d always been modest about your looks.

“Yeah, that’s it. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Straightening his back and smoothing his tshirt one last time with a glare at Rhea he gave you a smile and wave on his way out the door.

It was nothing but it made your heart flutter all the same.

Rhea jumped up on the apron and leaned back, assessing you. “Been at it a while?”

Nodding you stretched before shaking the rope and making you both laugh when she nearly toppled backwards. After you’d been brought into NXT your workout hours tended to be the same as hers. Rhea had approached you one day asking for a spot while she did squats and your friendship has taken off from there. You drove each other to do your best in the gym and that had bled into the rest of your lives, making for a strong bond.

“Yeah. I wasn’t happy with my match last night, I want to work on that middle rope suplex.”

Rhea rolled her eyes.

“Not happy!? You’re making the rest of us look lazy love.” Her accent tended to make even compliments come across harsh from time to time.

You laughed and swatted her arm. “You? Never. Thanks for having my back by the way, even if it was a false alarm.”

“False? You didn’t see how he was watching you.” Casting you some serious side eye she smirked and hopped down from the mat.

“Hey! What’s that mean!?” You wouldn’t let it get you too excited but dammit if she didn’t know what she was doing.

She backed away through the door while calling out in a sing song voice. “Guess you’ll have to get cleaned up and come to dinner to find out! Leaving in 20, hurry up!”

You stared at the swinging doors that led to the locker rooms for a long moment, slightly confused and very curious. It was tempting to stay and keep working but you were also hungry after hours of hard work and wanted to know what she meant.

**Damian POV**

I kicked Rhea under the table of the little diner and hissed at her under my breath when Y/N walked into the restaurant. I knew immediately she’d been the one to invite her. She snickered and waved Y/N down, much to my dismay. Swallowing my stress over the situation I greeted her and everyone resettled, Finn and J.D. peppering her with questions about her day and what was going on the NXT locker room.

Never before had I been so grateful for the two nosy men. It had been a near miss when Rhea caught me staring earlier. Not that I didn’t like Y/N.

No, the opposite problem actually. I liked watching the way her body moved around the ring, the way your outfits hugged her very curvy form, and the way her face lit up whenever she stepped through the ropes. More than anything I respected her passion and dedication, knowing what it was like to hit it big a little older than many. It made her absolutely magnetic.

Now Rhea kicked me and grinned before indicating with her head. Alarmed, I realized I’d been staring as my thoughts wandered. Shit.

“What?” The table chuckled.

“For a third time.” Her voice was saucy as she smirked at me and south of my belt tightened in awareness. “Do you want meat in the queso or not?”

Goddamit. “Uh, yeah sure. Whatever you guys want.”

She tilted her head slightly and smiled. “Mkay then.”

Dinner progressed uneventfully as we all fell into conversations, mainly buzzing with excitement about the upcoming draft and wondering who would be sent where. In equal parts I hoped Y/N would be wherever I ended up and the other hoped she would be sent elsewhere.

It was a hard spot to be in.

Y/N was tempting for all the rights reasons and I wasn’t going down that road. I’d been burned before making it to the WWE, back before I had everything I do now to offer. An angry part of me figured if I wasn’t good enough for *her* then I wasn’t going to waste my time now.

Problem was, talking to her more and more, the more I wanted to get to know her like that. Thought she was what I might need to see things differently again. She had me thinking about long nights on the beach, how the moonlight would look shining in her eyes, against her vibrant hair…how it would shine on her dark skin slicked with sweat while she whimpered and sighed my name.

“So Damian, when’s your flight leave in the morning?” J.D.’s voice finally pulled me out of the daydream.

“Ugh, 9 or so.”

Conversation turned to where we were going after dinner and Rhea would hear none of Y/N staying home.

An hour later and the music throbbed around us as the lights flashed over the dance floor. I liked nightclubs like this, not huge but not tiny and a little on the gritty side. It reminded me of my days bouncing and how far I’d come and at the same time I enjoyed the throngs of humanity that melded together, no one concerned with how things would look in the daylight but content to be enthralled by the low light and smoke.

I should have known it would lower my ability to stay away. Seeing her there, leaning against the bar in a simple but perfectly tight dress and heels pulled me in. Her strength was obvious but so were her femininity and grace. My heart pounded as I reached out a hand, Y/N’s eyes widening a little in surprise.

In an adorably unusual show of shyness she ducked her head. “I-are you sure?”

Taken aback I stepped in closer to make sure she could hear me, also to enjoy her scent that reminded me of big flowers and warm breezes.

“Si.” I took her hand and pulled her with me to the dance floor, not caring as she protested. A slow song came over the speakers and I spun her before pulling her close, her back to my front. At first she tensed slightly but then relaxed against me. “Eres divina niña.” (You’re divine girl)

She giggled. “What’s that mean?”

Shaking my head I wrapped my arms around her as we began to sway gently to the music. “No hablas español?”

Shrugging she swayed with me and I felt myself getting lost in the hypnotic feeling of her body pressed to mine. Was she feeling the same?

“Non mais je parle français.” (No, I speak French) The smile she threw over her shoulder made my knees weak.

“Fair enough.” I continued to sway, letting myself fall for the mood of the space as she did too, her body relaxing even further as the melody flowed through her. Some women were just gifted naturally when it came to movement and Y/N was certainly among them. “You work hard, I admire that.”

Continuing to move with the beat her arms came up around my neck and I knew she was losing herself like

I was. “Same goes.”

I wondered how she’d react if I let my hands wander. It was dangerous territory and with a few more drinks I’d have thrown caution to the wind. Instead I held her tightly, enjoying the press of her body against mine and the perfect view I had of her ample breasts. I imagined slipping her dress down just enough to taste them.

“Ask you something?”

Her voice was low and sultry. Maybe I’d let my hands slide just a little lower down her hips, just to see what she’d do.

“Hmm?”

Taking a deep breath Y/N opened her mouth to speak but never got the chance, Finn barreled into us, drunk and laughing with a group he danced with.

Anger burned through me hot, breaking the spell. Anger not so much at Finn but over letting myself be intoxicated by just dancing with Y/N.

I knew she was stung but I forced myself to walk away. Of course she followed.

“Damian, hey, is everything okay?”

Clearing my throat I gestured to the bartender and downed the shot he provided while motioning for another. A blonde at the corner of the bar caught my attention on a quick sweep.

“Yeah.”

She waited a beat but realized quickly I was done talking. With dignity I wouldn’t have been able to muster for the situation she nodded and walked away.

My heart twisted in my chest.

Approaching the blonde I put in the fakest smile I could manage.

I didn’t remember her name or anything else in the morning. I didn’t even leave a note as I slipped out to catch my ride to the airport.

#wwe #fanfiction #damian priest #damian priest fanfic #damian priest fluff #wwe fanfiction #wwe fluff #writing romance #damian priest x reader #damian priest x y/n #writing

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dayas · 13 days ago

Note

klonnie + 43

Drabble Prompts

43. YOU DID WHAT?!

—

It wasn’t every day Bonnie Bennett found a severed head at her doorstep. Her home in Mystic Falls was well protected, enchanted through to the ground. Even if it was just her, and even if her friends didn’t stop by as often as they said they would, she still felt safe. She could hold her own among some of the most powerful beings they’d ever faced. And yet, the sight of the blood leaking from the still-warm skin was enough to twist and turn her stomach.

She wasn’t surprised to see Klaus Mikaelson appear a moment later, hovering outside of the barrier he couldn’t cross.

“You’re welcome, love.”

“I’m welcome? For what?” Bonnie snapped, “There’s a goddamned head on my lawn!”

“It’s the head of the person who was threatening your precious friends. Consider it a gesture of good will.”

She was absolutely certain she didn’t want to know what a gesture of malicious intent looked like with him.

“Now let me in.”

“No.”

She remembered what her Grams had said — once vampires were invited in, they couldn’t be uninvited. She hadn’t cast those wards before she died for nothing. Bonnie refused to let it be in vain.

Klaus growled, nostrils flaring in his frustrations.

“I have done everything you’ve asked. Even when I killed that sniveling mealworm’s family — ”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Bonnie’s scream stirred birds from their nests. The rushed sound of fluttering wings free flying through the air accompanied her next words.

“Klaus! They did nothing!”

“That doesn’t matter. Guilty by association, and all of that.”

Unthinkingly, Bonnie stepped outside, walking straight up to him.

“You are fucking deluded,” she spat, her hands coming up and shoving his chest roughly. He took her wrists in his hands immediately, pinning them above her head as his body pushed hers up against the wall of her house.

“Now Bonnie,” Klaus tsked, “you know better than to behave like that.”

She tried not to focus on how it felt, on the way he pressed against her and the warmth he flooded her with.

For a few seconds, all she could do was breathe. Quick, little breaths, her pupils blown wide. In and out, every line of herself somehow connected to him.

Think, think, think.

Just when he looked like he was about to speak, Bonnie channeled all of her energy into one singular thought.

Bleed.

Klaus coughed, stumbling backwards with a hand to his head. A single drop of blood came out of his nose.

Bonnie pushed her shoulders back, maintaining her focus.

“I am not one of your play things, Klaus Mikaelson. And you won’t be treating me like one either.”

Anger rippled through Klaus’s expression, but he had one hand against his temple, his lips pressed tightly together to keep any sounds from escaping them.

“I am not a mortal. I am not a vampire. I am not a werewolf. And I damn sure am not a hybrid. I am a fucking Bennett witch.”

She stepped closer to him again, battling against his mind, which was desperate to regain control.

“When you kill someone, kill them. Leave their families out of it.”

She was close to him again, but it was different this time. This time, she had the upper hand. She had the power. She had Klaus Mikaelson in all of his glory, silent, staring daggers at her. Something undefinable gleamed in his eyes as he took her in. She ignored it.

“And if you ever touch me like that again, I will personally remove your head from your body and fly it like a flag.”

He had the audacity to laugh. It was a choked sound, amused, even a bit impressed. His mind still fought her, she could feel it even as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“You’re more dangerous than you look, little witch.”

She dug her fingertips into her palm, a sick, vicious satisfaction flooding her upon hearing his pain filled gasp.

“I’m more dangerous than you will ever know.”

She spun on her heel and walked back into her house, slamming her door behind her.

“And get that fucking head off my lawn!”

#tvd would’ve been much shorter if they would’ve let bonnie say fuck and gave her a gun #klonnie #klaus mikaelson #bonnie bennett #tvd #klaus x bonnie #bonnie x klaus #k writes #requests #^ which are open by the way!#drop it in the box!#all about anna #i like this one too yeah!

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 years ago

Text

Azriel x Reader | The Secrets We Hide

type: angst warning(s): this is a heavy topic, please don’t read if you don’t feel comfortable, talk of child loss, potential second child loss, blood; also for personal reasons this is a topic that matters to me a lot, writing it down was hard but this is also why it is very honest and emotional, so pls be kind with feedback word count: 3.1k words request: i had an idea for an azriel angst. one where the reader gets pregnant but doesn’t tell him, so he only finds out later on? but i feel like the reader had valid reasons as well shdjks@moonlightazriel thank you once again for helping me find a name.

A tear slides down your cheek, tasting salty in your mouth. You meet your empty gaze in the mirror, dead, dull eyes staring back at you. The skin around them, red, puffy, swollen. Your throat feels dry, burning with a scream that moments later silently slips through your dry lips. You feel so empty, so worn out, so robbed of life.

Your hands tremble when you lift them, the blood on them looked smudged through your teary vision.

A ragged sob rips itself free, the thick red liquid such a stark contrast to your white bathroom.

“Please, Y/N. Please open the door.” Azriel’s voice is so soft yet stern, his knocking loud but gentle.

Air wheezes in and out of you lungs when you try to calm yourself down. It does not work. Your heart beats in your throat, your lower belly aching so terribly bad, it makes you grind your teeth.

“Y/N!” Azriel’s voice now louder, he pounds against the door. When he casts his glance down to the floor, he can see small droplets of deep red blood. His heart started racing, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, on his back, his palms clammy.

“Open!” he pushes again, pounding harshly, loudly, agony and dread colliding inside of him. Horror takes root in his chest when fear and panic seep into every fiber of his body. “Y/N,” Azriel pants, leaning his forehead against the door. “Please, let me in. I just need to see if you are—“ The door slowly opens, making him tumble slightly, but he catches himself, catches you. The shadowsinger wraps his arms around your trembling figure, your body so cold, so fragile in his hands.

Azriel pulls you to his chest, your shoulders shaking, soft sobs leaving your mouth, your chest heaving against his. He is careful to not put any pressure on your front, only embracing you softly while curling his arms around you. The shadowsinger kisses the top of your head, one hand brushing through your damp strands of hair. They are damp with sweat. That sort of liquid that builds up on your skin when you are in a state of panic and horror.

“I am so sorry,” you whisper against his chest, voice raspy, breaking at the last syllable. Your body trembles in Azriel arms when a shudder courses through you before let yourself fall against his chest. A sharp pain pierces your lower belly, like a bolt of burning fire, and you release a dreadful scream, pulling backwards.

Your breathing once again quickens when you glance downwards, to the little bump, barely noticeable, and your blood streaked nightgown, the thick red liquid running down your thighs.

Azriel grabs your upper arms, shock having widened his eyes. They pierce into yours, but you cannot hold his gaze. Tears build up in your own, toppling over the edges, running down your cheeks where the previous tears have just dried. Your eyes burn, your lips are dry, your nose feeling clogged. Just like your throat where another loud sob rips itself free.

“Don’t apologise,” Azriel whispers, although his heart shatters into a million of pieces. “Madja is on her way. Everything will be,“ —Azriel swallows thickly, his own throat burning, lashes dampening— “you will see, it will all be fine.” He doesn’t know that. And that uncertainty and horror filling every fiber of his body is worse than anything he has ever felt before.

You are carrying his child, god forbid—were carrying his child— and he has only found out about that minutes ago. All emotions of shock about, this sudden knowledge, have vanished, being erased by the feeling of utter and pure pain about what has happened to you just a moment after you have jerked up from bed, screaming from the bottom of your lungs and putting the cards on the table. Azriel has been shocked first but then everything has become a blur, you getting up, you falling, and suddenly there was blood. So much blood and is has been everywhere, is still everywhere.

Your bedsheets are still stained a deep red when Azriel guides you to the bedroom, holding you tightly by your arms, weak steps carrying you over to the bed. He doesn’t want to pick you up, although it would make it easier for you. But he does not know if it would hurt you even more and so he rather supports you like this, helping you climb on the bed on his side, so you wouldn't lie in your blood. Azriel kisses your brow when he pulls the sheets over your lower half.

He does not care about the blood getting everywhere, he just wants Madja to come and her to take care of you. He wants you to be fine. He does not want to see you hurt, in pain, crying.

You wince when icy hot pain fills your abdomen, your fingers curling towards your palms. “Sshh,” Azriel whispers, his hand brushing up your cold arm, over your shoulder until he places it on your neck and leans in.

Azriel’s brows are on yours, his warm breath caressing your skin, his scent and his presence the only thing that calm you at least a little bit.

Pain splits your heart open, cracking it in half, but you try to hard to focus on your mate, on him being here with you and how he holds you. Sweat has dried on the back of your neck, feeling clammy. So do they insides of your thighs and when you think about it you can already feel the burn in your throat again. A sob leaves you, scratching over the insides of your throat like sandpaper. You cry out, tears, although you have thought there were none left, building up in your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. Your hand curls around Azriel’s wrist, the other holding the bedsheet when you weep.

“Please, calm down. Madja will soon be here,” Azriel says, panic and sadness filling his tone even though he tries so hard to be strong. To be strong for you. For the two of you. You are what matters most to him, his number one priority, and seeing you in so much pain is the worst sort of torture he could have ever witness. A small part of himself believes that he might deserve this for all the bad things he has done, but you…you don’t deserve this. Any of this. You are good and kind and warm and something like this happening to you…how could someone do such a thing?

The shadowsinger curses the Mother and the Cauldron but the thought of mother rips his heart into shreds, leaving open a wound which your loud sob rubs salt into.

And then thoughts bubble up, getting so loud, so unbearable. Only if he had known. Why did you not tell him? Maybe he would have noticed that something was off and could have acted earlier. He has this selfish thought that he hates himself for, but if he had known he would have had time to be happy about becoming a father. It is selfish but it hurts so much, that he wasn't allowed this happiness, after everything that has happened before.

So before he can stop himself, a tear from him falling onto your skin, he says, “Why?”

Azriel swallows around the lump in his throat, his eyes burning, so he clamps them shut while your own open.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A breathy weep parts your lips and you give your head a little shake. Regret and sorrow and also hate towards yourself fill every fiber of your body, making icy fire blaze through your veins.

“I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to wait until it was safe that we would not lose another one. I did not want to—”

“Y/N,” Azriel says softly and brushes his hand over your head.

“I did not want to hurt you again. I did not want you to have hopes again and I ruin it. That I ruin it again.”

“Y/N, you are my priority. And yes, I wanted to be a father, but you come first always. You ruined nothing. This wasn’t your fault,” Azriel says and wipes his thumb over your cheek, the skin under your eyes swollen and red, so are your eye lids.

You meet his gaze through a blurry vision, your lip quavering and finding yourself unable to answer. Because you blame this on yourself. Your belly, your female belly, cannot carry a child.

You are a woman who cannot carry a child and this hurts. You can never make Azriel a father, you can never see his happiness about being a father. First you haven’t been able to conceive for three centuries, you have nearly given up until one day the news came: you were pregnant. Both Azriel and you were euphoric and anticipated the birth of your child until the fatal day where your life and happiness and anticipation were crushed like a beetle you step on. You haven’t tried for a child for a long time after that. Until you started trying again.

And now…now this was all again for nothing?

Your whole body shakes when you draw in a deep breath. You feel like such a failure. The one thing you have wanted so much, to become a mother, it is all taken away from you again? How do you deserve this? How does Azriel?

You feel his lips on your forehead, his thumb brushing over your skin, soothing and slow.

“I want you to be safe and happy. This is what matters. And if we can’t have children we—“ “Don’t say that!” you say loudly, panic ringing in your voice. You tilt your head back slightly, needing some distance between you and him, between you and what he has just said. What he has suggested. That you aren’t able to carry children.

“I am sorry. I didn't mean to say that.” The shadowsinger leans over you, kissing your forehead, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“But you did,” you bubble and bring your other hand up to wipe over your nose. He has said the one thing that has always been locked away behind iron gates in your brain. This one possible knowledge that you might not be able to carry children. That your body isn’t able to do.

And now that he has spoken them out loud, they hollow through the room, through your mind, stretching out and nearly suffocate you. You suck in sharp breaths of air, chest heaving rapidly when awareness downs on you what he has suggested. Azriel has given up. He has given up his hope. He thinks you aren't able to carry out a child, you have failed him. You cannot be a mother but he…he can be a father. With someone else. You would allow him that. You know he wants to be father more than anything else you would allow him—

You barely feel the hands on your chest, on your cleavage, holding you down. Azriel’s voice seems so far away over the blood rushing in your ears, the rising panic inside of you.

Only when his face is mere inches from yours, you can leave your thoughts and focus back on your mate.

“Please, calm down. I didn’t mean to say it like this. I mean that I will love you no matter what. Please, my love, please calm down. I—“ A knock sounds from the door and when Azriel gets up everything comes crashing in on you. You scream, thrash your hands against the mattress, crying and sobbing loudly.

Madja, let in by Azriel, rushes into the bedroom and before doing anything medical related, cradles your face inn her hands and forces you to look at her. “Look at me, Y/N. Look at me. I am here, we are going to fix this.” This is truly the worst kind of torture for Azriel. He slumps against the wall, shoulders hunched, crying, air wheezing in and out of his own lungs. He regards you, how Madja slowly peels back the sheets, examining your legs and wincing only the slightest bit. And even if it was just a barely-there wince, it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Az. And somehow, somehow he knows what it means. What she will soon tell you...

“For how long has the bleeding been going on?” she asks in a calm voice, gentle and empathetic.

You shake your head, having lost ever sense or space and time. Azriel needs to be strong for you, so he comes up to Madja and you, bracing one hand on the bedside table to steady himself.

“Since half an hour, maybe an hour I would say,” he informs her, his own voice trembling.

“Hm, I see. Please, may I?”

Madja motions for you to lift your hips and even though it causes you excruciating pain you do as told. She peels the bloody piece of undergarment down your legs and places it on the floor next to her, no sign of disgust on her face. Her eyes fall to you centre, only looking for a moment, sometimes glancing at your belly. She presses her lips in a firm line, wiping her bloody hand over a cloth she has brought and then reaching over to the bag that is standing on the bed next to her.

“Azriel, be so kind and prepare a cloth and a basin with some luke warm water.”

While Azriel hurries of Madja pulls all the tools she needs out of her bag, placing them on the mattress next to her. She softly brushes her hand over your knee, before helping you spread your legs a little further. “I will soon give you something for the pain, I just have to do some checks first.”

You give your head a nod, biting down on lip when it starts to tremble. “Is the baby alive?”

It is then that Azriel returns and Madja blinks her eyes for a long moment. “No!” you shriek.

No answer is also an answer and so you can assume what her silence means.

Azriel crouches down on the floor, next to the bed and you, his hand moving to yours while Madja leans in, softly inserting a tool.

“I will see about that now, Y/N,” she says and adds, “but I have to warn you, this will hurt now.”

Nothing will hurt more than hearing the words again: I am so sorry, but...

The one hand holding the cool tool inside of you, the other moving over your belly. You cry out, your heels pressing into the bed when your back arches and your bottom lifts. This pain is even worse than what you have felt before.

“One more time,” Madja says. “And this will hurt like hell, but I can comfort you, the baby is alive.” It is the only thing you needed to hear, the only thing that matters to you. And now that you have this knowledge, all the pain will be fine, all the pain will be alright. You take it all, accept it all.

Your scream of utter and pure pain fills the room, hollowing of the walls. You still feel it seconds after, still as strong and poignant as before. But slowly, really slowly it starts to vanish.

“The baby is fine?” Azriel asks like he cannot believe it, damp strands of hair toppling over his forehead, his skin covered in a thin film of sweat. He looks between Madja and you, disheveled, broken but starting to heal.

“Yes, what you felt, Y/N,” —Madja removes the tool from inside you, wiping it and then her hands clean on a new cloth— “was a wing.”

She uses the basin with the warm water and the cloth to clean your core, your thighs and your lower belly, softly and carefully running it over you.

“The baby has wings?” Azriel queries, his eyes going wide.

“Yes, the baby has wings. And one of them got stuck and when the baby wanted to turn the talon, that has already formed as it is usually one of the first things, has cut into your womb, ripping, rather it open. That is where the bleeding and the pain came from. I pushed the wing back in now, it should hopefully stay there.”

You cannot comprehend anything, relief and happiness over this baby inside you still breathing, still living, still developing, eroding every other thought and emotion.

“You will need quite some medication that I will bring around later and you are bound to the bed for at least a week or so so this all can heal, Y/N.”

You nod at the healer, squeezing Azriel’s hand. “I know you have a high risk of losing your child, but you have surpassed week fourteen, I am almost positive that you are going to bring this child into this wonderful world.” Letting go of Azriel’s hand, you take hers into yours instead, holding her tightly, crying tears of relief.

The shadowsinger releases a loud breath and bows his head at Madja. “Thank you," both say in union.

With Madja’s help Azriel has managed to change the sheets, she has left then and returned already few moments later to bring you all the medication needed. And although she was positive this time it would work, you still have to risk which means that you should not do anything that would be too exhausting or too strong.

Azriel carefully heaves your top half onto his chest, his arm curling around your waist, softly placing his hand on your belly that now no longer hurts so badly. It still hurts, but the soft brushing of Azriel’s fingers over the membrane soothes the pain. He hums when you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I am sorry for not telling you.” “I doesn’t matter anymore. You are healthy and safe. And so is the baby. That is what matters to me.”

You kiss the side of his neck, your hand moving over his heart. "I love you and you will be an incredibly father, Azriel.”

“And I love you, Y/N. I will continue to love more and more with every struggle we face and once this child is here you will be the best mother in the entire world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #acosf x reader

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