#drawing this a little bit in the manner I might if I was going to risograph print it (this is because risographs have eaten my mind)

[chiropteracupola]

But were I at rest neath yonder tree / O, why would you weep, my friends, for me?

[annual pentecost waite for @pentecostwaite]

[phagodyke]

there's an artist I rly like not naming names but one of their ocs looks EXACTLY like [redacted person ik irl] and it always makes me double take whenever they draw them bc for a second im always like ohhh.. that's them..... but they wouldn't do that... it makes me feel soo strange

[cevansbrat0007]

Indecent Exposure Pt. I: Bye Bye, Daddy

Summary: You get more than you bargained for when your father decides to leave you in the care of his four best friends, your fake Uncles, while he's on away on tour for the summer. Read Part Two!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Bucky Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Unwanted Touching, Dad's Best Friend Themes, Older Men/Younger Women Themes, Brief Discussions of Voyeurism, Brief Mentions of Mouth Soaping, Brief Reference to Spanking and Discipline, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Please heed all warnings. Part of my Indecent Exposure Series. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

"But Daaaad.” You whine, drawing out the word as you follow your father into the kitchen. Shoulders slumped, you can’t seem to stop yourself from pouting. 

While you’d initially made peace with the prospect of being left alone for the practically the entire summer before you planned to start your freshman year at NYU, you positively balked at the idea being left in the care of a fucking babysitter. 

Four of them, actually.

“No buts, pumpkin.” Your father drops his carry-on bag next to the door, on top of his other luggage. “It’s not good for you to be stuck in this big old house all by your lonesome. You even said as much just the other week.”

“Yeah, well…” You trail off, pissed at the fact that you’d essentially brought this on yourself. “That was back when you weren’t even sure if you were going.”

At first, your old man had been rather skeptical at going on tour with his former bandmates. They’d had a couple hits back in the day, but nothing major. Even still, they’d somehow managed to amass a bit of a cult following. 

And so when he was offered the opportunity to open for a much larger classic rock band, he just couldn’t pass it up. And you hadn’t had the heart to make him either. Dreams like this seldom came true for anybody, let alone a mild-mannered pharmacist who was pushing fifty. 

“Why can’t you at least take me with you?”

He turns to you then, heaving a sigh before pulling you into his arms. "Life on the road is no place for my little girl. Which is why I’ve asked your Uncles to check-in on you.” He presses a gentle kiss on your mop of curly hair, giving you one last squeeze before releasing you.

“And this is where I’d like to point out that I’m 18 years old, which makes me a full-fledged adult.“ Wrapping your arms around your middle, you try to play it off like you don’t care about him leaving so soon after your birthday. 

But you do. While your birthday had only been last week, you two hadn't even had the chance to embark on your annual fishing trip yet.

“I know that. Of course I know that.” He’s quick to reassure you. “And as a newly minted adult I’m sure you’ll be on your own some nights – the ones when Bucky can’t stay and none of your other uncles are available.”

“Ugh! Can you please stop calling them that?”

Little did he know that you were mere seconds away from covering your ears and letting out a frustrated scream. 

“Well, that’s what they are. They may not be blood, but it still counts.” Your father just shakes his head. Apparently he hadn’t expected you to put up this much of a fight before his departure. “And while it might be true that it’s been a while since you’ve seen your uncles, each one has assured me that they would be more than delighted to keep an eye out for their favorite niece.”

“Dad, I don’t even know them like that! At least not anymore...”

You’re rewarded with yet another weary sigh. “Then it looks like you’ll have the whole summer to get reacquainted with them then, won’t you?” His hands go to grip your shoulders, all but forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Besides, Buck’ll be around. I’m sure he’ll help ease you into everything.”

It’s impossible to stop the derisive snort that escapes the back of your throat. 

“Sweetheart, my ride is going to be here any minute now…” He tells you, making it clear that neither one of you has time for the tantrum you seem so keen on throwing. “You’ve gotta know that I only want what’s best for–”

The two of you are interrupted by the sound of a vehicle pulling into your driveway. And while you don’t recognize it, you’re almost certain that it’s too sleek and expensive to belong to any Lyft driver. 

“Speak of the devil!” Your father suddenly exclaims before throwing open the door and rushing down the steps. Which is fine, except for the part when he decided to drag you along with him. “Bucky fuckin’ Barnes – just in the knick of time too!”

Well, there went Plan A. So much for locking up the house after your Dad was gone and refusing to answer the fucking door for anyone except the pizza delivery guy. 

However, in spite of your annoyance and frustration, you can’t help the tiny jolt of electricity that hums along your skin as you watch the dark haired man peel himself out of the driver’s seat so that he can properly greet you both.  

“Get a look at you, old man!” Bucky chuckles as he enthusiastically brings your Dad in for a hug, lightly thumping his back as he does. “Can’t believe somebody actually fucked up and told you you got to be a rockstar!”

Your uncle’s smile only broadens when he finally lays eyes on you. But it’s the way he’s looking at you that catches your attention – it’s not quite a leer – but his blatant perusal is enough to make you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. 

“I know!” Comes your Dad’s eager response. “That’s why I’m trying to get out of here before whoever signed off on this sobers up and realizes his mistake.” Both men are grinning from ear to ear when they finally take a step back. 

And that’s when all eyes turn to you. 

“And who’s this gorgeous young lady?” Bucky inquires, his pearly white teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he makes a quiet show of looking you over once again, this time allowing his gaze to linger just a fraction too long on your cutoff denim shorts. 

“Oh, come on now.” Good ol’ Dad reaches over to grab your wrist, pulling you even closer. Which is the absolute last thing you want. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize your niece.” 

“Is that my sweet, little Clover?” Bucky pretends to rub exaggeratedly rub his eyes while evoking your childhood nickname. “I guess it is. Except now she’s all grown up.” Your Dad drops your wrist in time for the other man to grab your hand so that he can give you a little twirl. "Just turned 18, in fact."

“I heard. So pretty.” He hums, although the words are spoken just low enough so that only you can hear them. “You’ve got yourself a knockout for a daughter, Dale.” You resist the urge to squirm when you feel the roughened pad of his thumb lightly stroke along the ridges of your knuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you kept a shotgun by the door.” 

While you suspect that his words are meant in jest, the only person that laughs is the man who raised you. 

“I actually keep it in the front closet. Which reminds me…” You father turns to you then, pinning you with a knowing look. “Now pumpkin, I know you're not super excited about the current arrangement and all that, but I’d appreciate it if you’d, uh, refrain from having any boys over at the house while I’m gone.” 

You swiftly open your mouth to protest, only to be surprised when Bucky beats you to the punch. 

“Roger that.” He grins down at you, the dimple in his left cheek on full display. “Your Daddy said no boys allowed, little Clover. Do we have your promise you’re gonna respect his wishes?”

Tugging your hand out his grasp, you turn your attention to your Dad, offering up a sugary sweet smile. “But what about Peter? You actually like him, remember? Besides, he’s pretty much my best friend.”

“Well…”

Because you couldn’t fathom the idea of a summer without him. And you just know he’s going to relent and make an exception. That is, until Bucky decides to go and open up his mouth. 

“You heard your Daddy, sweetheart.” He gently admonishes you, a hint of mockery in his tone. “Besides, I don’t think any of your uncles want to have to deal with strange boys wandering around the house.”

“Good man.” Your father agrees, clapping the other man on his shoulder. “And speaking of Andy, Ari, and Steve, this one here is a little nervous about seeing them again. I don’t know why. I mean it’s been a while since everyone’s gotten together…”

“Aww, bug.” He coos, wrapping a brawny arm around your much smaller waist. “Are you worried we don’t love you anymore?” You find yourself gritting your teeth to keep from elbowing him in the kidney. 

Why the hell did he have to make that sound so…suggestive? And how come your father didn't seem to notice? 

“No.” You grunt, hating the man for having the nerve to smell so damned good – like spiced vanilla and cedar. 

“Because we most certainly do. You know, Andy was just looking at your senior picture the other day.” His large, warm hand settles just above the curve of your hip. “He actually sent it to the group chat and none of us could believe just how much our little Clover had blossomed. Right under our noses.”

“A–awesome.” You mumble, wishing he would stop touching you so much. It did funny things to your belly, which you did not appreciate.

“I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when he gets here.” 

Shock has your mouth falling open, briefly leaving you almost too stunned to make a sound. And to make matters worse, your father’s Lyft picks that very moment to pull up behind Bucky’s sports car. 

“What?” You eventually croak. Not that you receive much of a response, what with both men choosing to abandon you in favor of grabbing luggage and loading it into the driver’s trunk. 

“Alright, pumpkin.” Your Dad calls out once they’ve got everything secured. “I’ll call you from the road. I left instructions on the fridge and with Bucky. You need anything you call me, okay?” 

Seconds later you find yourself pulled into a bear hug. And, because you don’t know when you’ll see him again, you choose not to argue or struggle. You can only hug him back as if your life depends on it. 

“Be good.” He mumbles in your hair. “Listen to your uncles. It may not seem like it, but they know what's best. And you have my word that they care about you just as much as I do.” 

“Okay.” Is all you can muster as you fight back tears. “I–I love you.”

“You know it.” He holds you even tighter. “To the moon and back, plus the galaxy and beyond.” Smiling when he releases you, you watch him climb into the waiting car before giving him one last wave. 

And then he’s gone. You watch unmoving as the car backs out of the driveway and takes off down the road in the direction of the airport. It takes a moment for you to remember that you’re alone now.

Left to your own devices for the entire fucking summer. 

“Save those pretty tears, Clover.” You jump when you feel a hand press against the small of your back. “You’ve got us – me, Andy, Ari, and Steve – and won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Bucky whispers, his mouth hovering just above your ear.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” You growl, stomping towards the front door.

“Fair warning, sweetheart.” He calls after you, his voice tinged with laughter as he goes to follow you inside. “Your Uncle Steve doesn’t like that kind of language. And I’m afraid Uncle Andy isn’t the type to put up with that attitude either.”

“Then tell them they should keep their asses home!” You snap as you reach the stairs, taking them two at a time all the while silently praying that he doesn’t follow.

“All I’m saying is that I’d hate to see Stevie have to wash out that pretty little mouth out with soap.” He calls from the bottom of the stairs, no longer bothering to hide his laughter. 

The fucking pervy bastard was enjoying this!

You slam your door with a flourish, briefly reveling in the sound it makes as it shakes the entire frame. If Bucky, or any of your so-called uncles thought you were still that same, sweet little girl you used to then they were in for one hell of a rude awakening.

Fuck! You’re so busy fuming over your current situation that you have no idea what’s taking place quite literally beneath your feet. For tonight, you decide that ignorance is bliss. If you got hungry later you’d just have to find something on DoorDash.

You throw yourself on your bed with a huff, punching your pillow over and again until you feel some of the rage leave your body. This summer was going to fucking blow unless you found a way to stay busy away from the house. 

Meanwhile, Bucky has taken a seat at the bottom of the stairs. Pulling out his phone he opens the group chat he has with his buddies and proceeds to start typing. Call it intuition, but he had a feeling that he and his friends getting reacquainted with their precious little Clover was going to make for one hell of summer.

Oh yes, this was going to make for one hell of a summer indeed.

END

Unofficial Taglist:

@cjand10

[thecosmiccrow]

Disassembly Drone Body Langauge part 1

Mostly wings and some tail

probably gonna add some more unique ones once i figure this out properly. hrmmm

my important ones are the upwards wing pose being territorial / courting, and the tail wag being happy or on edge.

Some extras that i might draw later if i figure out how idk:

They will naturally wrap their tails around people they like in a wide arc. It’s something that could go unnoticed, even by the DD, as they just do it subconsciously. You can figure out who a DD is protective over this way.

Pointing their wings outwards but flattening them (rotating them into a horizontal pose instead of a vertical one) and crouching down a little is seen as being submissive. Dominant ones will normally have their wings positioned wider and vertical.

Also some elaborations because i like talking about shit i make up:

Sometimes when courting they’ll shake their wings a little bit to make them appear glittery or more flashy, which makes some soft clinking noises.

Their tails abide by dog and cat-like mannerisms. They wag when happy, tuck them under their legs when scared or worried, will slowly wave them around when agitated.

N does this unique (and cute!) thing where he holds his tail in his hands when he’s worried like some stuffed animal. kind of

anyways i love non-verbal methods of communication and i will do this again

[okwonyo]

being asked out in front of them.

엔하이픈 ୨୧ female reader seven hundred non-idol au fluff established relationship + cw. not proof-read skinship kissing ( other )

heeseung would definitely be the jealous type, but he would try to not overdo it. would watch the scene from a little behind you; eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed while he watches the stranger talking to you. would come wrapping his arms around you after you tell the stranger that you have a boyfriend, would pull you a little bit closer to you while he makes eye contact with the other and a little smirk would toy on the corner of his lips.

jay would be more worried about your discomfort that anything else. would hold your waist, drawing you closer to his circle of warmth. would lean closer to you, until his lips brushes against your ear, barely paying any attention to the individual in front of of the both of you. “is he bothering you?” he would ask you, and it would make you giggle, comically reminding you of those scenes of in movies. then the stranger would eventually fade in background at some point.

jake would be flabbergasted — his eyes would grow wide when he sees a stranger talking to you, with a look plastered on their face that he wouldn’t appreciate at all. this whole situation would utterly convince him that he cannot leave you alone for two seconds, given the fact that he stopped being clingy to look at some t-shirt and this would happen right after. there is no way he wouldn’t be all over you after.

sunghoon would notice a pair of eyes lingering too much on your features for his own liking, the moment it starts. would watch the stranger hit on you without little to no shame at all, you would be able to feel his glare from where you are, which is a few meters ahead of him. “what was that?” he would ask you when you come back to him, eyebrows furrowed as he watches the stranger from afar. “me? ... jealous? of course.”

sunoo would be so shocked, what do you mean it’s not evident that you two are a couple? would give the stranger the most disgusted grimace ever, scanning the individual’s figure from up to down and confusion would grow in him as the realization of the situation does too. his expression would quickly transform into a cheesing smile when you reject the stranger’s advance— would happily walk around with you with his hand in yours.

jungwon would gape at you when the stranger comes to you, with his arm around your waist, you would be able to see multiple questions marks appearing above his head when you two make eye contact. would nod along while you reject the stranger, his eyebrows going up in a charming manner he isn’t even aware of, clearing his throat when the offer is asked for a second time: just to make sure he is acknowledged here. would give you a soft kiss in front of the unknown individual, smirking against your mouth.

riki would totally just stand behind you, close still, his tall frame towering over yours and, most definitely, staring at whoever is asking his girlfriend out right in front of his face. as ridiculous as it sounds, would be extremely relieved when you reject the stranger, he wouldn’t be able to tell you why but he would be happy. would be smiling smiling so widely for the rest of the day and might even lay in bed while kicking his feet in the air while he thinks about it.

have this as i prepare some heeseung boyfie texts ><

[thebestofoneshots]

A LITTLE BIT OF PAINT | TEASER

Piring: R.L. x S.B. x reader Prompt: Sirius and you are art students and you’ve gotten an assignment, a nude painting, but you can’t paint each other. Trying to convict Remus to model for you was hard enough, but painting him, while he looks so damn stunning, might prove a harder endeavour to accomplish. Warnings: the complete story will contain smut (this has some mild teasing and a few nudе scenes)

“So?” Sirius asked as he leaned onto Remus, “would you do it?” 

“Pretty please?” you asked with a small pout and a few blinks. 

Remus sighed, “Why don’t you just paint each other?” 

Both you and Sirius had been trying to convince Remus to be your nude model for an assignment for the last 20 minutes. He was your best friend, and both you and Sirius had always wanted to use him as a model, but had never been too keen to do it, not even clothed. But you needed him now. 

“We can’t do someone we’ve fucked,” Sirius said with a sigh, “We’d already done it otherwise.” 

“Just use each other and draw a face from a magazine,” Remus offered. 

“It won’t work either,” you responded now, “We’ve both been models for the class, they know our bodies. We wouldn’t be asking you if we didn’t need you, please Moony!” Remus looked to the side, licking his lips before biting on the bottom one and sighing, however could he say no to the two of you.

“Okay,” he whispered.

(...)

You took your hoodie off and then, but it wasn’t until you took a hold of your shirt and flipped it over your head that Remus realised what was going on. Your hands were behind your bra when he averted his gaze to the side completely blushed. “Sirius, If you’re painting her, can I leave?” 

“Of course not,” Sirius said simply, “I’m painting the both of you.” 

“You what?” 

“Eros and Psyche, remember?” 

“But you said you couldn’t paint people you’ve fucked,” he retorted in a rather accusing manner. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’ll switch her hair colour and you’ll cover her face.” 

“You never said I’d have to pose with your naked girlfriend!” 

“It’s okay Rem, I don’t mind, I’ve been a nude model for the class a couple of times.” 

Remus, as he would naturally turn to look at you when you spoke, but quickly turned his head to the side when he realised you were now completely naked. 

But I do! He thought as he tried to think of anything other than the curve of your breasts. Naked grandma, naked grandma.

You eyed Sirius, “Maybe we can–“ you started, biting your lip. 

“Nonsense. We’re all adults, go on.” 

You gave Sirius a stern look and he gave you back an equally determined one, nodding towards Remus, a clear indication for you to walk his way. 

You took a deep breath but did what he wanted anyway. Walking towards Remus and gently placing a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, If you really don’t want to do this-“

Remus’ head snapped your way, he focused his eyes on yours as best as he could, “No, I– I just– I wasn’t mentally prepared.” 

You smiled and tilted your head. You could see the self-restraint he was using not to look at your chest, Sirius was really trying not to cackle behind you as he sharpened his pencils, “You can look,” you said, “you’re gonna see them anyway Rem.” He gave you a frustrated frown. You smiled teasingly in return. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked. He was about ready to just stare for half a second and then move on with his life but he couldn’t quite look away. Not when he saw them perk up for him, his warm breath so close to you causing such a reaction. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Sirius said with a smile from behind the easel. The kind of confident smile of one who knew he could touch them whenever he wanted. 

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Sirius. “Go on with your painting, yeah?” 

“You haven’t even posed,” he retorted with a smile. You turned your head over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend, “where do you want me?”

Remus tried not to think of those words, and not to memorise them either. He didn’t want to have dreams about it.

(...)

“Not really,” you said honestly, leaning your head on his shoulder a little more, that was something you had done often, with clothes, though. “I’ve never modelled with anyone other than Sirius. I only said I would because it would be you.” 

“You what?” Remus asked, you accommodated and your lips accidentally brushed against his neck, he felt the blush spreading, he was losing control. He couldn’t keep thinking of a naked grandma when he had you pressed against him, whispering on his neck, your warm breath against his skin igniting him like a match against dry leaves. 

A LITTLE BIT OF PAINT IS OUT NOW!!

Click on the link to read the full version

[azen13]

I loved your recent Dan Heng posting so so much!!! I’m not the original requester however

Reading it made my mind wander into how Dan Heng would react to a darling who is just so smitten with him (even his more awkward habits) that they recognize his yandere behavior and tease him about it while also kind of playing into it?

My mind keeps running through ideas of a darling that shows up to hang out with him all the time and is just over the moon when he hovers around them in a possessive manner…

Plus I think darling might also be just a teeny tiny bit obsessed with Dan Heng as well (I know I am 🤭)

I’m cutting my ramblings off here because I could go on all day about the ideas this glorious man springs into my brain but I don’t wanna subject you to them all hehe

— Dan Heng Anon

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Cuddling, Sleeping Together, Kissing

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Anon, I genuinely love this idea so much! I can definitely see the vibe. As I said in my other post about Dan Heng, I think he's relatively subtle in terms of how he expresses his possessive tendencies: a hand on your shoulder; a command clothed as a suggestion; a redirection of your attention back on him.

But when you start feeding into his behavior?

The first thing that happens to him is that he practically short-circuits. You show up to his room one night, pillow and blanket in hand, face dim with fatigue but eyes shining with mischief. Your room is too warm, you complain. He hasn't even processed what you've said before you slip through the doorway and plop your bedding near his, fluffing up your pillow and arranging your space how you like it.

You fall asleep almost instantly; the next morning, you proclaim you slept better on the hard flooring of Dan Heng's room than any night in your soft bed.

Dan Heng stays up the whole night, studying your face like an astronomer, trying to understand the way you seem to orbit around him. Maybe the forces of attraction have finally gone in his favor, drawing you close to him.

As the days pass, he begins to reciprocate your signals. When the Astral Express splits up on missions, he ensures you're always with him, regardless of how March and the Trailblazer pout. He'll send them a flat, unimpressed stare, your hand and his tightly intertwined. Himeko and Welt notice, but don't say anything. They underestimate Dan Heng's love, the true gravity of the situation is much stronger than they perceive it to be.

In public, Dan Heng manages to keep it together, though you make it difficult with how you cling to his side. He can't help but want to be protective of you when there are strangers sidling next to you. Any chance he can get, he makes sure he's walking closer to the center of the road.

In the privacy of his room, though, he becomes much more clingy. Night after night you arrive at his door and make yourself at home on the floor, and each night, you sleep a little closer to him. Soon enough, your hand is squeezing him as you dream; then his arm is looped around your shoulder; two pairs of legs tangled together beneath mismatched bedsheets; his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the faintest traces of perfume.

Then you don't show up one night.

Dan Heng spends hours waiting. He's normally not very fidgety, but tonight his foot taps a frantic tempo against the floor, eyes glued to the door.

Eventually, he gets up and heads to your room. The lights are dim, but he can see a sly smile playing on your lips like Cupid readying another arrow to fire at his heart. You've done it on purpose, and it both amuses and annoys him.

With a huff, he walks over to your bed and hoists you up into his arms. You make no move to get out of his grip, eyes sparkling playfully; you're just as entranced with him as he is with you, two stars orbiting each other.

Unceremoniously, he plops you down on his makeshift bed in the data bank, settling beside you. His arms loop around your torso, pulling you close. "I don't appreciate your prank," he grumbles.

You can't help but laugh. "I'm sure you don't." It's amusing to see Dan Heng pouting. His expression is relatively neutral, but you can see sulkiness in his eyes, feel how he squeezes you a little tighter than most nights.

"I want you to stay with me."

You smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I will."

[innerfare]

Zoro Fluff // Angst Compilation 

Summary: A compilation of Zoro angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes. 

Brushing Your Teeth Together: 

Reaches for whichever toothbrush is closest. If it’s his, it’s his, and if it’s yours, it’s also his. He’ll also talk to you while he’s brushing his teeth and get annoyed when you can’t understand the muffled words. 

Flowers: 

He won’t really think to buy you flowers until one day you mention that camellias are pretty. He takes that to mean you like camellias, specifically, and not that you’d like to receive flowers in general, so he always buys you camellias, and you think it’s so sweet that you never correct him. He’s not actually a proponent of apology flowers because he thinks a ‘bribe’ cheapens it, but he will bring you flowers when he knows you’re having a hard day. He might also buy you a small bamboo plant that you two end up treating a bit like a pet, giving it a name and everything. 

Type of Date: 

He’ll take you to play laser tag, and don’t think for a second you’ll be playing on the same team. You’ll be on opposite teams, and he will not be going easy on you. Zoro doesn’t believe in letting people win. He’ll be briefing his team beforehand, drawing up a strategy because he is determined to win. If you beat him, he won’t propose, but he will decide he’ll be marrying you one day. Would also be content to go see an action movie. 

You See His Cabin For The First Time: 

Your first thought is, why does it smell so freaking good in here? You expected dirty laundry strewn around and the stench of sweat and maybe a hint of metal from those blades he was always sharpening. And sure, there is a hint of metal in the air, probably more from the many weights against the wall than his swords, but it also smells fresh, like laundry detergent. He has his own wanted posters on his wall- not just the current one, but the old ones, too, all of them lined up in order so you can see his increasing bounty. He also has a collection of unique booze bottles from all over the world, his equivalent of keeping a map with pins in the locations he’s visited. Oh, and there’s an anatomy coloring book and some markers that belong to Chopper that Zoro keeps in his room because sometimes when Chopper is having a bad day, he wants to chill with his dad big bro. 

Fighting and Making Up: 

Stubborn bastard. Refuses to admit that he’s wrong. You guys argue over lots of little things, usually directions, that don’t really require either of you two to apologize; there’s just some near-constant bickering in your relationship that is your love language. More seriously, you’ve fought because, for lack of a better term, Zoro doesn’t exactly have a bedside manner and can be overly blunt. You’ve also fought over the fact that so many women are clearly attracted to him and he’s completely oblivious. He’s not the type to flirt back, but it bothers you that he doesn’t notice because you feel like he doesn’t shut it down when he should (though he argues that by not noticing, he is, in a way, shutting it down). Not one to apologize with flowers because he feels that cheapens it, a bit like a bribe. He’ll just say sorry and that’s that. Sometimes you end up fighting again because he was ready to apologize but you weren’t ready to hear it and he thinks you’re being childish by giving him the silent treatment. 

Paradise 1: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Paradise 2: 

Tossing and turning in bed, waiting for the clock to strike midnight, sneaking out as soon as it does and meeting them at the spring just inland. Stripping out of your clothes and diving into the warm water with him, splashing each other and floating on your backs, losing track of time and hurrying back to the ship when the moon dips below the horizon. 

Nightmares: 

It was an accident, and he watched it happen. If he’d been just a little stronger, a little faster, a little better, it never would have happened. It was an accident, but it was his fault. He stared down at your lifeless shape covered by a funeral shroud, grinding his teeth in rage at the sight of all those flowers left by mourners. You would have loved to have seen those flowers, to have picked them up, buried your face in them, and inhaled deeply. You would have loved the weather that day, too, bright and sunny, as though the universe was taunting him. When he wakes up, he’s in physical pain from the amount of tension in his muscles. 

I Love You: 

To your surprise, it was Zoro who said it first. Though Zoro seems the type to bottle up his emotions, he’s actually not, he just doesn’t seem emotional because he’s really good at dealing with his shit. And he knows all too well how temporary arrangements can be, how quickly life can be snuffed out, how easily the people he loves and cares about can be taken away from him. So one late night when he’s alone in the shower, washing his hair (using Nami's expensive shampoo and conditioner because she left it in the shower and Zoro just uses whatever's within his reach) and thinking about you, he realizes how he feels, and he doesn’t even consider not telling you. He climbs into bed afterward in just his boxer briefs, his hair still damp and smelling extra good, shakes you awake, kisses you a few times, and mutters that he loves you in your ear before passing out, not even waiting for you to say it back. He doesn’t say it often after that because he doesn’t thinks actions matter more than words, but he always says it when one of you is injured or after an argument. 

You’re Jealous: 

He didn’t mention Perona was also at Mihawk’s castle for those two years until a few months after the crew gets together. He tells a story that features her, and you realize there was a woman keeping him company. Your heart drops into your stomach. Zoro insists he didn’t mention her because he didn’t think she was relevant; the only thing Perona did those two years was annoy him. He’s actually the one who won’t let it go, not you (even though you are pretty jealous). Whereas you’d prefer not to talk about it, Zoro is wracked with guilt because he’d never considered the whole thing in a relationship context. Him fretting constantly over it actually heals your jealousy because you realize you’ve never seen him panic over the prospect of hurting anyone else’s feelings.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[lavendermin]

collar of thorns | blade

blade x reader, fem reader, bodyguard au

wc | 5.1k

genre | hurt and (a tiny bit of) comfort, nsfw, minors do not interact

warnings | implied toxic family dynamics, unhealthy dependency, brief previous torture mention, panic attacks, trauma, blood and brief violence, nudity, blade uses a shower head to get you off (if there’s a term for this lmk I’m drawing a blank rn)

note | mwah thank you to the bestest @nashusglasses for beta reading this 💗 this was supposed to be at most 2k but well… here we are ^^; love blade’s quiet but gentle girldad vibe with the stellaron hunters so this is a loose interpretation of that in a bodyguard au. very self indulgent with a sprinkle of comfort and mostly exploring their dynamics of an evolving relationship

His calculated actions are a conversation—one you have learned to follow, though not without a learning curve. Even in silence there’s more he tells you with a glance alone than words ever could.

It’s experience that Blade has accumulated as your bodyguard for quite a few years. No stranger to your mannerisms and higher quality of life coming from a family with powerful connections and flaunted status.

He knows you well, in his opinion. Head held high but a frail little thing weak in the knees from utter fear and paranoia. Pitiful, he thinks. Like a field mouse braving the jaws of a beast.

Despite being the black sheep of a renowned family, you’re no less a target as a vessel of valuable knowledge— information that some would go to great lengths to gain. No cost is too great, risk and reward leading many astray. Ultimately, it pulls you closer to unraveling. Time and time again.

—

There is protest— displeasure from attendants that arrive on behalf of the main family estate. You aren’t meant to be seen like this— bedridden and flawed and vulnerable.

The instruction was to wait. Wait until you have healed and could properly make yourself presentable. To save your family face, above all else.

But it’s your house, your rules.

The attendant continues to talk your ear off about why this is egregious and why the meeting should be postponed until months later when you’ve healed. It’s what the family ordered.

They might as well have ordered you dead, too. In your current state you’re no different than a deer in an open meadow, a thousand triggers waiting to be pulled.

“No.” Your gaze is blank as you side-eye the attendant by your bedside. “I want him to see— see exactly what my father signed him up for. If he is to be my guard, then he has to be able to handle all aspects of my life. What good is he to me if the unsightly is just that and nothing more?”

The attendant opens their mouth to oppose, but is interrupted by a knock on your room’s door as another attendant exchanges a hushed message. Upon their departure a tall figure is allowed inside— dark, silent.

Heavy is the atmosphere as he stands before you with an air that you can’t quite read. Blade, his name that was briefly provided by your father’s informant days prior.

“The family extends its gratitude for your gracious courtesy to meet with me on such short notice. Things haven’t been going as smoothly as my father would like. And that man does not trust me whatsoever to keep my mouth shut if the worst should happen.” You mutter something bitterly that Blade chooses not to dwell on. Sleepless paranoia has taken quite the toll on you. The dark circles under your eyes are quite unbecoming, though he doesn’t comment on it.

It’s none of his business— not until you tell him it is. Your word now commands him from the second he stepped into the room.

Blade sits across from you in a leather chair, unreadable with a rather guarded posture. His employer’s daughter— his task— is both what he expects and doesn’t expect.

There is a fear that keeps you alive and a defeat that splits your soul. A cacophony of unrest, a cocktail for an isolated soul.

“As you can see, he’s sorely mistaken,” you snort, dry and humorless. The days worth of agony are neatly dressed in gauze and fresh bandages, well on their way to become a blur of many such incidents to come. A recent incident— torture for information, he can only assume. “Regardless, my life is in your hands now.”

Blade nods, a simple acknowledgement. How easily he accepts to be by your side until your final breath.

“More than your duty,” you continue, “you are my trusted companion. My only companion.”

___

There’s little intel Blade could gather on attempts at your life, but that matters less to him from the second he’s hired. Those attempts would not prove successful, at whatever cost. They would only diminish further the longer he was your guard.

Duty-bound and distanced, he does not bother asking further about your past, and neither do you. You know he wouldn’t answer, and you’ve tried.

As a victim of circumstance, you are hard to blame.

Casual conversation is one-sided—a condition you’ve grown accustomed to. The microscopic changes of expression he allows are often response enough for you to carry conversation. You’ve long since stopped thinking too hard about it. No use breaking your heart over minor inconveniences like a petulant, rich brat.

In fact, not once have you heard him speak in your presence. Doesn’t need to, you think.

It’s easier to think that perhaps he holds resentment or dislikes his duty of protecting you. The lack of verbal conversation is often key to that. But Blade is very good at what he does—skilled in the art of reading people with a glance. His gentle gestures despite a blank, forlorn expression speak to the heart. Your heart.

It’s easy— liking him.

“There’s a restaurant that was highly recommended to me. Word of mouth from one of the Iris Family members during last month’s meeting,” you start casually. Sleep is just freshly rubbed from your eyes that morning.

Blade doesn’t respond, as expected, his hands steadily occupied with brushing your hair. Always gentle. More patient than you who yanks at any knots that form. You prefer it when he does it, liking the feeling of little jolts of electricity down your spine at the intimate action. It calms your nerves, he’s noted.

So, he indulges you.

There’s hesitance in your fidgeting hands as you peek at him through the vanity mirror from under your lashes. It easily betrays the stern facade you try to enact. You try your luck anyway. “It looked promising and would be a nice change of pace. I would like to try it out.”

Silence. His hand stills and his gaze is rather cold as he meets your eye. The air in the room shifts, a thick tension that’s palpable. You don’t even flinch.

“Bad idea, I take it. Well, I have an errand in the area regardless— the Oak Family contacted us not long ago and I’m being issued as the initial contact for a new business discussion. It would be an ideal use of our time if we can still pick up some food to bring back afterward.”

His hands resume their brushing, burning-red gaze now a dulled crimson as he focuses on not pulling your hair. A better idea, you take it, as he seems to relent to your veiled suggestion with a quiet sigh. The only clear sign you’ve learned means you won him over.

Blade knows well that you look for little ways to get some wiggle room of normalcy. You’ve never gotten used to this caged-bird life, bound to fear what lies beyond the golden enclosure of silk and honey. Perhaps he pities your cries, like birdsong that longs for a life that doesn’t suffocate you— a life that doesn’t hinge on every day and every interaction being a gamble.

If there is even a fraction of an illusion of that for you, he will turn a blind eye and let you lie to yourself. A moment is enough to soothe your aching heart.

Later in the day you depart for the city. A distraught feeling sits in the pit of your belly. An omen brought by a spike in anxiety that you force out of mind as Blade opens the passenger door for you.

It’s a silent ride across several towns to the location indicated. There’s doubt that gnaws at the back of your mind. Something didn’t seem right with the person that contacted you with the location details for this conference between families. You’ve become much too aware that you’re viewed as an expendable pawn of the family.

But, you’re sure Robin will be there. And a familiar face is just what you need for this to be less of a drag.

Blade seems to sense your hesitance. Wordlessly, he turns on the radio. You worry too much, he seems to criticize with the action. It helps all the same.

But… your spirits seem lighter, more optimistic. A moment of normalcy as you tune out and look out the window at passing city lights and a sun slowly tucking away behind never ending buildings. You’re a person, then.

Even if only briefly.

____

They say a common phenomenon occurs that allows you to register one small, redundant detail when in a state of sudden shock. And you remember it then, clear as day.

7:59 PM.

The time on your cracked phone screen just inches away from you.

The smell of iron and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. None of it registered quick enough before Blade yanked you harshly out of the way.

And yelling. Muffled and harsh.

Your body is cold with fear, frozen stiff in place. It’s a feeling you haven’t felt since you were a child.

You struggle to get back onto your feet, cowering back toward the alley wall. It gets harder to breathe as panic sets in when your eyes spot Blade clutching his side.

The situation deteriorates further, every passing second a blur of struggle and dark figures. It feels like every emotion is going to burst out of you in a scream. It’s an out-of-body experience, as if you’re watching your own body act on its own trying to put itself between Blade and the attackers.

“Don’t,” he commands—harsher still with urgency. “Stop.”

You freeze at the foreign sound of his voice. There’s no time to process it as crimson seeps through the fresh wound on his side.

You keep hearing his muffled voice tell you to run, run away. Through the pounding in your ears of adrenaline and fear you realize that’s your voice. Hoarse and frantically yelling, pleading for him to run away— you’re hurt, don’t fight anymore.

The rest is a blur as Blade drags you out of the alley, through crowds of nightlife and shoves you into the car. There’s no way of knowing if the pursuit was hot on your tails. It’s a risk Blade could not afford in his current state.

Your mind is numb with fear during the entire process. Every jolt from the roads he speeds through shoots pain through his body— a bloody manifestation of his inadequacy. He hisses and clutches his side, forced to drive with one hand. The sound tears you from your daze for a moment but forces you to experience the present.

There’s red on your hands, your clothes. The smell of iron is putrid as you desperately try to control your breathing. Bile is at your throat and you choke back a sob, like a pitiful kicked dog. You can’t afford to freak out right now and make things worse.

It’s disjointed how your body reacts compared to your mind. You’ve been through worse. You know that. This comfortable life laying low with your bodyguard has spoiled you. He has spoiled you. Your heart is merely a soft pearl now, layers of disjointed affections received and perceived through his tenderness. The base instinct overwrites everything else— all logic, all experience.

This is not normal, it reasons. This shouldn’t be normal.

You want desperately to silence the mind.

The car comes to a slow stop after miles of non-stop driving, and you’re painfully aware of the trembling in your hands. Though you try to hide them by folding them onto your lap, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Blade’s hand, calloused and marred with drying red, is steady as it closes over your fist. It commands your attention and the lump at your throat threatens to rip a sob from you.

It’s alright now, his piercing red eyes tell you. There’s a tenderness that comes through while his thumb rubs your knuckles to ease your anxiety. He lets his head fall back onto the headrest, a bitter chuckle filling the rigid silence.

Your voice trembles, breathy as it breaks with the urge to cry. “They could have killed you.”

Blade exhales through his nose, eyes still closed as he processes your distress.

“I’m expendable. You must live.” His tone is even, detached. It lacks the usual twinge of warmth and care. It’s as if he’s reading something scripted instead— attempting to avoid overstepping.

“You’re being dishonest with me. That’s not what you want to say. I–”

Your mouth presses into a thin line, his hand squeezing yours.

“I know my father sent them.” There isn’t even hurt in your voice, but a steady bitterness begins to burn at the hearth of your soul. It was high time they deemed you more of a liability than an actual member of the family. You shake your head, and with a deep breath you steady your nerves as best as you can. “That matters less right now. Let's get you cleaned up.”

Staying the night at a hotel much too far from home is less than ideal, but you’re aware Blade won’t risk walking right into another ambush that may be waiting at your doorstep. Best not to compromise the situation further.

Despite the tremble of your lip, your hands are steady and efficient as they work to help clean his wounds. You jolt as your phone vibrates with an incoming call, apologizing as you excuse yourself to the balcony. Blade quietly finishes dressing the cleaned wound on his side. He listens intently as you speak with an Oak Family member on the phone, quickly and quietly.

“No, no. We are safe now. Please keep alert. My contact sent you all available surveillance footage of the area shortly after we departed. We can discuss this further once I look into it. On behalf of,” you pause, a strain on your voice before you compose yourself, “on behalf of the family I apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you, Robin.”

Blade watches you intently from the side. There’s a facade of calm you’re trying desperately to keep up. Perhaps it’s the ‘fight or flight’ that’s still keeping you whole right now. For now, he keeps a close watch over you, every microexpression, every fidget.

There’s hesitance as his left palm rests on the bed. It doesn’t escape your detection as you close the sliding door.

“Give me your hand.” A beat and he relents, red gaze as intense as ever as he watches you kneel before him in silence. “You’re hurt here, too.”

He grunts as if inconvenienced, but lets you do as you please. Indulges you— always does.

With a patient crimson gaze, he observes you. Your heart has never felt so vulnerable than right now.

“It’s not perfect, and I’m no doctor, but…” You pause to look over your work.

Despite trembling hands and less-than-elegant bandaging, you gently bring his knuckles to your lips and press a kiss to each one. A childish gesture he didn’t see you as the type to do. That surely in your naive heart you believe a kiss will make it better— despite the blood and bruises.

And Blade— doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop you.

How selfishly he lets your heart devour him.

He gives a silent thanks and moves to sit away from you, making home on the couch with a wince as he adjusts to lay down. The lights are off now, save for your bedside lamp.

Even in the warmth of the lamplight, the feeling of being cold and isolated persists. Alone at the edge of the bed. You want to be selfish and order him to sleep on a proper bed— near you for your peace of mind.

Sleep, he tells you wordlessly with a glance. It’s been a long day.

You worry your lip all the same, seated at the edge of your bedside. Unmoving, tense— your mind reels, replaying the same thing over and over.

7:59 PM.

When the weapon just grazed over his heart and instead hit his side. When the smell of iron, cursed with beautiful crimson, nauseated you.

In the dark, your eyes adjust and watch as Blade’s breathing slows with sleep. It’s not normal— his breathing. The wrappings will only do so much while the pain persists. But by morning, the scar will be there, as if it had always been there. You don’t dare ask the details of why.

He’s spoiled you, surely. A comfortable life in his hands has made you soft. And you know this to be true, otherwise this attempt at your life would be nothing but another occurrence you hardly bat an eye to.

The gentleness he grants you unravels you faster.

No matter how close Blade is, you’re always alone. Even so, you choose to stay within his shadow. It’s warm— always warm.

And you crave him. Crave him in ways you should not entertain.

You don’t sleep much that night. The attempts on your life are few in recent years, but even more rare is successful bloodshed. The more dire incidents leave your nerves fried, a heavy pounding in your chest as adrenaline leaves your body tense and sleepless. Even with Blade’s watchful gaze keeping you safe, knowing he’s been injured by your carelessness only leaves you waking with a strangled gasp from guilt-ridden nightmares every hour.

The room is foreign as you try to adjust your sight to the dark bathed in a sliver of moonlight from a crack in the hotel room’s curtains.

This bed is not yours, this room is not yours. It’s not home, and this isn’t normal. The target is hot on your back— always under someone’s watchful eye. Never able to take a full breath without gasping and clawing at the anxiety closing its hands around your throat.

Your throat feels tight the more you think. In the dark, faces seem to morph into the details on the ceiling— mocking and shifting. All you can do is think in circles, worry your lips raw.

When you look over, you can just barely make out Blade’s dark figure laid on the sofa across from you. The bandages wrapped on his torso are salt in the wound as the guilt claws at your throat once more. Tears sting your eyes as the stress of it all finally reaches a breaking point.

The clock reads midnight as you tiptoe to the bathroom.

The bathwater is just short of scalding when you step in. The feeling doesn’t even phase you, a welcome sensation as the steam surrounds you. Its temperature is a welcoming hug melting your stresses away little by little as you work your fingers into your tense shoulders. A sniffle here and there, shaky breaths accompanied by the sweet melodies of tears breaking the water’s surface.

For a while, you sit idly, watching water from the leaky faucet drip. With each drop, the echoing sound clears your mind and centers you.

Deep breath, hold it. Exhale. Repeat.

The door to the bathroom clicks open, heavy footsteps trailing in.

“I already knew you were awake, but I wish you would rest,” you mutter into your knees as you shrink into yourself.

He sits at the edge of the tub. Formality is left at the door, for your sake. You have nothing to hide from him, anyway. The flesh is nothing to hide, and you’re more ashamed to let his eyes gaze upon the want in your soul. Ugly and wretched.

“You care for me,” is all Blade says in the quiet echo of the bathroom. “Don’t.”

The silence that follows seeps into the water that is no longer warm. Your body sinks lower into the tub until your nose is just above the water. Heat sears the tips of your ears.

The pounding of your heart is deafening, louder still as his presence engulfs your senses.

You feel foolish and naive and your bones are tired of being within your flesh. Bound to carry a fool like you through every mistake.

The sound of water draining doesn’t faze you. He’s decided this is less healing than you wallowing in self-pity. It won’t do you any good. Believing him is easier when you’d rather not think.

You sit up and keep your gaze glued to the surface of the water. Not unable to meet his gaze— refusing to— as his words weigh heavy on your heart.

You would rather he squeeze your heart— drink it dry of the lifeblood that keeps it pumping. Maybe this isn’t love. Or isn’t what you need.

But you will yourself to not care. Have to.

Blade taps your shoulder, urging you to stand before you catch a cold the longer you stay in the lukewarm water. He sighs quietly when you shake your head petulantly.

You finally speak— a quiet, frail thing as your voice trembles ever so slightly. “You’re wrong. It’s more.”

The water sloshes and spills over the sides as you turn your body around. Your eyes meet full, crimson moons, and your heart remains strangely steady. Uncertainty claws at your nerves until they fray like ribbons.

The draining water weighs in the forefront of your mind like an hourglass waiting for your next move. And with each second his eyes crumble your resolve, seeing through you— peering into the soul of a frail little thing like you. He waits patiently for your next gamble.

You lean up, lips pressing against his. A forlorn warmth.

Not pushed away, not stopped. Blade indulges you. Always does.

A wordless answer.

“You don’t like it, but I love you,” you mutter against his lips when you pull away. “That won’t change easily.”

“I never said I don’t like it.”

You can’t meet his eyes when your fingers silently trace the bandage wrappings around his bare torso.

“It eats me alive to see you get hurt. I know it’s your job, but… I can still be a fool in love. Can’t I?”

When you chase his lips again, your body shivers. It’s difficult to tell if that comes as a result from the harsh, cold porcelain of the empty tub or his teeth sinking into your lip.

The water is running again when Blade pushes you away, your eyes unfocused and glassy. He makes your heart ache. You have yet to decide if it’s in a good way or a bad way.

“Is it pity?” you ask quietly. “The reason you kissed back?” There’s distress and hurt in your voice as Blade falls into routine, moving you about like a doll to finish what you inevitably will not.

No response. For once, you can’t read him.

Blade works silently as he runs hot water over your body with that delicate gentleness that has your heart yearning and longing for him to be forced into what you need. You swallow the greed— the selfishness— and tear out the vitals of that ugly beast before you go mad if he leaves.

Your back is to him as he uses the shower head to get the last remaining suds out of your hair. It pulls your focus for a moment, the feeling pleasant and distracting. Methods he already knows to soothe your tumultuous mind.

The water runs and he turns you around. The bandages around his torso are damp by now, your lingering gaze focusing on them as he finishes rinsing you in silence. The myriad of scars adorning his arms and torso bring a heavy feeling to your chest. You will the vile feeling away and focus on his fingers gently lathering up your hair. Keeping you sat makes the task more difficult— you know this. But the attention makes your heart lighter all the same.

Selfish. The thought brands itself on your back like a hot iron.

The water runs and runs along your thigh with a light pressure as he abandons the shower head and tilts your face up to finally look at him. His gaze is intense— worried in the way he searches your crestfallen expression. You’re sure you look pathetic like this, disappointment on your face.

But he kisses you.

Blade leans down and kisses you. Of his own volition, now, and it's soft and warm. So warm it singes the edges of the isolation that consumes you. And for a moment, salvation is what you feel.

“You’re stubborn,” he says, his breath warm as it fans your face. “I enjoy it. That’s my answer.”

You can’t help the pout on your lips. It pulls a hum of amusement from him.

“Enjoying the demise of my heart. You’re cruel.”

Your words have no bite. A ghost of a smile graces his lips and it brings a rush of emotion to your already starving heart.

Because you don’t know it, but he craves you. Fondly but desperately.

Where your family has thrown you to the side, he will hold you close. A greed of his own he has to battle— keep focused so it won’t consume him. So he won’t devour you whole.

A shiver runs through your body as he coaxes you back into the tub, and you think for a moment he’s back to keeping you at an arm’s length again. The cold of the porcelain is harsh on your back. You retain some shame, at least, and you go to cover your chest. It’s the feeling of being a lamb before the slaughter, pristine and loved.

“Sit still,” Blade commands, voice smooth and an octave lower as his arm pushes one of your legs apart to prop on the edge of the tub.

It's a welcome initiative that makes your face warm with a sudden meekness. You’re exposed and surely getting slick by the second with arousal dripping down your inner thigh. Spread and completely bare.

Your chest rises and falls at a quickening pace and you whimper in anticipation. Blade watches you almost curiously, as if he’s never heard these pathetic little sounds from your lips. There’s little that hasn’t been shared between you two with his intimate work as your bodyguard. His presence has been by your side nearly twenty four hours a day every day for the past few years. Still, this is a new low he is taking on with you.

Indulging you. Like he always does.

This is an inevitable shift in your relationship— one that has long since strayed from a purely professional stance. It never suited you both, at least that’s what you like to think.

His gaze like blood is trained onto your expression— every shift, every change, every wince. He wants to see them all, sear them into his memory like tomorrow isn’t promised.

Your body jolts and an obscene moan you can't manage to hold back bubbles up your throat as he holds the shower head just over your slick cunt. The water runs with a constant pressure that feels odd and overwhelmingly good. But your moans are much too loud, much too desperate. With a click, the flow changes and he rips a sharp gasp out of you as he aims the water at your throbbing clit.

Your body is thrashing, squirming against the porcelain but you don’t have it in you to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop. But this feeling is not him, and you want to be selfish and have him take all that remains. To have him take and take and fill and put you back together after he breaks you into irreplaceable pieces.

The squeeze of his hand on the tender flesh of your plush thigh is enough to have you panting and writhing. The feeling is isolated, the mere touch hot on your skin— scalding, even. His large hand sinks easily into the soft skin there, and you wish his touch alone would leave marks in his wake. To remind you that he’s still here, and you’ll both be alright.

The coiling feeling builds and builds, your walls clenching around nothing as your clit is assaulted by the constant stream of pressure. A whimper of frustration escapes your lips as your hips try to buck up to chase the feeling— begging for relief. He doesn’t spare you from cruelty, not when your expressions are a wonder to behold. You can’t even scream as an orgasm rips through you so suddenly, mouth agape as you twist and arch under his watchful gaze.

An expression twisted and contorted by bliss— Blade drinks up all your sounds and the sight of you undone. You squirm against his hold on your thigh as the feeling starts to toe into overstimulation. It’s too much of a good thing and you don’t know whether to beg him to stop or keep chasing the feeling of the coil tightly winding again.

The tears that adorn your lashes blur your peripheral, but you’re sure you see a wolfish grin on Blade’s expression.

Just short of coming undone again, he denies you a second completion. The stream of water slowly drips to a stop and you lay there catching your breath. Frustration sits in the pit of your belly as exhaustion finally settles on your limbs, eyelids heavy. For a moment you feel his lips on your temple— a brief, chaste gesture.

It’s silent as you get ready to sleep once more. By now it’s almost two in the morning, your tired body protesting the hour. But the air is no longer suffocating, and a lightness remains in your heart once more. The maw of the beast still looms over you but for now, the beating of two hearts quells your worries until morning.

His steps halt as you pull him along toward the bed.

“Sleep here,” you beg quietly. “It’ll be better for your wounds.”

Blade closes his eyes, forcing himself to disregard the want in your eyes. When you tug gently again he gives in, allowing you to do as you please. Just like always.

He cannot pleasure you how he wants, not tonight. You wouldn’t allow it with his wounds. All the same he relents when you urge him to sleep in a proper bed— to lay with you.

In the stillness of the dark, his hand searches for yours. You wonder for a moment if his fear of losing you rivals your own. For the sake of your heart, you’ll have to assume that much.

He fits easily into the crook of your neck and allows his lips to press tenderly where your shoulder meets your neck. The flesh dissolves under his tongue. You are left bare, a soul so desperately longing to be unsealed and seen and filled.

And he sees you. Blade fills you— with yearning and a wretched possessiveness unbecoming of you. But he fills you, nonetheless.

[hoshifighting]

joshua as a sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sex, edging, jealous sugar mommy, sweet and gentle babyboy joshua. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

joshua was unlike any sugar baby you’d had before—sweet, calm, and so damn perfect it almost pissed you off. but you couldn’t help it; you loved dressing him up like your little doll, choosing the finest clothes and watching as he wore them with that quiet confidence that drove you feverish. he never complained, not even once, and why would he? his only job was to keep you company, hit the gym, and look good doing it.

sometimes, when you were swamped with work, you’d pull up the security feed on your computer, pretending to check the cameras like any responsible ceo would. but really, your eyes were glued to joshua, watching as he swam leisurely in the pool, his lithe body cutting through the water with such grace. or the way he’d walk into his bedroom, only to find another bouquet of flowers on the bed, a note from you tucked inside. the way his face would light up, that shy smile making your heart squeeze—it was all the balance you needed from the chaos of your world.

at events, he was the perfect accessory, drawing the eyes of every woman in the room. “you’re so lucky,” they’d gush, eyes flicking from you to him. “he’s gorgeous and so well-mannered.”

your grip would tighten on his hand, jaw clenching as you tried to keep your composure. “i know,” you’d say, voice a little too tight, because the truth was, you hated how much you cared. how much you didn’t want to share him, even in the slightest.

joshua, the sweet thing, would just lower his head, a little smile playing on his lips. he knew exactly what he was doing, and he fucking loved it. seeing you get jealous was a rare treat for him, and he savored every second of it, loving how it made you just a bit more possessive, a bit more vulnerable around him.

despite all that, it took time before things got physical. joshua wasn’t in a rush—he genuinely loved just being around you, soaking up your presence. but the day you finally asked, the moment you let him know you wanted more, he didn’t hesitate.

he didn’t waste any time actually, pulling you close, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was tender at first, testing, but quickly deepened when he felt you respond just as eagerly.

and that’s when you discovered something surprising about joshua—underneath that sweet, innocent exterior was a man who had a filthy, nasty side that he kept hidden away, just waiting for the right moment to show you.

he loved it when you took control, especially when you’d tie him down, your hands light-touching his nipples, as you rode him, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the room. but what really got him going, what made him absolutely lose it, was when you whispered the filthiest things in his ear, telling him exactly what you were going to do to him, how you were going to make him beg.

“you like that, baby?” you’d purr, your breath hot against his neck as you felt him shudder beneath you. “you like it when i take what’s mine?”

and he’d nod, breathless and desperate, his voice coming out in broken whimpers as you had your way with him. “yes, fuck, yes…”

but it wasn’t just dominance. joshua had a thing for risk, too. he loved it when you pushed him to the edge, doing things that felt almost wrong, like the way he’d go down on you in the back of your car, licking and sucking at you like a man starved, even as you told him to stop, that someone might see. but that only made him go harder, the thrill of getting caught making him harder than ever.

then there was the time you discovered how much he loved to be edged. you’d keep him right there, right on the brink of release, your wet hand wrapped around his cock as he begged you, pleaded with you to let him cum. but you wouldn’t, not until he was practically crying, his body trembling with need.

and when you finally let him have it, when you finally let him release, the way he’d moan, the way he’d cling to you like you were his lifeline, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, joshua was the prettiest baby boy, following your orders even though he couldn’t hold it anymore.

“fuck, y/n-ie,” he’d gasp, his voice ragged, his body still shaking as he came down from the high. “you’re going to ruin me.”

and you knew he meant it. because as sweet and calm as joshua was, as much as he tried to play the perfect sugar baby, you knew that underneath it all, he was just as addicted to you as you were to him.

[bnuuygrils]

47news interview with Tamifull

Earlier this month Tamifull, the author of Tsukiatte agetemo ii kana? AKA How Do We Relationship?, did an interview with 47news. I've translated the full text below:

Out of the innumerable manga published every year, there are always a few titles that one simply can't afford to miss. Tamifull-sensei's How Do We Relationship? (Shogakukan) is one of these. It's a story of young love and heartbreak, centering on college students Inuzuka Miwa and Sawatari Saeko. Though fiction, it has a powerful sense of reality that leaves one feeling as if the real Miwa and Saeko might just be out there somewhere right now. If Agasawa Tea's Ramparts of Ice (Shueisha) is the pinnacle of high school romance, then How Do We Relationship? is the pinnacle of college romance. With the help of supervising editor Watanabe Saori-san, we were able to secure an interview with Tamifull-sensei to discuss the story--now on its 12th volume, and at the height of its climax.

The story so far:

Soon after starting college, mild-mannered beauty Inuzuka Miwa joins the light music club and finds herself the center of attention from the boys at the welcoming party. Miwa, who "only likes girls", is rescued from the situation by the energetic Saeko. Saeko, who "prefers women (to men)", buoyed by liquid courage, asks Miwa out on the spot and the two begin dating. But the two are clumsy and inexperienced with love, and fail to be fully honest with each other. By the end of the year, their romance has ended in disaster. After maintaining a sex-only relationship for some time they return to being friends and even move on to new partners... Finally, as their respective relationships have both ended, the two look at each other anew, not as lovers, but as exes, and as absolute allies.

47: How Do We Relationship? has a very unusual structure. Shoujo manga tend to portray a dramatic path to the start of the relationship, but Miwa and Saeko begin dating at the very start of volume 1 and break up in volume 4. As we're now on volume 12, they've actually been exes longer than they were together.

Tamifull: Well, it has stretched a little longer than I expected (laughs), but the story is proceeding as planned from the start. I think rather than starting decisively with some sort of "All right, I'm falling in love now!" moment, real love tends to build up out of small things over time. I didn't want the relationships in How Do We Relationship? to start in this exaggerated, romance story kind of way.

47: And that helps with its sense of reality.

Tamifull: I don't believe dating and breaking up are things that we need to think about in such dramatic terms. It's easy to feel like every relationship has to be perfect, or that you need to have some sort of fated encounter, or that breaking up is a bad thing, something hopeless. Why shouldn't there be manga that throws away those stereotypes? Life is so much longer than a single relationship. It keeps going after you start dating someone, or break up with them. I think that's a message that I've consistently tried to tell with this manga.

47: Can you tell us how it got to be serialized?

Tamifull: It started out as a oneshot I did for Comitia (a doujin festival and marketplace in Tokyo) in 2017. Up until then, I had mainly been drawing yuri--manga about relationships between girls. And I wanted to tell a little bit of a different story at that event. Doujinshi are generally about 20 pages, so usually you introduce the main couple, have them confess, and wrap it up right around there. So I thought, what if they're already in a relationship and we watch them break up? I was basically thinking, "why not draw what I want to read!?"

Watanabe: Ashima Yuki-san, one of the first freelance editors, reached out to Tamifull-san then.

47: At the time, yuri was considered a pretty small market. It felt like unless you got into one of the specialized publications you'd have a very hard time, right?

Tamifull: That's true. There are a lot more varied works coming out now. At the time most of these stories were actually aimed at men, so the relationships would stay platonic, or at most they might kiss. I knew stories like that were easier to market and less likely to ruffle feathers, but I found myself thinking, "If we all settle for that, we'll never get to see what happens next! If no one else is drawing it, why shouldn't I?"

47: What did Ashima-san say to you?

Tamifull: She told me, "I've been wanting to read a story where the characters and relationship feel free like this". I do remember thinking it might be more marketable without the eroticism when I was developing it for serialization (laughs). But I ended up just being like, well, let's see what happens!

47: "Realistic" LGBTQ romance stories tend to end up falling into a handful of patterns. Whether it's manga or movies, you see a lot of stories that feel like "the tragedy of same-sex love", or that seem intended to make you feel sorry for the characters. Like the audience is meant to walk away thinking, "How thought-provoking! I really learned something". But How Do We Relationship? is pretty different, isn't it?

Tamifull: Rather than being "yuri" or being viewed as an "LGBTQ story", I want people to get into the story just because they see it and go "Hey, there's girls dating in here!". Sexual minorities aren't here to be instructional materials for anyone. LGBTQ people live in the same world as everyone else. I want the characters to seem like people you might meet anywhere, and to have relationships you might see anywhere. I want the fact that the relationship isn't heterosexual to just be a detail. That's why Watanabe-san and I decided not to advertise How Do We Relationship? specifically as a yuri manga.

47: Achieving that sense of reality must take a lot of care. I imagine you have to be careful to avoid the set phrases and compositions that readers see all the time in romance manga.

Tamifull: That's true. For example, in the scene where Saeko opens up to Mikkun, their male friend, about her dating Miwa, she asks him if he finds the two of them dating "gross, or wrong, or unnatural", and Mikkun, while looking away, asks in return, "What? Do I have to feel that way about you?". The orthodox move would be to have the handsome guy character looking straight out of the page, smoothly delivering some cool line. But in real life we don't have convenient handsome guys just lying around, and you're not usually looking people straight in the eye. It's not that staged. I think the casual nature of the lines, and the casual nature of the situation, actually make it all the more resonant. I want to keep that natural feeling to the story, and I go out of my way to avoid making it feel "romantic". I think my ideal is for it to feel like a movie.

47: A movie?

Tamifull: That's right. I think one of the strengths of film is the ability to show the drama of everyday life. I always include backgrounds in my panels to try to get closer to that feeling. For instance, in a scene in volume 12, Saeko is on a boat at night looking out over the water with her girlfriend, Yuria. They're talking about breaking up. It's a very romantic setting, but the painful nature of their conversation blots out everything except for the blackness of the water. I want readers to feel like they're there experiencing it alongside the characters.

47: I see. The city you see at night while breaking up with someone certainly does feel different...

Watanabe: And Tamifull-sensei's art has really helped deliver that sense of reality to readers. There are no wasted panels: from the camera placement to how the viewer's eye is led, even the placement of the dialogue, everything serves to guide the reader to what she's showing. Due to my job I read a lot of manga, but there are very few manga artists as skilled as her.

47: Personally, as a reader, it's that sense of reality that has me praying for Saeko and Miwa to end up happy, so next I'd like to ask a little about about how you learned to imbue your writing with such reality, and what techniques you use.

Tamifull: I'll do my best (laughs).

47: First, the depth and internality of your characters. For instance, after breaking up with Saeko, Miwa dates the younger Tamaki. Tamaki is reserved and very low-energy. She's clearly at a loss with the more sexually-motivated Miwa, but nonetheless does her best to reciprocate in her own way. She's straightforward and can be a little childish, but has an intellectual side to her, as well. Accurately portraying such a complex, difficult character must necessitate having an incredibly keen eye for people. How did you learn to understand other people so well?

Tamifull: I think it was mostly my experience in school. In primary and middle school I was low on the pecking order, so I became very sensitive to other people's hostility.

47: Ah, the pecking order... That does happen, doesn't it.

Tamifull: Yes. I'd be in a group of maybe 5 or 6 friends in a class and then once every few months I'd get the silent treatment and end up being ostracized from the group, in this sort of rotation. I'd go through 2 or 3 groups and it would always happen. I think all the time I spent thinking about how to avoid being targeted like that played a big part.

47: Planning out the battle to make it out alive, so to speak.

Tamifull: I think that really helped cultivate my eye (laughs). Like, this girl's the ringleader, and these ones are joining in because they don't want to become the target themselves, but this other girl is actually nice so even when they're ganging up on me she won't join in.

47: I see. Even while you were being mistreated, you were trying to understand things from their perspective. Certainly How Do We Relationship? doesn't have any one character that you would really call a villain.

Tamifull: That's right. Take Kan, who tells Miwa "I hate you" in volume 2, or Tamaki's friend Nagi who calls her "gross" in volume 8. I think it would be too convenient if nobody was ever mean or unpleasant, so it's important to have such characters. But I also try to portray them as having their own reasons. It's not like everyone will be good to each other all the time, but for each person, there's a community out there somewhere that will accept them as themselves. I'm always including that idea, that wish, almost, as I write the various members of the music club.

47: The story has this warmth to it you can really feel, and I think that idea has a lot to do with it. That said, it sounds like you weren't always successful at avoiding bullying. That must have been difficult.

Tamifull: I spent a lot of time wrapped in my futon wondering, why do they treat me like that? As the days went by I'd end up sublimating my anger and frustration by telling myself, "They have their own problems so there's nothing I can do about it." Like, this girl might have a lot of stress at home, about her grades or other things, so she just feels too much pressure and gets pushed into bullying, or things like that. I really got in the habit of thinking about things from their perspective.

47: You are an incredibly kind person. I do think the eye you cultivated that way serves you well in writing characters. For example, in volume 3, we meet Miwa's first crush, Shiho. At home, we see Shiho being horribly mistreated by her parents, who only care for her more academically-minded younger sister, Maho. One day Maho snaps at her, saying "Don't talk back to me, moron! You know how much I have to carry thanks to your stupidity!?". But Shiho just accepts it, and keeps her unhappiness to herself. That's in volume 11, that we finally find out how Maho, who's caused Shiho so much pain, has been feeling.

Tamifull: Maho also feels a lot of pressure from their parents, and she's desperate not to fail. She's under a lot of stress from that. When they were younger, Shiho and Maho were actually very close--Maho loved her older sister--but as grades and examinations started to get involved that connection became twisted... I wasn't able to show all of this in the story, but I always think through these details before drawing.

47: That sort of thing does happen between siblings, doesn't it... Just remembering is a little painful.

Tamifull: But, as much as I analyze people like this, it's very difficult to put into words.

47: In what way?

Tamifull: If you say "Well, this person has this kind of background, so that's why they do these things" then everyone will be like, "And what do you know about them?". You'll end up hurting feelings. So I can't say it about real people, but with How Do We Relationship? I'm the author so I can draw whatever I want. When I hear readers talk about the "realism" I'm always like, "Really? You mean I actually did it?". I secretly get a little happy about it (laughs).

47: Did you always want to become a mangaka, growing up?

Tamifull: I did always like drawing. But when I was pretty young I read one of those "So you want to draw manga?" kind of books and I got very intimidated by all the different erasers and tones and things, and I sort of gave up (laughs). It wasn't until I'd completely retired from extracurriculars in college that I realized I didn't have enough to do and started drawing manga.

47: And then you became a mangaka as soon as you graduated?

Tamifull: Yes, that's right.

47: That's quite something. Not many people manage to do that, right?

Tamifull: The reason I started attending Comitia was because in college I finally learned that editors would be there. Up until then I was working with my childhood knowledge--I thought I had to submit my work to a company and then become an assistant before I could become an author myself. When I found out I was like, "Doujinshi will get me fans and even expose me to editors? What could be better!?". I had my heart set on it.

47: (laughs). What kinds of things were you inspired by when you were a child?

Tamifull: All the way through school I was into stuff that was a little different from whatever was in fashion. I liked watching slightly older anime on Kids' Station, for instance. Like, look at me! I'm not into the same stuff as everybody else! Aren't I cool? (laughs).

47: (laughs).

Tamifull: When everyone else was into Cardcaptor Sakura, I was watching Takahashi Rumiko-sensei's Ranma 1/2 and Maison Ikkoku. I remember when I read one of Ito Junji-sensei's works at a relative's house it left a big impression on me. When I was in college I bought the collector's edition of Tomie at Village Vanguard.

47: You grew up into a bit of an alt college student.

Tamifull: In college, going to Village Vanguard and fishing for manga nobody else had became something of a passion for me.

47: What about Takahashi Rumiko-sensei's work did you like in particular?

Tamifull: I especially liked the way she drew girls. In the early 2000s, when I was in primary school, it was very in fashion for girls to be drawn very slender and light, with delicate limbs.

47: Slenderness was certainly emphasized a lot back then, yes.

Tamifull: I preferred how Rumiko-sensei drew them--a little squishy. As far as the story goes, I loved the ending of Maison Ikkoku, how it portrays the characters moving forward in life. I read it over and over. I think that passion for people comes through a little in How Do We Relationship?.

47: In the afterword of volume 3, you mentioned that from middle school until about halfway through college you lost interest in manga, and were more into drama and music.

Tamifull: That's true. Sometimes I'd draw a buff Pikachu or something on the blackboard to try to get a laugh out of people, but that was about it.

47: A buff Pikachu? (laughs). I wish I could see it.

Tamifull: At co-ed schools I think girls mostly end up ranked by looks, but I went to an all-girls high school, so... It was really about who was the funniest.

47: So art was a way of giving yourself a gimmick.

Tamifull: That's right. That continued into college, so I always had the position of somebody who's just a little bit good at drawing. In college everyone was nice, though.

47: In that same afterword you mentioned that during the time you weren't drawing manga, you really enjoyed making things together with a group.

Tamifull: In high school I was in the school band, and we'd all put on plays together at school festivals. I joined the light music club in college. I did percussion in high school so I mostly played drums, or did vocals.

47: Oooh. What kinds of things did you play in the light music club?

Tamifull: Just normal rock. Popular stuff, like Go! Go! 7188.

47: I have an impression of you as being a little bit countercultural, so rock seems perfect for you (laughs).

Tamifull: In college I was also on the student festival committee, so I was doing double duty a little bit. And as much as I enjoyed making things with other people, I started to feel this hole open up, like inside I'd be thinking "I could do this so much better...". Then I started looking into manga again on a whim and realized everything had gone digital. You don't need to hire a bunch of assistants, and you can do tones with the press of a button. It was like this new environment where I could try my hand at manga by myself was prepared just in time as I came of age. I didn't have to hold myself back for anyone, and could do everything just how I wanted. That's why I've always worked alone.

47: What!? You don't have any assistants even now?

Tamifull: I don't.

47: Watanabe-san, is that normal?

Watanabe: It's extremely precious to us. She's really something, isn't she? I don't know how she puts out so much in just two weeks.

Tamifull: I want every angle and composition just so. I can't really express it well, so when I think about trying to explain it to someone else, I just feel like it would end up taking even more time... But then sometimes I'll be working from my storyboards and I'll be like, "Why did I make myself draw it like this!?" and end up suffering a little (laughs).

47: It's certainly a work that cuts no corners. The dialogue is always so well written and moving--do you start by writing the characters' lines?

Tamifull: Yes, I do. I'll write them all out at once, then adapt them to the storyboards as I go. I think all the time I spent agonizing in my futon when I was younger like "I should've said this..." or "And then they'd say that..." might also help here.

47: You always include afterword comics and omake in the tankoubon releases, so I get a sense that you're quite particular about manga books.

Tamifull: I love manga that includes a lot of little extras. And I want readers to enjoy How Do We Relationship? as much as possible, so I always go all out drawing them.

47: Your first announced works were around 2012, and in 2014 you made your commercial debut with Don't Call me a Goddess! in Bungeisha's 4-koma magazine Manga Time. The main character, Saotome-san, is a bit of a tryhard, and as much as that wins her respect from her peers, it also tends to alienate them. Into her life barrels the far less inhibited Ryou. After that, you had My Little Sister and the Sex Doll (Shueisha) serialized in Tonari no Young Jump, about an innocent and naive high school girl and a talking sex doll. Both manga were comedies.

Tamifull: How Do We Relationship? was a little bit of a break in genre, yes (laughs). My Little Sister and the Sex Doll also started as something I made as a change of pace for Comitia (laughs).

47: It's a very rhythmical work--the talking sex doll's lines are incredibly well crafted.

Tamifull: The editors at Young Jump really liked it. It was a little more crude than what I usually write, so I did have some doubts... but they were very kind in offering me the serialization. I had to exercise my vocabulary to the fullest.

47: As much as it made me laugh, I could also somehow feel your desire to break taboos coming through.

Tamifull: That's true. I was trying to make fun of dirty comics, while making a dirty comic (laughs). Even when there would be the setup for some sort of fanservice scene, with something sexual happening to the girl, I would always interrupt it with a joke and turn it into something decidedly not fanservice.

47: On the other hand, something about the relationship between Saotome-san and Ryou in Don't Call Me a Goddess! feels like it connects to Miwa and Saeko. Are you particularly fond of that sort of relationship?

Tamifull: Honestly, that was... completely unintentional. I think, when it comes to protagonists, I do like a character who is quiet, but unexpectedly stubborn... When I think about my time in school, I had a lot of experiences where there would be another girl, and she'd have this sense of separation, like a bit of a boundary around herself, but when I approached her she'd turn out to actually be really interesting. And I'd have this feeling of "Everyone else doesn't even know how cool she is!? I need to let everyone know!". I think that feeling, almost like wanting to become a producer for girls like that, has led me to write my protagonists that way.

47: You really love girls.

Tamifull: I may have spent long years in fierce battle with them at school, but when I translate it to manga they become strangely appealing. Even when they're a pain, their being a pain is good in of itself (laughs). It's true that characters who aren't straightforward can make a story more interesting, but I also think that's just how people are--you can't sum anyone up in a few words. Don't you agree?

47: Your manga, including How Do We Relationship?, really don't tend to have characters that you can sum up as "the cool one" or "the tsundere" or anything like that.

Tamifull: That's right. I don't want them to be symbols.

47: And that's exactly why, in each case--Saeko and Miwa, Miwa and Tamaki, Saeko and Yuria--when they break up, it's so emotionally impactful. You can't just point at one of them and say, "It's her fault."

Tamifull: Right. In reality, lots of people break up all the time without either one really being at fault. It makes me really happy to hear that people read the story as just being how things ended up for them. It's so easy to assume that when a relationship falls apart, it's because someone's in the wrong. I worked very hard to make sure that Tamaki and Yuria would be charming enough characters for readers to like them, and to accept it when I made them break up with Miwa and Saeko. I always look at readers' reactions and think carefully about how to proceed.

47: How Do We Relationship? really feels like you want to closely examine real, "normal" relationships.

Tamifull: I think it's a pity for the socially accepted image of love to be something so narrow. When two women date, and after breaking up return to being friends, I think people have a tendency to look a little askance at them. But why is that? I always find myself thinking, "Are you okay with living like that?". With How Do We Relationship?, I wanted to create a world where Miwa and Saeko and everyone else's desires wouldn't be crushed by those around them.

47: Especially during the first 3 volumes, you often shine the spotlight on the other characters around Miwa and Saeko. Is that also a part of fleshing out that view of the world?

Tamifull: Something like that. I don't want the idea of someone who likes the same sex to be something fantastical. I want to show that sexual minorities are all around--even around you. I want heterosexual readers to also get into the story, and I was very conscious of that early on in the serialization. I think whether you're gay or straight, you can still understand this story. These characters are just like you. That's the message I've tried to send.

47: It would be really wonderful if we could become a society where everyone views each other with respect. What would that take, I wonder?

Tamifull: Delusions, maybe.

47: Delusions? (laughs).

Tamifull: Yes (laughs). This is just my own experience, but when I meet someone and feel off-put by them, I always thoroughly imagine their background. By the time I'm finished whatever anger I felt has faded, and I feel ready to treat them better--maybe even to become close with them. And if you write stories you can come up with great material this way, so it's two birds with one stone (laughs).

[hobvitr]

pavitr prabhakar x reader

gn! reader.

genre/warnings: fluff, angst if you squint, stabilized relationship, reader has anxiety, mention of wounds, blood, just a lil blurb

sinopses: you discover you boyfriend is spiderman, but just because he has nowhere to go to treat his wounds.

what else to do on a tuesday night instead of sketch some stuff and finish your homework, right? your boyfriend occupied for god knows how long due to his "grown up" responsibilities who you wouldn't even question too much, knowing he as well might have his privacy and you trust him blindly.

you draw stern lines with your pencil above the paper, headphones on and you hum along some of your favorite songs. a light thud catches your attention, looking up from the paper to look at your right... nothing. then your left..

"what the- WHAT THE FUCK?" your voice comes out first at a normal volume, then coming more like a whisper-yell as you look at pavitr entering your room through your window. but the problem is, you live in a building at the sixth floor, and he's using a spiderman suit.

"hey babe" he starts with a slight smile, holding his mask in one hand and the other pressing firmly at his side, blood coming out of the wound. "I'm sorry to bother you-"

"pav you're bleeding, what happened?!" you frown, worried sick as you come closer to him to help him hold the wound, not even processing he's literally Spiderman. you scold him to sit on your bed, a hiss coming out of his lips. "wait here, I'm getting a aid kit"

you don't even wait for his response, running to the bathroom and getting everything that you needed. as you got back into your room, you could hear your heartbeat fastening with worry, breath hitching and fingers trembling holding the gauze as you kneel in front of him.

pavitr could read your body language and even sense the unhealthy amount of anxiety you were experiencing right now. "hey- hey, look at me" he placed his unbloodied hand on your cheek, making you look at his face. "it's okay, i'm okay... it'll be fine" his voice coming out soothing and making you stead your breath. "thank you for helping me, hot stuff" the nickname made you let out a brief laugh, being able to concentrate on doing the best bandage you could.

the second you were done with the bandage, you clean the other small cuts he had on his face and arms. you let out a sigh once you're done with the cleaning, looking at his eyes now. "I can't believe you addressed being spiderman as 'grown up responsibilities', really" you said casually, not yet being able to assimilate who your boyfriend was.

"it was the best i could come up with" he said with a chuckle, patting his side at the bed so you could sit up with him instead of kneeling on the ground. "you do sound a bit unimpressed" he leans back a little, his hands back on the bed for support.

"sorry, didn't have the time to freak out about you being a hero, was kinda busy with you dying from bleeding out" you said in a teasing manner, now analysing him in his suit. "that explains so much, actually... that's why i always found spiderman so attractive" you kept teasing him, now with a grin.

"so you have a crush on spiderman and didn't tell me?!" pav said faking offense laying his hand on his chest after a laugh burst out of him, arms coming to hold both your sides in a warm hug. you hug him back, careful with his wounds. "you know i'm gonna worry about you like, three times more, right?" you say, head buried on his neck, taking in his fresh scent.

"i know, but now i'll be three times more careful to come back unharmed to you" you could feel him smiling against your head. he leaned slightly back, making you look at his eyes, which was looking directly at your lips. you let out a small chuckle and kissed him slowly and softly, making him smile in the process.

as you remember you actually need to breathe, you reluctantly pull off, making pav whine jokingly. "nooo, i need more kisses from my sunshine to get better faster" you giggle, mumbling a 'good point' against his lips and taking his request, cuddling with him for the rest of the night.

[noralia20]

Summary: You and Sirius have always been enemies. The reason ? You didn't know yourself, he always has been mean to you. You're a Gryffindor pureblood, with very proud parents. The marauders like to annoy you and that makes you change into a person you don't even recognise today, not even your best friend, Regulus. One day you get assigned a punition during detention that you have to do with Sirius. Will your relation get better ? Or Worse ?

Words count : 5 k

You had nothing against Sirius at first. You already met the Black family; Walburga surprisingly accepted your presence. You had quite a good relationship with Regulus. But never could you forget the day you met Sirius.

It was summer before entering Hogwarts, his mother still saw him as a future accomplishment, even if his temper was a little bumpy. It was your first time meeting the Black, you were very shy at that age, always hidden behind your mother. You could never forget that dark mansion. You parents stood by your side, waiting for someone to greet them. You remember the sound Walburga's dress did when she walked into the hall, a sickening smile on her face. Your parents knew her back at Hogwarts. "M/N! F/N! How great it is to see you in such good shape! And who might that young lady be?" She exclaimed. You looked up at your mother and she nodded reassuringly. You stepped in front of the lady of the house and bowed respectfully. "I'm Y/N Spencer, Mrs. Black, and it's an honour to make your acquaintance." She raised her brow in surprise. "Such wonderful manners! I see you raised her by the predicaments of your parents".

Your mother nodded; a bit embarrassed. You did not speak, they were all sat in the living room, you met Orion, such a dark silent man. You had your head hung down low, fidgeting with your fingers, listening half of what was being said, waiting for someone to talk to you. It was your first rule in order to not embarrass anyone and pretend to be perfect: Speak when spoken to.

"So how are the boys, Sirius and Regulus. Haven't seen them since they were toddlers." Your mother asked, sipping her tea. Boys? You were never told about boys. Walburga put dow her cup. "Oh, yes. Kreacher, go get the boys so they can greet our guests."

The elf left, and not even seconds later you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. A young boy with hair black like ebony got into the door frame. His skin was like porcelain, like just a wrong movement and he would break into pieces. For his young age, he had such a great posture. His mother smiled proudly, reaching out her hand for him to get closer. "Regulus, come. May I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer and their daughter, Y/N."

He nodded in your direction, a soft smile tug at your lips. "Doesn't he have a brother, of the age of Y/N I believe." Your mother interjected. Walburga nodded, a bit changing her demeanour. "You're right... Regulus where is your brother?" Regulus just shook his head. "Forgive me mother, but I have no idea. I passed by his room before coming down, but he was nowhere to be seen." Walburga sighed, seeming tired. "That boy will be the death of me... Kreacher, go fetch me that boy. The elf in question bowed. "Yes, mistress." And he left.

Walburga turned back to her other son. "Now, Regulus, won't you be a good boy and make Y/N visit the house." The boy timidly smiled and nodded. "Yes mother... Follow me... Y/N" You happily followed his trace. You had a bit of trouble, but you were able to get out a few information from him. He was a year younger than you. A shy boy to say the least, you wanted to know if he had any interest, but he did not seem open to reveal them quite yet. The air between you two was cold and the ambiance of the house did not make it any better. However, all of that changed when you arrived at his room. It was neatly ranged, but what you noticed were drawings and encyclopaedias on his desk. You approached it curiously and found yourself completely gawking at his drawings. There were constellations everywhere and you happened to love astrology. To say that he was surprised was the least because usually people around his age would find this subject annoying. His older brother once called him a space nerd for it. He found especially mesmerised by a certain constellation.

Regulus boy shrugged his cheek sightly red. "You can have it if you want."You raised your brows, clearly surprised. "Really?" "Y-Yes, you're the person I've met with so much interest in astronomy." You smiled widely. "Thanks that's really sweet of you." He mumbled a "you're welcome" and you exited the room. As the minute passed, the boy seemed more comfortable with you. You learned that he's always loved astrology. You laughed together and you started to walk backward, in order to face him. You started to question each other about astrology, laughing when you said the answers in sync.

Regulus starting really playing along. "Now the killing question, what is the constellation I gave you and its most powerful star." You smiled in amusement, it was your favourite constellation, but he didn't have to know that. While saying your answer, you started to turn around, closing your eyes in the process, mocking some savant. "It's the constellation of the great dog, and its most powerful star is Sirius-"

You didn't have time to finish your sentence that your face entered in collision with another body. You stumbled backward almost tripping in the process and looked for the source of the impact. "Someone called my name? You raised your eyes and were met with a boy, quite similar to regulus, only older with longer hair. You shook your head, noticing you were staring. "Oh, apologies, I wasn't looking where I was going." The boy smirked and extended his hand to get you on your feet. "I noticed, I'm Sirius, Sirius Black. I don't think we have met before."

"Oh, I'm Y/N Spencer." He suddenly narrowed his eyes. His face which was bright seconds ago turned so dark in such period of time. Regulus shuffled awkwardly next to you, also aware of Sirius' change of demeanour. "Spencer, you say?" his voice as cold as a blizzard. I shifted, clearly embarrassed. "Y-Yes, is there a problem?" His eyes turned even darker. "No. Just don't ever get in my way."

And he disappeared at the corner, pushing pass your shoulder. You didn't know what happened, and neither did Regulus. Truth to be told, Sirius already met some Spencer, and he didn't enjoy the experience. He met your cousins, some wealthy brat who only cared about themselves. They were cruel, it was Sirius' first presentation in the pureblood world, and though he hated it, he hoped it would go without any problems. But the Spencer cousins thought otherwise, they "accidentally" splashed some juice on his shirt, laughing, making everyone notice his ridiculous state. With a swift movement of their wands, they made his shoes grow two times longer when he was waltzing with a charming young lady. He looked like an absolute clown and promised himself not to ever speak or see a Spencer kid without making them regret being born. The fact that he left you unarmed was a present, but that wouldn't last long. If only you knew how much this young boy would change your path.

Now, back in the more recent time. Since you've arrived at Hogwarts, Sirius has made it a living hell. Especially since the next day after being sorted into Gryffindor, your parents sent you a congratulation letter. A letter being the opposite of the howler Sirius received. The look of pity you wore on your face made his vision go red. Later that day he tripped you when you entered class, making you sprawl in the corridor. You remembered a red hair girl and a black-haired boy helping you gather your things. You guessed it: Lily and Severus. You became inseparable and that made only Sirius anger more: you didn't deserve friends, you already had everything. The years went by, the marauders formed, they would always taunt Severus. The normally shy girl you were, gradually transformed into a brave young woman, standing up for her friends, a true Gryffindor. But to Sirius and his friends, it couldn't be, you had everything a Slytherin had, you could not be in Gryffindor, you had something to hide, something that wasn't right. And so, they took everything, turning you robes into Slytherin colour, taunting you in the corridors, making boys ditch you after they asked you out making you sometimes wait in the rain, ruining every relationship you shared. Even your friends started to slip away, Lily started to catch feelings for Potter, Severus distanced his heart broken self. The only person you had left was Reggie. Since Sirius left, he held a somewhat bitterness towards him. He would interfere with the taunting.

That was the breaking point, you snapped, you started to smoke, have hook-ups, sometimes coming to hands when a marauder approached you, getting into detention. It was beginning of sixth year, and you were already begging to be transferred to France. And now you were being paired up with him...

He was now taller than you, the king of the Gryffindor house, a king in bed too apparently, his hair reached his shoulders, and he was currently picking at it in annoyance. This was going to be a long ride. "Spencer." He noded coldly. "Black." You spat back, knowing he hated it. He ran away from home during summer. "Seems like we must bear each other more often now..." Sirius' jaw clenches at the name but then he smirks. "You seem to love the idea of me, Spencer. You scoff. "Not in a million years. I wouldn't dream to spend my time with a whoreman." He raised a brow. "You can talk, Spencer, heard Parker had the worst night in his entire life."

"Knob." "Minger." "Tosser." "Slag." "Dog with two dicks." "Trollop."

"Enough! Both of you, two hours of detention and 10 points from Gryffindor for each." Slughorn shouted, red in the face. You groaned in annoyance and let Slughorn return back to his class. When class finally ended, you jumped out of your seat, wanted nothing more than to find Reggie to let your feelings out.

"See you in detention, Spencer!" He yelled that throughout the corridor, making you wince and groan. You soon found Regulus where you expected him to be: at the astronomy tower. As soon as he saw your face, he knew what you were going to ramble about, so he let you... You spoke about how he was annoying for about 30 minutes, Regulus just quietly hummed from time to time, not really listening to what you said. After all, every single week, you would have that kind of moment where you couldn't stop complaining about his older brother.

"Can you even believe he said that? Reggie? Are you even listening to me ?" Regulus did not bother looking up from his book. "Not really..." You huffed at this. "Rude..."

Regulus sighed and closed his book, finally looking at you. "N/N, it's my brother we're talking about." "Yeah, yeah, I know, but still... You could listen to me!" And here you go again complaining about how he was your only friend, and you hoped for a better communication, blah, blah, blah. Regulus just shook his head and interrupted you after more five minutes. "Look at your watch N/N." You frowned. "My watch? Why in hell would I look at my- Oh shoot, I'm gonna be late for detention." You picked up your bag and started running towards the stairs. "Have fun!" "Don't count on it."

You arrived, out of breath at the detention class. You looked around and found yourself relieved that Sirius wasn't there yet and head now no reason to taunt you about your late arrival. "Running late, Spencer?" You shrieked away from the sound and the warm breath on your neck, only to find an amused Sirius Black.

You punched him in the chest "What is wrong with you!" Sirius cackled. "What? Scared you?" "First; in your dreams, and second, you don't talk into people ear for no reason." Sirius smirks, looking you up and down. "Well, I just did."

"Now, now, may you take your sits." A voice interrupts. You both jumped in surprise from the new arrival of the head-teacher. You obeyed and took sits across from each other. McGonagall took place before you. "So, I decided, you would have two hours of detention for two whole weeks." "What ?!" you exclaimed in sync. McGonagall sighed and shook ger head. "And before you say anything, you will do a project that you will present to me..." You raised your brows, your eyes narrowed, knowing the worse was to come. "And what might the subject be?" She smiled. "What is the true limit between hate and love ?"

Sirius groaned in annoyance. "Aw, come on Minnie, Spencer here doesn't even know what love is." "Like you know what family is?" you said through your teeth. He glared at you.

McGonagall shrugged straightening her gown. "I'll take my leaving, do whatever you want, but by the end of those weeks, I want this fifteen pages essay on my desk, or you will have another two weeks plus another subject along with the one you already have." And with that, she left you both, stunned in the middle of the classroom. You looked at each other before turning around furiously, behind your back, you heard some shuffles, you turned and saw that Sirius was leaving.

"What are you doing?" Sirius turned to you, looking at you like it was obvious. "What am I doing? I'm leaving... You take care of the essay." My first clenched into tight balls, ready to punch him. "You think I will do the work for you?! Sit your ass back here before I hex you to next year." He didn't object because he knew perfectly you would do what you promised. Once he dared not to follow your order under some threat and he got out with a broken nose.

"So, what do we do genius?" You sighed at his never-ending sarcasm. "Well, the work we were asked to do. You do friendship, I do hatred." You passed him a parchment. After a few minutes, you looked up and saw him staring blankly at his parchment. You sighed heavily; you were gone for a long evening. You frowned. "What's up?" "I can't seem to write a thing; I can't formulate love."

Him? This boy with his literal lovestruck girl fan club, he can't formulate love? "Well, what place friendship took in your life. What impact did it have? What makes a good friend, lover? Got it?" "Yeah, I guess? But there's a specific word I can't seem to find that describes it perfectly." "Maybe, it'll come back later..."

He smiled at you, that was the first sincere smile he sent your way since that day almost seven years ago. And that went on that way. Every day, after class, you would find an empty class to work on your subject. The marauders were surprised to find their friend happily going to detention. The black-haired boy didn't tell them about the essay and the paired chore.

"Y/N! Look!" He was making a little paper bird fly around the class. But you did not look up for that reason. He called you by your name, not your last name, it never happened. And part of you hated the fact that you liked how your name sounded in his mouth. "What?" he frowned at your puzzled expression. "You never did that..." He bent his head to the side in question, his hair flowing a bit away from the improvised bun he made with his wand. "Did what?" "My name, you never called me by my name... You always call me: Spencer, or Trollop, but never Y/N." His cheeks got a bit red from your remark, but he smirked. "What? Do you prefer princess?" I blush a bit and shove his shoulder jokingly. "Shut up." He cackled but got a bit more serious. "Now your turn." You stopped in your giggle. "What?" "Say my name."

You raised your brows in surprise. "In your dreams maybe." You said, returning to the parchment. You heard his chair making a rackling sound on the ground and a shadow appeared upon you. You looked up and he was hovering you, his two hands on the table. "Uh-Wha are you doing?" his eyes narrowed "Say. It." You looked at him like he was crazy. "No, you-" He got closer to your face, merely inches away. "Say it for me, princess~" your cheeks got hot at this. You sputtered on your sounds. "S-Sirius." He suddenly smirked, winking and returning to his original place. You stood there completely shocked... You huffed a chuckle at his obvious flirting, the two whores of the school in the same room... what a duo.

From that day, he started to get closer to you, he felt like a connection, and you felt it too. Inside this class, you were Y/N and Sirius, two pureblood Gryffindors with surprisingly a lot of common points. But as soon as you were out of the room you were Black and Spencer, the well-known enemies.

He didn't know when he started, when he started to look for your eyes in class or just your silhouette. When he started to notice the sound of your voice when you whispered something to Lily in class, when he started to notice how you played with your quill in class, or how many boys would send you notes during potion. He didn't but the marauders did, they saw his gaze change.

A week later, he turned around looking at you, while you were writing furiously. "Sooo... Y/N. Any boyfriend yet?" You clenched your jaw. "You know I don't, you ruined every date I have." He nodded looking a bit ashamed at your paper. "I meant no crush?" You finally looked up from your paper. "Sirius, what are you trying to do?" he scratched his neck. "Uh- a conversation?" You narrowed your eyes. "Okay... Well, I have no love interest at the moment. Do you?" He froze at your sentence but regained his smug posture. "Never! That's funniest part." "Make them think you are attached?" "Exactly." You both chuckled. "You know Sirius... You never told me why you hated me so much." He stopped in his track. How could he tell you it wasn't really your fault but his pride was in the way. "Well-" he got cut off when James entered the room. "Pads, we need you, Snivellus again." He clenched his fists. These days, Severus has been annoying Lily and Remus. He got up, forgetting the assignment. You followed them, knowing nothing good could come up.

Both bolted towards next to the shrieking shack. There, you saw a few green dots with a few reds. You soon recognised them to be a Slytherin gang with Regulus and Severus and others, against a panicked Peter, Remus and Lily. You arrived after James and Sirius did, they disarmed them. You noticed Regulus and Peter were trying to calm the whole thing but became stiff when the two other Gryffindor arrived. James started to shout, being defensive about his girl, it all started to transform into a fit of shouts, all of them argued. You tried to calm them all. Then suddenly, a word rung out louder than any other "You filthy little mudblood."

Everyone stopped, turning to a furious Snape. James immediately took action, hexing him. You watched in horror as the Slytherin flied away. The whole Slytherin gang, except Regulus, raised their hands towards James. The Gryffindors reciprocated, except for Lily, Remus and you. You all tried to calm everyone. "Guys, let's all calm down." Remus said, over the tense silence. They did not budge. "James, it's no use, put that wand down!" Lily exclaimed, fearing they would get hurt. "Sirius, put the wand down." You tried to say, hoping he would finally listen to you. He looked at you, a bit surprised but with a small sorrow in his eyes.

Regulus suddenly stepped up, trying to reason the rest. But he did a move that frightened his older brother, who had for only reaction to hex him. "Reggie!" You shouted, running where he landed. You took his head on your lap while he groaned in pain. "Reggie! Can you hear me?! Where does it hurt?!"

Sirius was shocked by what he did. He tried to take a step towards the two of you. "No! Don't get closer!" you shouted at him, tears welling up in your eyes. He stopped when he noticed the tears. His heart pang a little. There you were, holding his brother in your arms, crying for him, protecting him, for what he has done. What did he do wrong to not be in his brother place? He took a step back. "Y/N-"

You did not listen to him, giving Regulus your full attention. You didn't hear the fuming Slytherin mumbling a curse, a forbidden one. You only noticed Sirius stepping up before your crouched down body, paring the curse. That's when your brain registered what happened, Sirius just prevented you from being struck by the cruciatus curse. You looked at him shocked, as he turned back to you. "You okay?" You don't have time to answer that Regulus groans while trying to sit up. "Reggie! Don't move! Lucius, can you help me bring him to Madam Pomfrey?" The blond reluctantly accepted. And Sirius watched as you disappeared for the hospital wing. 

"Pads, you okay?" James finally stepped up; Sirius jumped. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get going..." he started to walk back to the castle, leaving his friends worried.

During the next week, you avoided Sirius. You sent him a howl, telling him he didn't have to come to detention with you anymore since you had already finished the essay. He tried to talk to you, but everytime he came into your view, you sped off somewhere. His mood was at the lowest, and his friends were worried. Just a week ago he was on his best mood and now... he didn't want to do pranks anymore.

Slowly sadness turned into confusion, then anger. He did not do anything wrong! It was an accident. You were a Gryffindor, you should be on their side, not his brother's.

One afternoon, he was walking with the marauders next to the Black Lake, when he heard a distinct laugh. You were with Regulus, next to a tree, while he was telling you what seemed to be the funniest story ever. You were leaning on his shoulder, giggling softly. It only woke his anger. Why were you laughing with him? His brother who had that pureblood mania anchored in his head while you didn't. If anything, you had more common points with Sirius, so why him?

He noticed how you touched, how you looked at each other, smiling softly, hugging. He was sure of it now, you loved his brother, like his parent did. Like everyone he used to know did. You were no good compared to those purebloods.

He got red in anger and started speed walking towards the two of you, leaving the rest of his friend confused as to why he bolted away. Seeing the scene, the rest of the marauders stayed close on his tail. Regulus and you didn't notice them coming your way, too focused on the story Regulus was telling you.

With a flick of his wand, Sirius made the book Regulus held fly away. You both looked up confused. "Spencer! Interrupting something?" he said with a cold tone, the marauders got to their level, a foot behind him, still very confused. "Sirius, what are you doing?" you said in confusion, avoiding his gaze. "Stopping you from fucking my brother." All of you looked at him in shock. You stood up menacingly. "What did you say?" "I said I don't want a whore like you getting closer to my brother."

"I don't know what you're-" "I always knew you were a slut, but to this point... Fucking someone a year younger than you..." This time you were really taken aback, Regulus stood up. "Sirius, stop it-" "So, now you care about him?" You interrupted. "Because last time I checked you abandoned him." Sirius' fists clenched in anger. "What. Did. You. Say?" "Don't make me repeat myself..."

"Sirius, calm down..." Remus tried to say. "Shut up Remus! This is between me and Spencer here." He spat back, not breaking eye contact. "You worthless bitch..." "Why are you like this..." "Because I despise you to my very core..." You took a deep shaky breath. The boys took a step forward, wanting to stop their friend to say something he'll regret. You shook your head, the words slipped out, out of pure anger. "You're no Gryffindor, you're even worse than your mother."

He saw red. He muttered a spell, sending you in the lake. "Y/N!" Regulus shouted. You did not know how to swim. The Slytherin ran towards the water, running into it but soon stopping because he did not know how to swim either. The marauders look at him in confusion as to why he was panicking so much. Then they saw you did not come back to the surface. Regulus turned to his brother in full panic "She can't swim you idiot!"

You, on the other side, started to panic. Your robe was preventing you from doing any proper movement. You debated against it, your lungs burning. You reached the surface for a mere second, screaming for help as water was entering your throat.

James was the first to take action. He took off his robe and ran across the dock, dipping in the cold water. He swam quickly to you. Black dots were starting to cover your vision because of the lack of oxygen. You couldn't debate anymore, you let go, the water swallowing you.

Sirius' heart clenched when he saw you slowing down your debating movements the disappearing completely under the surface. What has he done?

You felt two strong pair of arms circling around, pulling you back up. You barely felt it bringing you back to the dock, laying you down. You heard a few quick steps coming your way on the dock. A few different voices. "N/N!" Regulus... "Y/N can you hear us?" James... "She's not breathing!" Peter... "Give her space..." Remus... Then a force pulled out the water out of your lungs, making you cough. You slowly opened my eyes, the light aggressing your sight. Remus helped you sit up as you coughed away all the water. Yourbreathing was a bit weird, and you were pale, almost blue but you were alive. "Y/N, are you okay?" Remus asked you, and you just nodded, still panting a bit. Regulus held you tight, clearly worried. "N/N, I'm so sorry, I couldn't help you." "It's okay Reggie, you don't know how to swim either. I'm here." He hugged you even tighter.

You saw Sirius, a few feet away, looking down. You got up to your feet, wobbling a bit. "Y/N, I'm so sor-" You pushed him violently backwards. "What did I ever do to you?!" You were drenched but Sirius could still see the tears streaming down your face. "Y/N, I didn't know-" "I could have died! You fucking idiot !" Regulus came behind you, placing a calming hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, calm down." "No! I don't know what I ever did to you. But know that from now on, I will stop trying, stop trying to be a little part of your life! I hate you Sirius Black!" You ran pass him to the castle, Regulus hot on your tail.

Sirius stayed like that unmoving, fixing the spot you were before. Hate him? He was thinking about what happened in the spent of ten minutes. You almost died, because of him, because he was selfish, because he was jealous... Because he loved you...

[jenosbliss]

hiii can i request 3 +19 renjun fluff smut? thank u hope ur having a good day/night!

— two best friends in a room they might kiss or more…

pairing. afab!reader x bff!renjun | genre. smut | wc. 700+ | mdni!

warnings. dom!renjun, sub!reader, riding sex, protected sex (not mentioned but as we know it’s safer *_*), creampie, slight nipple play, overstimulation. let me know if i missed something

a/n. this one’s pretty short but it can be extended i guess? anyways i miss renjun :((

Renjun's living room was resonating with the sounds of skin slapping, moaning and heavy breathing.

He was sitting on the couch, his head thrown back and eyes tightly shut as he groaned at the feeling of your walls taking him in. His left hand had slipped under your t-shirt as his fingers pinched your nipple drawing out a moan from you.

You were bouncing on his cock as his right hand supported your hips to continue the action. Hands encircling his neck and lips sucking the skin of his jaw.

“Renjun… I’m close” you whispered. Your cum sticking to the base of Renjun’s cock and your trembling body due to over sensitivity was the confirmation of how hard your first orgasm was just a few minutes ago.

You came hard the first time that it left you shaking and moaning so loud that Renjun was sure he’ll be getting complaints from neighbours soon but all that didn’t matter to him as he himself was clouded with pleasure. Not just his pleasure but yours too.

“Fuck you’re so hot.” He had muttered looking at your cum dripping out, his fingers not so gently digging in your skin.

“Renjun, it’s too much.” You had cried when he tightly gripped your hips guiding you on his cock in a rushed manner. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” Looking up at you he had smirked.

“I know you can take it.”

Therefore, here you are with your second orgasm approaching, bouncing on top of him with a hazy mind as all you could think of now was the way Renjun’s cock hit spots no one has ever been able to this perfectly.

“Fuck y/n you take me so well… as if you’re made for me.” He said, a loud moan followed by a groan leaving his mouth as he felt you clench around him twice. “Dammit” he pulled you close by your neck kissing you passionately, his lips moving on yours roughly as he parted your lips with his tongue and explored.

He felt you go limp against him again and harshly grabbed your hips once more lifting you up and pulling you back down with a little bit more force. This made you scream loudly as you pulled back from the kiss mumbling his name continuously while moaning.

“My pretty y/n. So good for me. Fuck. Mine. Only mine.” He thrusted hard in you with each word as you had let yourself fall on his chest having no energy left.

His thrusts soon grew sloppier and erratic, while your second orgasm washed over you even harder than the first one. Your nails must have left marks on Renjun’s shoulders with how tightly you gripped them, body shaking from pleasure as Renjun snaked an arm around your waist to hold you securely.

“Fuck, I love the way you moan my name. The way you clench around me. The way you hold me.” He felt himself nearing his climax when you had come the second time and screamed his name.

“Renjun, please come fast.” You begged, tears soaking the material of his shirt. “Almost there.” He said with gritted teeth, tightening his grip on you.

“Fuck.” He moaned loudly as he came. Breathing heavily, he looked down at you in his arms, still trembling a bit and looking all worn out, a small smile forming on his lips as he tried to soak in everything that had happened in the previous hour.

He never thought he would fuck his best friend like this on his couch. Sure he had feelings for you since past two years and have dreamt of this but never felt that it could become a reality, that he could fuck you into oblivion.

It all started with a little teasing, leading to you sitting on his lap to having a make out session to him finally saying the words he had been wanting to since forever “Do you trust me?” to you agreeing and then this.

The only thing that sacred Renjun was where your relationship would stand now. Will it end? Will you suggest friends for benefits? Will he be able to finally confess his genuine feelings?

But all of this is a discussion for later, right now he just wants to enjoy the feeling of you in his arms and the sense of being with you this close. He loved you so much you can never really think of.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

100 follower event 🌷

navigation.

[cherubfae]

Do you have any Noctis NSFW headcanons?

𝔫𝔰𝔣𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰 || {𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔲𝔪}

tags: nsfw, smut, fem!reader, overstimulation, pet play/kitty play, established relationships, mentions of outdoor sex

Sleepy man loveeeeess being woken up with blowjobs. His morning wood is always up and ready to go, throbbing beneath his shorts. Such a pretty sight to see his red cock drooling precum in anticipation.

Absolutely lives for your mouth on him. A flurry of whines and whimpers leave his throat the second your mouth lowers to him. He feels like he can truly relax when you set to work sucking on his length, like all of his stress and worries melt away when he's with you.

He needs to be in any position where he can see your face. Sure, reverse cowgirl is fun and all and it's hot seeing just how good he stretches you open, but he needs that emotional connection, that reassurance, of your eyes on him. To be able to watch you as you share your pleasure.

There are times where he can be a little rough and needy but he absolutely draws the line at anything that would hurt you or himself. To him, there is no one more precious than you. He will not taint your love in such a manner. He wants it to stay reverent and loving and sweet.

Noctis may not be able to stay awake for crazy long afterwards but for damn sure he's gonna make sure you have everything you need before it's lights out. He might be doing everything with his eyes half-open but he's doing it!

Panicked a little the first time he made you cry from overstimulation. Noctis calms down a little when he realizes you're enjoying it and that he's making you feel that good, but it still spooks him sometimes. He's really good about checking in, even if you told him you were fine five minutes ago. "Are you sure, honey? You don't want to stop? I don't wanna keep making you cry-- Oh, they're good tears, huh? I wasn't really aware of such a thing much less that I could..."

He would never push it if you weren't comfortable but he adores seeing you in really pretty lingerie. He likes simple blacks and white lace the most. Mix the two together and add a choker? Stick a fork in him because my guy is done.

Would love to see you in cat ears and a tail. Hell, he would wear some too. "Let's wear them together. Gonna be a good kitty for me, sweetheart?"

He's an everything kinda guy. He's really not picky, he's just happy to be included tbh lmao. Boobs, ass, tummy, AND thighs. Doesn't matter what they look like, if you're insecure or not, he's gonna cover everything in bite marks. Noctis has a teeny tiny bit of an oral fixation so you can't blame him for following his instincts by sucking your pretty little nipples into his mouth. Okay? Okay.

Absolutely adores if you're on the plus-size side. If you have ANY sort of squish, my dude is gonna take a nap pressing his face on that part of your body. he's a sucker for the softness and he's constantly tired. You make the perfect pillow for him. Let him lay on your belly with your tits in his mouth and his cock warmed by your velvet cunt and he's golden.

Overall he's a good partner, in and outside of the bedroom. He might be a little awkward at times, even if you've been naked around him before. He treats every time like it's your first time together, so he'd prefer to do things on a bed because it's comfier but he definitely cannot forget the time you rode him like you were feral in the middle of the woods<3

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[thefriendlyferretwriter]

Weasel

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw!F!Reader

Summary: A back and forth with the infamous Fred Weasley sends the two nemeses into a back-and-forth that lands them in detention, where both their frustration and anger send them into a deep argument full of insults, tension, and revelations.

Warning: LONG, 8k words, lots of scene cuts becuz a LOT happens, rivals to lovers (not really, Fred's obsessed with reader and is a little shit), boy pulls on the pigtails of the girl he claims he dislike type trope, was forced to give reader at least a last name, same for her best friend ( went with one of the most generic name Tiffany), Fred being a little shit, argument, tension, reader is unhinged

A/N: Fun fact about this fic it almost included a Pygmy Puff before I checked and discovered that they were created by the twins for their shop and since they are still students I had to go and swap it up with a baby puffskein. No idea how to describe that fic, there will definitely be multiple parts, enjoy!

There are no other places like Hogwarts.

The scenery, the castle's secrets, and the yearly competition between houses are something to behold.

But what might be icing on the cake is the library. The place where I can lose track of time all the while learning about the magical world.

The library has a hush rule but you can't help the coughs, the few ink pots falling to the ground, or even the giggles here and there but it doesn't bother me one bit, it even helps me focus as I enjoy yet one more day in the castle.

"Hi there Raven."

And there goes my enjoyment.

With a roll of my eye, I direct them toward the annoying voice belonging to none other than Fred Weasley who stands there with his satchel on his side leaning against one of the book-filled shelves.

"Weasel," I acknowledge him with a sigh looking back down at my page.

"Weasley," he corrects drily.

I brush him off as I finish my inked sentence and wait for it to dry before turning the page and asking him what he's doing here.

He leans on the table by his hip and crosses his arms inclining his head towards me, "What is it to you?"

"You being here is a bad omen so either you're here to sell your stupid stuff to the first years," I say glancing at his sachel for a second before looking back down at my work, "Or it involves annoying me and I'm having a good day to waste it dealing with you today."

I don't look at him and instead focus on my next sentence when I hear some shuffling and a piece of rolled-up parchment drops next to me that I recognize all too well.

"You must be kidding me," I groan snatching the parchment from the table.

"Unfortunately no. McGonagall benched me and said that if I wanted to stay on the quidditch team I needed a tutor."

His speech makes me groan as the lines reiterate his rant in a distinguished manner and is signed at the bottom by Professor Flitwick.

"McGonagall sent me to Flitwick who recommended you. Said you needed tutoring on your record."

I let go of the paper and join my hands together placing my thumbs on the base of my nose to try and diminish the incoming headache.

"Soo," he draws out attracting my gaze, "See you later, I'll be waiting for your owl."

I see him walking backward, all cocky as he dares to wink at me before turning around and descending the spiral stairs.

I audibly scoff and slam my notebook closed.

Yet another day ruined by that damn Weasel.

"He's a pest."

"You're exaggerating again," she laughs at me standing up from her seat.

"No, I'm not!" I say shoving the last book in my bag as class just ended, "He's obnoxious and annoying and a nuisance to my peace," I stand up and follow right after her.

It's been a few days since my unfortunate meeting with the least likable Weasley in the library and the meeting with Professor Flitwick and McGonagall this early morning couldn't have gotten any worse since no amount of pleading on my part could get them not to assign me with him. As a supplement I had the redhead walk in on me pleading which had him reveling at my misery digging me into a deeper foul mood.

"He's a funny guy that sometimes goes too far," she says pushing a chair that wasn't tucked under its assigned table.

"He's the bane of my existence," I say full of venom.

She laughs walking toward the classroom's exit," That's romantic."

"No, saying someone is the bane of your existence isn't romantic."

"I'm sure you could turn it into something romantic, like a poem or a book about forbidden love," she daydream walking through the door.

"You read too many romance books," I say stepping outside the classroom when I freeze and feel like I'm going underwater as my body is iced out for a moment.

It feels as if I've been hit with glacius but I'm able to use my voice and squeal in shock as the feeling subsides and I'm brought back from my shock by two giggles.

I see two first-year Gryffindors laughing nervously before they simultaneously decide to run away, one of them letting loose on her wand that was levitating the bucket letting it fall on the ground with a loud clash.

I'm left in the middle of the open hallway surrounded by classmates who just exited their class.

The wind hits me and I feel my body shiver before I look up at my friend whose mouth is covered by her hands in surprise.

I hear it.

The annoying infuriating sound of distant laughter, one I cannot mistake for another.

My eyes zero on him sitting on the transfiguration courtyard's tree clutching his stomach as he laughs balancing himself on the branch.

"You were saying?" I ask her rhetorically still dripping in the pink-colored jelly-like liquid.

She lowers her hands and approaches me slowly trying to wipe my face.

I feel the bubbling of rage making its way up my throat with my breathing taking up seeing him seated up there on the branch looking like a king sitting upon the throne of his buffoonery surrounded by his brainless friends, or rather, George's brainless friends and it makes me snap.

I push her hand away and stomp my way through the hallway onto the courtyard's grass toward him.

"Weasley!" I yell as I march to him.

"Oh, now she remembers my name," he laughs out loud for his twin and his friends to hear as the number of students stopping by increases.

He slides off the branch with ease and starts strutting to me with this damn cocky smile.

George stands up from his leaning stance on the tree, "Fred," he says.

I don't know if it's a warning or a scolding but his intent doesn't matter to me.

My hearing is replaced with the beats of my heart drumming in my ears as my face feels as hot as lava.

My steps get bigger and bigger and the closer his infuriating smirk approaches, the rage escapes me as my hand swings back and closes into a fist before landing in his face mid-step.

The audible hit is met with a groan and while I'm far too small to send him to the ground with a punch it does send him swaying back and hunching over.

In a second George jogs to his twin and hands him support grabbing his elbow as Fred's groan turns into another one of his annoying chuckles.

"You see how she hit me?!" he shouts looking delighted by the situation before he lays his gaze back on me with a bit of blood on his teeth.

His smirk falls and I believe for a moment that I finally did it, I finally managed to instate fear in this jackass before I realize his gaze moved from my frame to someone behind me.

The buzzing in my ears ceases and my hearing comes back to me as the grass crunches under one's weight indicating someone approaching.

A cold sweat travels through my body when I turn around and spot none other than Professor Hooch standing tall in front of us.

By instinct, I take a step back and bump into Fred before jumping aside as if he burnt me which isn't far off as my knuckles are calling out for help burning and tingling from the impact it had on his cheek.

She sends us both one of her infamous hawk looks that could petrify Dumbledor himself, "I presume that display of violence can be explained by your appearance?" her pointed look is directed at me.

I try to wipe the substance off my hair with an annoyed huff.

Her eyes travel to Fred whose head is pointed down grabbing his chin and messing with his mouth moving his jaw from side to side.

"That rewards the both of you with an hour's detention," that answer makes him groan and I point at him with outrage.

"But he-!" My disbelief doesn't reach her before she cuts me off.

"You're both dismissed. Mr.Weasley, I advise you to escort your brother to the infirmary to tend to his injury. As for you, I advise you to go clean yourself up before heading to the infirmary as well, perhaps at a time Mr.Weasley won't be there," she finishes her sentence looking at George who acknowledges her insinuation with a nod.

Still clutching his jaw, Fred is led away by his elbow by George as Hooch walks to stand in front of me, "While I understand your frustration I did expect better from you than violence."

My eyes widen and the breath I take in is cut off, "He-"

"This isn't about Mr.Weasley's childish behavior, he will receive his punishment either way. What disappoints me is that you could've avoided any punishment by reporting this to me or any other professor in the area but instead, you will ecope of an hour's detention as well."

She says shaking her head as she walks away leaving me standing here in the courtyard covered in the substance and an aching fist that doesn't even feel satisfying knowing it didn't teach the jerk anything.

"Why is it so windy today?! I thought it was supposed to be sunny!" I complain trying to be louder than the wind.

"No it's supposed to switch all day, look," my friend says motioning to the daily prophet in her hands bringing the paper closer to my face so I can see the weather section indeed announcing an insufferable change of weather all day.

"You can still spot the puddles from the rain earlier," Luna Lovegood points to the Quidditch pitch where the grass is still two shades darker and the random puddles of water stir with strength from the wind blowing.

My venting is interrupted by a loud collision that sends me twisting around back to the pitch to see Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teammates fighting over the quaffle like rabid dogs in what is supposed to be an amicable match as a form of training.

"Remind me again what's the point of an amicable match if there is no amicability?" I ask turning to face them just to miss the apparent goal from a Gryffindor through one of the Ravenclaw's lowest hoops.

I groan when I recognize the face of the person who managed to pass our defenses as he basks in the small victory.

"What is it raven?! Can't take in the sigh of greatness?!" he gloats seated comfortably on his broom with his red hair all tussled.

His pretentiousness blinds him and his arrogance leaves him to ignore the whistle suggesting the match continues and leaves a fellow Ravenclaw to score in a flash right behind him. The only indicator that anything happened at all is the small thunder of applause and shouts of approval coming from the small gathering of students who decided to kill time and participate in the amicable match to cheer each team on.

His head whips around and the sight of the opposite team scoring sends him tilting his head back with a groan that he tries to conceal but it doesn't escape anyone's notice.

The karma is enough but it is so rare to catch the weasel in one of his life life-learning moments that I don't hesitate before deciding that I need to add my little grain of salt to the wound.

I have it, I have the perfect response to give him right on the tip of my tongue and I wonder for a second if the smirk grazing my lips isn't a giveaway but my witty taunt is stopped when a broom enters my line of vision.

"See?! I told you your presence would do me good. Look at that, bullseye!"

I'm sure he means no harm, I know him to be humble but the poor lad either didn't see Weasley or simply decided to ignore his presence.

The fact that he is being ignored after being wrecked is sickly satisfying and my smirk manages to widen somehow.

It is clear he simply didn't see Fred as this one's scowl sends him silently flying away in an awkward, one-sided staredown that ends with him glancing at me with an uncomfortable wide-eyed stare, silently asking for help.

I stare at him flying further and further away and only look back when I notice George approaching his twin on his broom.

His frustration is clear and the eye roll along with his head thrown back pleases me a great deal.

The devilish idea is too good and it doesn't take a lot of self-convincing before I fall for temptation.

"What is it Weasel, too busy drowning in your own ego you can't pay attention?!" I shout so my sickly honeyed voice reaches him and George as I tuck my now pastel pink hair behind my ears.

'The concoction should last less than a week. This Flemont Potter was a genius!' nurse Pomfrey said.

The scowl adorning his face fills me with warmth and electricity buzzes through my veins knowing I have the last word for once.

"Nice hair," he tries himself at a desperate dig that does not work as Professor Hooch whistles for him to fly back to the match.

Turning his back to me, he flies back to the center of the field I can't help but laugh realizing that it's the first time he turns his back to me without walking away with the last word.

The whistle is blown and the speed at which each team goes at the other's throat could cause whiplash if one wasn't used to it.

I'm focused on a group of players when my peripheral vision drags my eyes to my friend throwing the quaffle with all his strength leaving another small group of three players to speed away.

Taking a moment to take in his throw he looks back down and waves at me with a smile, satisfied with his play.

I wave back with a grin of my own before he disappears out of my sight as a bludger hits him straight in the back of the head with a resounding thunk throwing him off his broom and crashing to the ground.

I hear a loud yell and realize it comes from me as my body instinctively reacts and bolts toward the pitch.

Professor Hooch is already by his side by the time I run to his limp self.

"Is he okay?!" I get caught off guard by my friend reaching him and kneeling at his side before I do.

I stand there looking down at him in shock as people start surrounding the area trying to take a look at the wounded on the ground when I notice the Gryffindor team lowering themselves on the ground including the culprit.

His quidditch robe swings with each one of his steps as he walks towards the commotion very slowly like in a trance.

"You too bring a stretcher," she says shooing away both a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw player.

I hear George Weasley calling after his brother who has now reached Professor Hooch kneeling on the ground

"Is he okay?"

How dare he. His filthy meek voice asking about his well-being as if he isn't the reason my friend is lying unresponsive on the ground.

That familiar boiling sensation in my chest rises again and I feel my fists clenching by themselves.

Before I can comprehend my thought process I am bolting toward him. Still, before I can reach him George jumps in front of him getting ready for whatever, a whatever that does not come as I am held up by the waist by two Gryffindor players sensing the hostility.

"What is wrong with you!" I holler up in the air struggling with all my might against the hold of the chasers which is useless against the player's strength.

The rest is a blur, George pushes the douche towards the locker room as I follow the stretcher closely to the infirmary.

"If you stare any harder you're gonna be the first third year student here to achieve wandless magic," she chuckles "It's you! You did this!" he yells shoving me back and sending me stumbling on the ground probably trying to get me as dirty as he is. back down at her textbook.

"False," I utter not leaving the weasel out of my burning stare.

I notice her raising her head from my side view in wonder.

"Granger," I state chewing on my thumb's fingernail.

The sight of him simply sitting there without any consequences under the excuse of 'it's part of the game, nobody can prove there were any malicious intents behind that strike' drives me mad and haunts my head with multiple scenarios of murder that keep replaying again and again.

"You have to let it go. Pomfresh said he'll be fine."

"He didn't deserve that strike it was targeted to piss me off because I got the last word," I say wincing when I realize I bit my thumb a bit too hard and drew some blood.

"It's part of Quidditch, many, many people took strikes to the head."

"Bullshit. A strike to the head during an amicable match? Come on," I roll my eyes frustrated that everybody seems so eager to just brush this incident off.

"I'm gonna start thinking you're checking him out and not actually glaring at him."

"Have you lost your mind?!" I say louder than intended, my head whipping left to glare at her this time.

There is no silence as the Care for the Magical Creature class takes place outside and the lack of chatter is covered up by the sound of wind rustling the nearest tree's leaves and the distant purrs and grumbles of the different creatures in their pen.

"Is there a problem?"

Unlike McGonagall or Snape, Professor Hagrid's tone of voice isn't accusatory but genuinely one of concern. This concern eats at me as the idea that he might believe even for a moment that my words are targeted towards him makes bile rise in my throat.

"No!" is my immediate response to reassure the professor but the rest of my explanation seems to be stuck in my throat as I have a hard time imagining myself explaining to the class that I was just defending myself at the mention of me hypothetically checking Weasley out.

That same person here in the open classroom with a side smirk plastered on his annoying face trying his best not to laugh at me, not because it would be rude but because not laughing at the right time alongside the rest of the class wouldn't be as satisfying as a full-on public humiliation.

I see Hagrid lowering his chalk and I can already foresight him asking what he might have done wrong which is not something you want to ask as a teacher in front of a bunch of ruthless teenagers.

His other hand joins in on the other starting to mess with his chalk making him appear anxious and way less mighty.

The awkwardness doesn't begin to measure to the remorse of having put him in this situation because of my impulsive nature.

"It's my fault!" my friend shouts in my defense.

Looking at her, Tiffany managed to snatch up a baby puffskein and hold it up to Hagrid's sight.

"I put him in her hair and she was afraid he would do a pooh."

The laughs are inevitable but I'm certain the 'do a pooh' will haunt my nightmare.

The mocking is a harmony of taunting and I can only look beside me to glare at her sitting there with the puffskein in hand as I wish he would just 'do a pooh' in her hands this instant.

At least Professor Hagrid seems reassured, smiles as the misunderstanding is cleared up, and turns back around to continue the lesson.

We're sent to different enclosures containing different creatures and are instructed to feed them to create a bond.

"Look at him acting casual as if he didn't send someone to the infirmary with a trauma to the head," I say full of venom seeing him being buddy-buddy with another Gryffindor girl as they try to feed Mooncalf in the open and have a laugh as they are surrounded by the eager herd starving for pets and seeds.

"Will you quit it and enjoy one of the only course that's relaxing here," she scolds kneeling closer to the ground to feed a diricawl who nibs at her finger affectionately before walking past her hand and pitter-pattering to her to lay his head on her chest to receive pats on his head.

"Plus you've already been told we can't know if the blow was on purpose."

"That's a load of bullshit and you know it, he's one of the best beaters here," I say with a pointed look at her throwing a violent handful of seeds towards the rest of the diricawls.

"Did I just hear you compliment Fred Weasley?" she says looking up at me with a teasing smile.

"It's not a compliment I'm just stating a fact, the probability of Weasley hitting someone right on the head by accident at such distance is close to none," I say throwing another handful as my eyes catch a paddock with dubogs in it, one in particular who is devouring the weasel with his bulgy eyes.

There are three dubogs in the small paddock and two of them are cooling off in the dirty pond uninterested in anything else but sunbathing with only their eyes above the murky water blinking one at a time as the third one is eating up Weasley with his eyes.

A devilish idea makes its way into my head. The opening I get is served to me on a gold platter as Tiffany is distracted by the herd of diricawl overtaking her landing her on the ground, surrounded.

My chance is heightened by Weasley's back turned to me talking with his little girlfriend.

I take my chance disregarding any rational thought invading my head. Sneakily climbing over the fence, I crouch and walk toward the desired enclosure. The creature doesn't seem to sense me approaching and if he does he doesn't seem to care one bit licking his eye and pawing the ground with his hind leg.

A part of me wishes I could egg him on and ask him if he wants to nibble on the Weasel's ankles but I'd rather not throw my plan out of the window. Instead, I carefully slide my arm to the latch and pull on it slowly to make sure not to make any noise before giving the door a small push to create the crack that seems to be enough to throw the creature out for a jog as he crashes against the paddock's door.

I don't get to see the seconds before the disaster as I have to hurry back and jump over the fence once again, running back to my friend and free her from the diricawl's clutches giving her a hand and raising her back up as the show starts.

The screams that grace my ears aren't from fear but more from shock as the tall redhead lands on the ground when I finally get to lay my eyes on him. The dubog licks him from bottom to top with the creature's natural dirt and slimey skin rubbing off on him as his Gryffindor girlfriend screeches for help calling for Professor Hagrid who runs up to help in a flash.

The man's height isn't only impressive and intimidating but also a great advantage to grab the massive creature off and drag it back to its enclosure where the other two are still sunk in the water, sunbathing and behaving.

Once shut close, Professor Hagrid grips the wooden bars of the enclosure to gather himself before turning around and helping Weasley up with just one hand gripping the back of his blouse. While he seems shaken up by the encounter, he tries to rub off some of the mud on his face but only manages to smear it looking around at the rest of us.

The reactions vary, some are as shocked as he is and others shrug off their worries and are now laughing at his appearance now that they've established that he is healthy and no longer in danger.

I myself giggle knowing that while I can't get him punished for his action back on the pitch, I get to watch him look like a fool and even up the score. My friend does not agree and lets me know by elbowing me in the ribs making me groan mixing laughter and painful grunts.

Laughter that is spotted by the redhead when his head whips to me before his eyes light up.

His eyes shift from eureka to burning hatred. Shrugging off the hand of his friend trying to tidy him up and storms in my direction.

"It's you! You did this!" he yells shoving me back and sending me stumbling on the ground probably trying to get me as dirty as he is. The confrontation is cut short when Hagrid once again showcases his immeasurable strength by yanking the weasel back with a tug on his now mostly white blouse and throwing him behind his eleven-foot frame that stands now right in front of me.

"Enough with the both of you!" his voice booms in the open area.

He takes a step back and I can get a peak at the redhead enough to see him huffing and puffing from being thrown around like a doll.

"This is a classroom, not a pub. Now the both of you will walk all the way up to Professor McGonagall's office and explain exactly why I had to send the both of you to her and she will be the one to give you your punishment!"

I look at him now, hair disheveled and his tie undone covered in dirt and mud and slime. He still looks somewhat decent as he pushes his hair back with a huff.

I must look just as messy with my pink hair having been thrown on the ground and I decide to tug at the end of my own blouse trying to tidy myself up and avoid any more wrinkles on it.

"Miss Granger, please accompany those two, you know what to do if they misbehave."

"She tried to kill me!" Fred yells pointing at me.

"Do you have any proof, Mr.Weasley?"

He seems to hesitate for less than a second before motioning to me with his hand in frustration.

"It's logical thinking, she hates my gut and she's crazy!"

"You jerk-!" I bellow throwing myself in his direction before I'm engulfed in the Professor's arms.

"Enough!" He yells once more letting me go only when I stop fidgeting in his hold.

"There is no way of proving the Miss did anything. This paddock's lock has been faulty for a while and after this incident, I will personally see that it is dealt with."

He says as if he was addressing the whole class who is still standing all around us watching the event unfold.

"As for the both of you, you will do as you're told and let Miss.Granger accompany the both of you back to the castle and receive the punishment the both of you deserve for the waste of both my time and your classmates' time."

The tone is harsh and the decision is final.

"I am very disappointed in the both of you. You're worth so much more than this petty rivalry," the man shakes his head walking away.

Those words seem to have the same result on both of us. We look down a bit ashamed before we are ushered away by Hermione as we start the long and silent journey back to the castle.

We both stand in silence, side by side with yet a respectable distance as the two professors stand in front of us with judgmental stares that don't need any words to transcribe their distaste…or is it disappointment?

We were sent to our respective bathrooms to clean up 'as best as you can' while my request to wash off completely was denied by both teachers and so here I stand with the back of my blouse tainted by dirt as Weasley could barely wash the slimy texture out of his own blouse and barely dry it with what I believe might have been a spell.

And so here he stands looking dirtier than me despite the order to clean up.

"Now that the awful stench has been managed I believe a proper punishment is in order," McGonagall says with her hands joined in front of her.

"I agree, my cauldrons are in dire need of a scrub," Snape says with his usual disinterested tone.

Weasley starts protesting and claims that I should receive a harsher punishment for my so-called actions.

"She tried to kill me!" he protests.

"And as I told you Mr.Weasley there is no way for us to possibly prove this claim as Professor Hagrid did not see any of this unravel."

"Just like no one saw you throw that bulger." I bite under my breath.

"Exactly Miss.Hermlock. And I would suggest you speak with your full chest if you have any objection." Mc.Gonagall drily berates me.

"Snape-Professor Snape," he quickly corrects himself, "said multiple times that in such cases veritaserum should be used, and since she's SO confident saying she didn't do anything she won't mind doing this, won't she," he says towering over my side.

"I've always known you were a moron but I never thought you would outdo yourself in front of teachers," I smirk crossing my arms.

"Mr.Weasley, even with Miss.Hermlock's permission, the usage of such beverage on a student is forbidden. I would've hoped that with a father working for the ministry, you out of all of us would remember that."

My smirk doubles in size which I thought would never be possible.

In the end, my smirk is wiped away when we are both awarded two hours of detention with Snape. And as if it wasn't enough the punishment is cleaning the endless potion class's cauldrons.

We're ordered to go clean up, thoroughly this time and go for lunch before being expected in the dungeons for our detention hours.

We arrive at the same time just as the last student exits the class, we are left standing side by side, or more precisely 3 feet away from each other as we walk in right in front of Snape's office where he is seated with his head down to his paper purposely stalling and letting us stand there in awkward silence.

What must've been minutes feel like hours as I try my best not to side-eye the redhead standing silently beside me.

I wonder if I should've refrained from opening that damn pen when I hear those continuous scraping of pen meant to insult us as the dark-haired teacher ignore our presence.

He finally puts his feather back in its inkwell before he stands resting both his hands on his desk, "I believe I don't have to remind you what you need to do during those two hours of detention."

Neither of us answers and that seems to egg him on to stand straight and walk around his desk to stand right in front of us, his hands placed behind him.

"You two will clean every single cauldron here, I made sure none of my classes cleaned their equipment to make sure the lesson will stick and you won't have to keep me company again on such a fine day," he says bending to my height and looking straight into my eyes for just a moment before moving his sight onto Weasley, "At least one of you will learn."

Standing back up his speech is interrupted by strong stomps getting closer.

Turning around, the three of us look towards the class's entrance as we spot for a single second a figure sliding across the entrance and disappearing with a loud thud that sounds painful.

It is the first time I make eye contact with the weasel since the last time we butted heads and it is to share a sour scrunched-up expression for the victim of the fall who we hear grunting in the hallway before the sound of their footsteps echoes once more and we see the face of the one who rushed here most likely to speak to Snape.

He's bent over leaning on the door out of breath.

"Berkshire, if you're done fooling around you may grace us with an explanation as to why you're disturbing this detention."

Still out of breath, Enzo Berkshire huffs and puffs for a few more seconds before settling down still bent over.

"It's Nott," he exhales deeply before breathing in once more, "He and Wood started a brawl between quidditch teams, Hooch told me to come get you."

Turning back to the teacher, his eye roll is noticeable and his silence is an obvious assessment of the situation as he probably is planning what to do now that he is torn between us two and the alleged brawl.

"Alright, As the head teacher of house Slytherin, I will accompany Berkshire and assist Professor Hooch in this conflict."

He points to us, "As for the two of you. You will stay here and complete your detention without any complaints. If you leave before your time is up, I will know and that will reward you an entire week of detention."

Pointing at Berkshire, Snape walks past us and orders him to lead them away and with a flick of his wand makes it known that it is thanks to that maneuver that he'll know of us potentially leaving the classroom.

"Behave." is all he says before walking right behind a speeding Enzo Berkshire.

I wonder if he was referring to the both of us or maybe just Weasley.

I don't get to ponder on that before my thoughts are drawn elsewhere at the realization that my worst nightmare is unfolding before me, I am now stuck with the most insufferable student here for two hours doing the most aggravating task besides cleaning the house bathrooms.

I only get back to reality when I hear him throw his robe and satchel on a nearby station.

Being left alone with him, the task at hand, and the absence of Snape to muzzle the redhead angers me as I frop my own bag and stomp to one of the sinks filled to the brim with dirty cauldrons.

I don't even get to enjoy a full minute of tense peace as the douchebag starts his usual yapping.

"Can't say I'm surprised he would leave me alone with you, Snape has always hated me and it's no wonder he left me with you considering you tried to kill me," he mouths off as always lifting a cauldron from its stove and piling it on top of another one.

"And yet you're still breathing, what a shame." I roll my eyes as well as my sleeves picking up a scraper.

A moment of silence passes and I pray this is the moment he realizes he needs to shut up so we can endure the rest of this detention in mild peace but alas this is a good idea and everyone knows that Frederick Weasley never had one of those in his life.

"Damn. The sorting hat must've made a mistake, maybe you belong with the other psychopaths in Slytherin." He throws both cauldrons beside the filled sink with a loud clang.

"I'm sorry but I'm not the one cladding the scales." I bite back.

"Oh, she has claws," he draws out loudly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask genuinely turning around to face him.

"No, the question is what is wrong with you," He asks back louder.

"Nothing is wrong with me! You're the one who can't figure out when to stop, you're the one who always goes too far and you're the one who went too far once again, so much so that you ended up sending my friend to the infirmary!" I hurl and see him losing that fire that usually overtakes his pupils showing he enjoys egging on people once they are set off.

"It's the risk when you play Quidditch," he tries and fails to sound firm in his statement making me scoff.

"For Rowena's sake, you're still acting as if you didn't purposely throw that bulger at him!" I say running my hands through my hair in frustration.

"I didn't!" he says even less believable.

Done with his excuses I turn back around to give all my attention back to the dirty cauldrons when he manages to slide between me and the sink making me take a huge step back.

"I didn't mean to throw it that hard."

I stare at him, no, I glare at him feeling the urge to punch him again but I remember that it didn't do anything for me the last time and instead opt to let out my frustration by hollering at him and walking away before I make the mistake of punching him and have a Professor magically appear out of nowhere to give me more detention again.

Even when I think I finally win and have him admit to his wrongs he still finds a way to make excuses for himself.

"What were you expecting?! I'm a beater that's what we do!"

Does he really think I don't know what a bloody beater is?!

Is he trying to make me pass off as an emotional wreck because of my appropriate reaction to such injury during a supposed amicable match?!

Any beater whether amateur or professional could agree that either maliciously or not that throw was unwarranted during training.

"There really is something wrong with you," I walk right in front of him, toe to toe, and spite my statement right in his face pushing him aside to gain back access to the sink.

I start scrubbing as my mind throws all the different reasons I despise the fucker. Irresponsible, unfunny, no compassion.

I'm so lost in my spiteful analysis of him that I don't register that my thoughts aren't my own anymore as I unconsciously start rambling out loud.

"An idiot who doesn't even think before taking people down with him," I grumble scrubbing away.

"Come on now it's not like he's dead," He nips throwing down yet another pile of small cauldrons beside me.

"I'm talking about me!" I yell letting go of my current task and letting the pot fall and clang with another one causing a ruckus in the sink.

"Not only is my friend in the infirmary because of you but I'm also stuck with you trying to teach someone who I learned has never been slacking in muggle history before recently."

His jaw slacks open and his eyes double in size like the breakfast sausages I had this morning.

"Wait a minute. You think I'm doing this on purpose?!"

You do everything on purpose! Your dad works for the ministry, he is a Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office employee dammit! If anyone is an expert at muggle stuff it's your dad!" I say as a matter of fact.

"And tell me exactly what would it bring me to purposely be bad at this subject all of a sudden?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe to annoy me more often than usual." it sounds like a question but I know I'm just clarifying the situation.

"You think I'm gonna waste my days stuck with you in the library acting dumb for fun?" he tries to ask sarcastically.

"And why not? Beside the library part isn't that what you do all day anyways?"

The quick wit seems like it struck him as he scoffs with a broad smile.

"If you want to be a failure for the rest of your life go ahead and be my guest but I'll ask you not to take me down with you."

That same disbelief smile disappears and leaves place for a blank look that doesn't often grace his face.

"Unlike what you think, success doesn't necessarily come from academic prowesses." he tries to bite.

"Obviously not when it comes to you." I mock before turning back around feeling satisfied for getting him not once but twice in a row.

The triumphant silence doesn't last long before he dwells in a monologue that I don't bother listening to. Instead, I tune him out and start scrubbing which helps to cover the annoying sound of his voice.

His speech feels like hours long but is probably just a few minutes tangent as by the time my ears recognize his next sentence I'm only done with the first cauldron.

"-With such a nasty attitude it's no wonder Murphy didn't show up to your date."

The cauldron clashes with another as I let it fall back into the abnormally huge sink before turning my head toward the nuisance of my life.

"How do you know about that?" the voice that comes out of my mouth is one I don't recognize.

He pauses and seems to hesitate.

"Heard Katie talk about it to her friend."

"I never said anything about it to Katie, 'matter of fact I never said anything about this date to anyone ever so there's no way you heard this through gossip."

"He told me." he tries again even less believable than the first time.

"Bullshit." I seeth.

It's bluff, while I believe I might know Murphy it's not to say that he isn't just like any other guy and simply good at hiding his real intentions.

He starts ranting about some story I can tell is made up on the spot and it's like the wheels stopped turning and the lightbulb lights up in my head with such intensity that the next words come out of my mouth in a loud realization that echoes his own.

"You did this, It was you!" I accuse him with a rageful glare.

He steps back and rolls his eyes tilting his head back, "Oh my-you know what?! Yeah, I did. I warned the guy and I did well because he deserved better than to be stuck on a date with a stuck-up cunt like you." he finishes his tirade by sticking his index finger in my enraged face.

"You're fucking evil." I spit it like it's a statement everyone agrees upon watching him turn his back to me walking farther away.

My outburst is so intense that I have to take a shaky breath and keep my tears at bay as my better judgment is thrown out the window and I decide to finally pour all my frustration out.

"You know, you always take some sick pleasure in telling me I'm cold-hearted," the beginning of my speech is shakey but I quickly regain strength in my voice to let out all my poison,"But you can't even own up to your own fucking flaws and the fact that you're nothing but a jackass who use your so-called 'pranks' to harass everyone in school because they know better to be friends with an asshole like you who's only friend is his twin because no one else wants to be around you!"

My rant is over and the only noise filling the space is my heavy breathing. Catching my breath I feel hot and can barely focus on anything other than my heart beating in my ears as I feel my boiling blood travel all through my body as I stare dead into the eyes of the one who brought me to such an extent of anger.

When my heart settles and I can finally hear my breathing slow down I can focus solely on him and realize that his stare is dead.

He's not glaring, he's just looking. All trace of anger is gone and he's left staring at me or rather through me with dead eyes.

I seem to have struck a nerve and for once the guy doesn't have a comeback. Instead, I'm rewarded with the shoulder shove of a six-foot-something figure who passes me to walk to the sink and starts scrubbing away…

What the heck?

The feeling of regret invades me for a moment but is quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

Why should I feel regret? It's not like he ever feels regret for the horrible things he does. He never apologizes to anyone no matter how far he crosses the line.

The regret quickly fades and I instead let the small spot of confidence inside me grow. It's the first time I've ever shut the mouth of the biggest jerk there is, why shouldn't I enjoy it as long as it lasts?

After everything, I'm entitled to this. I'm entitled to twist the knife.

I take a first careful step and then a second, more confident one closer to him and the sink.

"Yeah, I might be a cold-hearted bitch. But you're an arrogant jackass who's not even funny." I say more calmly yet still petty.

"Oh piss off!" he shouts throwing the cauldron back into the sink with a smash that I wonder might have actually shattered or maybe chipped one of them.

I jump aside to avoid another shoulder shove and follow him with my eyesight to spot him grabbing his stuff and realize he is trying to escape this detention to avoid my lash-out.

Figuring out his plan I catch up and run past him to stand in front of the door blocking his way out.

"No! No, You called me what you called me and now I get to call you whatever I want!"

I wonder for a moment why he doesn't push past me, for sure his frame can easily overpower mine but instead of crashing into me to walk out of the potion class he instead turns around and throws both robe and satchel on a station with a shout that almost rivals mine.

"Alright then let's go ahead, get it all out of your system sweetheart." He snarls standing in the middle of the class, his arms expanded before he places them on his hips.

"You!" the bitter tone escapes me in a rough huff as I point at him, "Have done nothing but make my life hell since the day I arrived." I start walking towards him, "And for what? I have NEVER given you any reason to hate me and yet I have been the target of so many of your pranks that I started being known as the damn Weasley's guinea pig!" I throw my finger in his direction before it falls back on my sides as I walk slowly but with conviction towards him.

"There we go!" he says faking being proud probably to egg me on in my rant with a sick smirk bending down to my eye level and crossing his arms probably to toy with me and undermine me as he always does.

"You do nothing at school but be a nuisance and waste everyone's time including mine and it's so sick to think that you can't even let others be successful just because you can't achieve anything on your own, it's pathetic!" I'm getting closer, almost toe to toe with the redhead who doesn't take a step back and stays planted where he stands or rather is bent over.

"Come on let it all out," he snarls.

"But somehow I was still stupid enough to think that this time you would have the decency to at least admit you went too far and apologize for hurting my friend but even then you cannot take responsibility as always," I finish my tirade taking my final step right in front of him as our noses brush.

"Anything else?!" he angrily spits in my face with a scowl.

I breathe in harshly wishing I could punch him or clap back like I did before but realize if my rant hasn't aroused all kinds of empathy it is useless to keep calling him names it won't male a difference.

"Yeah, your attempt to make me look ugly by turning my hair pink completely failed because I still look good unlike you," I say sourly throwing a glance at his mop of hair.

He sneers.

His arms that were crossed in front of him manage to travel up and brush strands of hair behind my ears before his fingers slide down and twirl the locks in his hands toying with them.

When I'm done bathing in the hatred coating his eyes I notice I'm not the only one panting when I feel his breath brush my face.

Why is he panting? I'm the one who just rambled angrily for five minutes.

"Got it all out?" he says calmer this time around.

I look at him and my eyes make the mistake of switching between his eyes and lips just a second to see his doing just the same and analyze my face.

We haven't moved from our spot and I don't know why.

"Yeah, I think so," he whispers his lips brushing over mine with each syllable.

He stands back up, his hands leaving my hair and falling back to his side as he brushes past me leaving me to stand there frozen trying to comprehend the goosebumps littering my body and my hands shaking by my hips.

I manage to turn around and see him grabbing his stuff and making his way to the class entrance once more.

I find my voice, less confident than before but still strong enough to try and stop him.

"What are you doing detention isn't over yet!" I begrudgingly state.

"Then I guess I'll get a week's worth of detention!" he announces walking out with one hand clutching his satchel and the other one throwing his robe over his shoulder.

He's gone, and in the newly found silence, I breathe out through my nose and assess what just happened.

Weasley just mocked me, pissed me off and egged me on, undermined me, and left me in a classroom filled to the brim with cauldrons to clean all by myself after toying with my anger, my hair, and…

My hand bolts into fists and my nails sink into my palms as I conclude what I already know.

I hate him.