#i have a meeting for a volanteer thing

[strawberri-syrup]

telling my shift lead i wont be at (optional) training tomorrow and putting my phone on dnd like i sent a risky text

[buckets-and-trees]

hii i have a request this can be for Ransom or Andy

But imagine y/n and him are in an arranged marriage. y/n is doing everything she can for him to sign the divorce paper for examples smashing his cars, serving overly salty food, cutting his expensive clothes into pieces, disrespecting his workers, and spending his money on the most useful things (but if it ransom spending money at “low class” retail shops only bc I feel like he’ll hate that), etc.

instead of giving her a divorce, he just randomly starts acting like a romantic gentleman until the night ends he punishes her 🙊😈

I have to apologize for taking so long to answer this ask... and forgive me for not using all the inspo you dropped my way, but from the MOMENT I read this, I knew it was going to fuel something very specific for I'm Your Man Andy and his entrapped fiancé reader., and so I still needed to post it as an answer to this to give some credit where it's due. So even though it took months and months to get to here, this is the result.

Title: Don't Look Too Far Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 6.4k Summary: After jetting away with Andy for a week, you're back. The reality that this is going to be your life starts to settle in in very unsettling ways. And although Andy's taken so many liberties with you already, he finally crosses a line you didn't know was on the board.

Content/Warnings: violent behavior; spanking as punishment; emotional manipulation; explicit smut: nipple play, cock stroking, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex; use of pet name (sweetheart), implied dacryphilia

Author Note: This is not a stand alone section! You can find the previous parts here.

Author Note 2: I've been sitting on this for a long time, and I'm excited to finally have it here to share with you. Some of you genuinely seem to love this awful Andy, and you'll like this chapter. Some of you kinda like him against your will and I think you'll like this chapter (cough @stargazingfangirl18 cough). Some of you loathe this man, and you might like at least a few things in this chapter (looking at @biteofcherry).

You are glad to get home from your whirlwind trip with Andy.

Everything had been stunning, luxurious, and beyond your wildest dreams in one of the places you’d been longing to go almost your entire life. Even Andy had been nearly wonderful and certainly subjected you to endless spoiling and copious amounts of exquisite sex.

He makes all of this so difficult.

The private jet touches down in the early afternoon, and Andy allows you to avoid him until dinner. One of the things he’d made clear was an expectation from day one was having dinner together. After dinner, he insists on taking you for a ride in his Aston Martin DBS 770 Ultimate Volante – not his only sports car in the gargantuan garage of his mansion, and not even the only Aston Martin. Though he gave you no choice in whether or not to join him, he doesn’t force conversation, merely lets you enjoy the scenic drive, occasionally holding your hand. Once home, he takes you to bed and gets you to scream out through two orgasms for him before he lets you rest in peace.

The next morning, you awake alone. Andy only invokes a little small talk in the kitchen, lets you know he’ll be taking a few meetings, places a kiss on the top of your head while you eat breakfast at the counter, and then leaves.

It is more room than you have been used to in the mornings, and you don’t question it. You are happy to have the Saturday to yourself.

Three days after Andy so decisively put his engagement ring on your finger, he put a black card in your wallet. Today you will break it in.

You start at a hair salon you have never been able to afford but that had been on the “essential” list of prenuptial rituals for some of the wealthiest brides you’d planned nuptials for. Having the long-standing relationship with the establishment to arrange appointments for your clients meant they were willing to fit you in last minute for the late morning.

You hold yourself back from doing anything drastic. You don’t want to give Andy the satisfaction of driving you to go for a new style. You leave more than a generous tip.

You get lunch at a small sandwich shop – one of your favorites. You choose a table with a view out one of the large windows. It’s nice to be in a familiar place, even with the presence of Shep watching out for the non-existent security threats.

After lunch, you ask Mark to drive you to the plant nursery you love.

You get everything you want, leaving no plant behind if it strikes your fancy. You buy lovely pots for all of them and never look at price tags. When you tap your card for the enormous bill, it’s with a self-satisfied smirk on your face.

Next you go to the nail salon. They are busy, as it’s Saturday afternoon, just as you knew they would be, but they say they can take you in an hour or less, and since you have no demands on your time, you’re more than fine waiting.

As it’s late summer, it really is too warm for the plants to stay in your car, so you insist on sending Mark home with the plants – you know better than to try to convince Shep to go with him. The man has made it clear he will not shirk his duty as the point man for the security Andy has assigned to you. He’s ever present, and you don’t give him a hard time – he’s only doing his job. Shep doesn’t like your suggestion, however, and instead calls someone from the house to come pick up your plants so neither of the men have to leave.

Once your pedicure and manicure are complete, you check your phone while you’re escorted to the SUV. Your mom has sent you a text.

MOM: Call me when you get a chance! I want to hear all about your trip!

You frown as you slide into the backseat.

How did she know?

Since being trapped and installed into the life of the mob boss, you’ve avoided getting together with any of your friends or family, phone calls, and any deep text conversations. It’s self-isolation, nothing mandated from Andy. But what would you tell them about your new circumstance? Forced into an engagement with a charming, handsome man who just happens to be a mobster with control issues you were sure you could never escape from? Not a subject you want to get anywhere close to.

You only hesitate for another moment before you hit the call button and place the phone to your ear as Mark starts your drive home.

“Hello, dear!” your mom’s voice is clear and full of excitement.

“Hi, Mom,” you reply, smiling despite yourself.

Your heart aches for the weeks it’s been since you two last spoke. You missed her voice. You’re close with both of your parents. Your job had kept you incredibly busy over the past five years, but you usually spoke with them at least once a week and made it out to their house in the suburbs once or twice a month.

“I got your text,” you say simply, not sure how else to begin.

“Yes!” she exclaims, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I want to hear everything about your trip! But first, we have to talk about Andy!”

She can’t see it, but your jaw drops. “Andy?”

“He made us promise not to say anything until after lunch today – and I’m sorry, it’s why I haven’t texted or called all week, I wasn’t sure I couldn’t NOT bring him up, but he told us everything! How you met–”

“Well, you know I planned that signature gala for him,” you interject, somehow needing to jump in to clarify that point.

“Of course, yes, but how he was so impressed by you but waited until the event was over before saying anything, how he couldn’t help moving so fast with you. When he reached out earlier this week to set up the lunch with your father and I, he said he wanted us to meet him without you there so that we could thoroughly vet him and judge for ourselves without worrying you, make up our own minds even though he was obviously hoping we would approve since you’re engaged, but he didn’t reveal that detail until today.”

“Oh,” your mind is racing. “Andy always seems to have something up his sleeve.”

She laughs. “I can only imagine! And things certainly developed quickly!”

“Yes…” your voice is thick with hesitancy, and you know you can’t hide it from her.

“But your father and I want you to know that while you don’t need our approval, you have it. We’re surprised, but we approve. He’s so clearly smitten with you, and we know you would never jump into an engagement like this unless you were sure. We trust you.”

You don’t know what to say.

“I would have told you and Dad about the engagement,” you say. You don’t know when you would have. You were still so freshly coming to terms with its reality and ramifications…

Now telling your parents about Andy is yet another thing he has stolen from you.

“We know! We were young once, too! I can only imagine how much that man must have swept you away!” she soothes and exclaims, her voice bright and beaming through the phone.

It makes your chest ache because if this had evolved without Andy’s constant control, it might have been like this, and you would have gushed and been giddy with your mom right now in this moment.

“Why don’t we get lunch tomorrow just the two of us?” you suggest, wanting nothing more than to talk to your mom, but desperately needing to get off the phone so you can regroup, clear your thoughts, and figure out what in the world you are going to be able and willing to tell her.

“I would love that! Where do you want to go?”

You quickly sort out details that you promise to confirm over text, say your goodbyes, and then you end the call. You set the phone on the seat, drop your head back, and shut your eyes, fighting back angry tears. You wouldn’t let them fall down your cheeks.

“Your mom sounds like a lovely woman,” Shep interrupts your thoughts.

The laugh that tumbles out of your mouth is short and underscores how ridiculous all of this is. “She is. She’s not perfect, but she’s the best and has the biggest heart,” you respond with a genuine smile.

“She passed it on to you,” he says, meeting your eyes briefly in the rear-view mirror.

“You two should probably meet her tomorrow,” you offer up.

“We look forward to it,” Mark chimes in.

That’s the end of the exchange, but it dawns on you that while these two men have been assigned to your personal security and transportation, and they’re work for Andy, they have been nothing but professional, and you can see now that while they’re not warm and soft, there is a degree of care from them that has developed or that you’re only now recognizing exists that does seem to go beyond being a paycheck for them. Mark is probably close to your age, and you would guess Shep is eight or ten years older. Both men wear wedding bands on their left hands.

Having to have them assigned to you, you’re grateful it’s these two seemingly good men.

You’re sure there could be much worse.

You’re quiet the rest of the ride home, but your mind doesn’t stop racing.

“Would you like to get out at the front of the house or in the garage, ma’am?” Mark asks as you near the house. He always asks because the house is so large it makes a difference.

The corner of your mouth lifts as you decide, “The garage, please.”

The garage is a drive in basement level on the southeast corner of the house and holds two dozen cars, including the black Range Rover designated for you. You wonder if you’d ever be allowed to drive a car of your own again.

More aware now of the men, you notice there is a degree of ease that settles particularly over Shep now that you’re safe in the house again. You wonder if that’s always been the norm or if there’s a higher threat potential than usual. The shift does clue you into the reality that Andy is involved in more dangerous things than you thought. Instigator or target, you don’t know which he is, but regardless he’s swimming in dangerous waters, and you’re tied to his fate now.

This is your life.

Would you have chosen it?

Would you have?

A month ago, before the gala, you had genuinely been taken with him, even thought of him as you went to bed, alone, a hand on your breast and a toy between your legs and imagined what it would be like to have him there dealing out your pleasure instead. You hadn’t thought any serious interest being reciprocated from even the faintest possibility.

You had been so wrong.

And he’s dealt more pleasure than you had ever experienced.

More pain as well.

He was mindful of your physical limits, even if he rode them mercilessly.

He failed to comprehend the gravity of the rest of the pain he caused.

And today he reached a limit you hadn’t been expecting.

You slide out of the backseat when Shep opens your door, and instead of heading for the staircase in the corner, you move to the south wall of the garage and start opening cabinets. Shep tracks your movements but gives you space.

In the second set, you find Andy’s golf clubs.

Perfect.

You test a few of the drivers, and when you’re satisfied you’ve got the heaviest in your hands, you pull it clean out of the bag and make your way directly to the car you’ve noticed Andy favors most.

His silver Aston Martin DBS 770 Ultimate Volante.

The very car he drove you around in last night.

You hold nothing back in your swings, cracking the glass with your second hit. The third doesn’t do much more damage, so you move to the metal body, and here’s where you see you will get at least some of your satisfaction, easier to create dents in the metal than breaking the windshield. You do manage to smash one of the windows. Then you round on the next car.

Neither Mark nor Shep move to stop you, but you do see Shep is on the phone briefly.

You guess that you won’t be alone for long, so you move to a third car. Andy arrives as you lay into the fourth car. You look over at him with apprehension, unsure of what his next move will be. He meets your gaze, surveys the damage you’ve done so far, looks back at you, and then takes up position leaning against the Range Rover.

You grit your teeth, then raise the club over your head and bring it down with a battle cry over the hood of the silver Porsche 911 Turbo. A fifth car bears the fire of your rage, and mid-swing on the sixth is when a someone finally grabs the other end of the iron. You scream in fury and turn to face Andy, who’s looming over you, his blue eyes dark, stormy, and his mouth a thin line.

You yank against the club, but his grip is firm. You don’t let go though, still trying to wrest it from his hands, eyes locked on his, and he uses the rod to pull you closer to him, nearly chest to heaving chest (yours, not his).

“That’s enough, sweetheart.” His fingers work yours away from the metal rod, and he clasps one of your hands in his to keep you close while - eyes on you - he tosses the club to Shep, who catches it easily.

You huff and try to pull your hand away, but he interlocks your fingers and then starts to lead you away and up the stairs. Not wanting to allow him seeing any petulance from you, you comply and follow him in silence. Adrenaline starting to taper off, you feel exhaustion seeping into your limbs, and part of you wonders if Andy knew you were reaching the end of your strength and stopped you before you would have lost steam on your own. Your stomach seethes.

Once on the main floor, you fall in step with him, not needing the staff to see anything that will make them talk. Some of them may be oblivious to why you’re here, but you know there are those who are aware at different levels that you aren’t here as the other half of a fairytale.

Your destination turns out to be the family dining room, not the formal one.

Dinner, of course.

He pulls your chair out for you, tucking it politely as you sit, and then takes his place across from you.

Sometimes you and Andy talk over dinner.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

If he’s going to be silent about today, say nothing more about your vandalism on arriving home, then you certainly are not going to stoke conversation. His eyes are on you frequently, but you ignore him.

Halfway through dinner and after taking a sip of wine, Andy finally says, “Your hair looks nice.”

You scoff. “As if you really noticed. Your men told you where we were.” You know it’s hardly changed.

Andy set his fork down. “Look at me,” he demands, tone serious, and so you comply. “They’re your men, and don’t make the mistake of thinking I will ever fail to notice a detail, especially when it comes to my wife.”

Your heart skips a beat - part fear, but part some flare in your heart that you hate reacting to his words. You raise your chin in defiance. “I’m not your wife.”

“Yet.”

Threat and promise.

As if the exquisite engagement ring whose heavy weight you were growing so used to weren’t a constant reminder.

Rather than think further on that, for the rest of the meal you consider his correction that Shep and Mark are your men when you’d said they were his. It was an interesting distinction, and you would put feelers out to ask about it later - not Andy, but maybe with the men.

When dinner is over, Andy stands and reaches for your hand. He always does. It’s unsettling because if only you had ever had a choice, the gesture would be endearing. A few nights over this month that you’ve been his, he kissed the back of your hand and left to attend to business. Some nights, he wanted to watch something with you before bedtime, or go on a drive like last night. Most often he takes you to the bedroom.

It’s the latter tonight.

You walk silently to the master suite together. Every muscle in your body is taught with tension, with the simmering rage and hurt of the day seething through your veins.

Andy closes the door and turns to face you.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re so upset before or after your punishment?”

“My - what?!” You glower and put your hands on your hips. “Why am I being punished? You let me smash two more cars before you even stopped me.”

“It’s not about the cars, it’s your refusal to talk to me about something that clearly has you worked up.”

“Worked up?” Your eyes widen and then narrow. “I’m not worked up, Andy, I’m infuriated.”

“Then tell me what crime I’ve committed.”

You scoff and turn away.

He catches you before you’ve taken two steps, gripping your upper arm. He hauls you toward the bed, takes a seat on the end of the mattress, and then lays you down over his lap. He takes both your wrists in his left hand and holds them firmly while his right hand pulls your pants down.

All of it happens so swiftly that you can’t even fight him, but you cry out when the first, harsh slap hits your bare ass. The sting is sharp and shocking. The second comes quickly after. You try to shake out of his hold, but he growls your name, tightens his grip, and the third slap comes even harder.

Four. Five. He kneads the flesh of your ass between some of the smacks. Eight. Fifteen. Twenty. Somewhere in the middle, the smacks morph into a swirl of simultaneous pain and numbness – a mirror of how you feel. You’re sobbing once he finally stops, body sagging in defeat over his lap. He lifts you carefully and lays you stomach down on the bed. You fold your arms and hide your face into the frame of them to cry and settle into softer cries, and Andy lets you have the moment of privacy.

It’s not long before you register Andy’s return though, his weight sinking onto the bed next to you. Then his hand is on your tender backside, applying a cold cream to your skin, and the relief makes you let out a shuddering sigh. He works it over you slowly, gently, methodically. By the time Andy’s finished, so are your tears. You’re still full of emotions, but they’re a swirling, complicated mess. You feel like the frustration has been spanked out of you, but you’re still hurt and angry, but now you’re also confused by this tender act. This only extends when he urges you to roll over, and sit up, and he kisses your forehead. You look up at him dolefully, he wipes away the remaining tracks of your tears. He’s shed his clothes from the day and is now bare-chested and in a pair of navy silk pajama bottoms. He proceeds to gently help you take off your shirt, your bra, and then slips you into a silk robe he’s brought from the closet.

Then Andy stands, scoops you up into his arms, and heads to the balcony of your master suite. He settles down onto the loveseat and arranges you in his lap so you’re sitting sideways over him, and he wraps his arm around you. It’s more of the confusing closeness, physical intimacy that you crave but can’t give into with him. It’s the first time you’ve been out here, and it affords a beautiful view of the darkening sky. Yet another thing you would have yearned for but don’t want like this.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” you say honestly.

He puts his hand under your chin and tilts your head up to look at him. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

“But will you hear me?” You ask and turn your head away and out of his hand.

He smoothes his thumb over your jaw but - to your surprise - doesn’t force you to look at him as he had before. Instead he lets his hand drop and brings it around your waist so he’s got both arms banded around you again.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Andy. You’ve made it abundantly clear that I have no way out of this, but it’s been mounting and it came to a peak today. I had a day to myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to spend it with my friends or my parents because I can’t tell them about us! I haven’t spoken or texted any of them on more than a surface level since this all began. And I haven’t gone back to work yet, but I want to work, I need to work, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell them either!”

He is quiet for a moment. And then, “I knew you hadn’t told anyone, but why do you think you can’t tell them about us?”

“What am I supposed to say?” You scoff. “I can’t tell them that you threatened me with blackmail and forced me into our engagement!”

“No,” he agrees, “You can’t tell them that.”

“So, what am I supposed to tell them?”

“That you fell for my charms, that I surprised you when I declared my intentions and by how serious I was, that I made it almost impossible for you to refuse me. It’s enough of the truth.”

You frown and scrutinize his face. “Enough of the truth,” you repeat, the words tasting bitter in your mouth. “Is that how you always live your life?”

 He lifts his chin, a flash of hardness in his eyes. “I’ve done what I needed to.”

“You didn’t need to go behind my back to meet my parents!” You blurt, the hurt in your voice bleeding out despite trying to keep it in, to keep it away from him, not wanting to share something so personal.

“I want to have a good relationship with my in-laws. My mother’s dead and my father was sentenced to life in prison when I was a kid.”

“But they’re my parents,” you stress. “I should have been able to be the ones to tell them about getting married. You stole that from me.”

Andy studies your face quietly.

You drop your gaze. You won’t tell him why stealing this moment – more than anything else he’s done – was your breaking point. You doubt he would care or understand, but he also doesn’t get to know something so personal. He hasn’t earned that right.

“You love them,” he finally says.

You nod. “We’re very close.”

He falls silent again.

Finally, you give an exhausted sigh. “Why did you have to do this to us?”

“I wanted you.”

“I wanted you, too. You should have let us fall into it.”

“Fall now.”

“I can’t,” you protest, and you look up to argue further, but he’s faster, cutting you off with a kiss.

His lips are demanding, and the heat he pours into the kiss seeps into the cracks he’s been chipping away inside you, and your traitorous body leans into the moment. You’re exhausted physically and emotionally.

You don’t know how you can ever let yourself fall for him.

But as his hands soothe up and down your back, you wonder if you have to deny yourself everything for the rest of your life?

What if you fell into him for one night? Allowed yourself to let go, to forget for just a few hours? You are so tired. And your body aches. And after so much hurt, betrayal, and anger running high through your veins for so many hours now, after the shock and release from being put over his knee, maybe you just want to forget and get lost in pleasure.

Pleasure you know he was far too capable of giving.

Not only capable of giving, but master of overwhelming you with it.

After he’s stolen so much from you these last weeks, maybe you want and need to steal a night of ecstasy without any thoughts.

You shift on his lap, his arms still around you, until you’re straddling his lap. You leverage his broad shoulders to push yourself up on your knees, and you look down at him. You can’t read everything in his dark blue stormy eyes yet, but you can interpret some of what’s there. He’s intrigued and you can see the spark of hunger flaring, but there’s something else you can’t quite read.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

He doesn’t pull you in closer, but his arms hold you steady in your kneeling stance. You reach for the tie of your silk robe, and you slowly pull it loose.

“Tonight is not for you,” your voice is low, quiet, but not soft, “it’s for me.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, but as you shrug the silky garment off your shoulders, he helps let the robe fall free to the ground.

Andy’s eyes rake over your naked form, drinking in every curve and dip of your body. His hands glide up your sides, rough palms contrasting with the softness of your flesh. You shiver despite the warmth of the evening air.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscles there. Your fingers trace the lines down to his abdomen, following the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband. You can feel the evidence of his arousal, and he groans, gripping your hips tightly, and you squeeze his length - big as the rest of him - the cock that has ruined you.

He leans in and his lips burn a trail down your neck, over your chest and find one of your breasts, nipping on the swell before licking at your aereola and taking it into his mouth. Your fingers rake into his hair, and he sucks insistently until your nipple is almost painfully hard. He releases it with a pop, then moves to give equal treatment to your other breast. You press your needy cunt down against his groin, keening for him.

You grind against him, and he can’t help but groan. In one fluid motion, he stands, lifting you with him. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist instinctively as he carries you back into the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. He takes less than a second to push his pajama bottoms down and off before he joins you on the bed, his body covering yours.

His weight presses you into the mattress. You feel every inch of his hard body against yours, and you arch up, desperate for more contact. Andy's hand slides between your bodies, finding your slick folds. He groans when he feels how wet you are for him.

"Always so ready for me," he murmurs against your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there.

You whimper as his fingers tease your entrance, circling but not entering. You buck your hips, trying to force him inside, but he pulls back with a dark chuckle.

"Patience, sweetheart," he admonishes.

But patience isn't what you want tonight. You want to lose yourself in sensation, to forget everything but the pleasure he can give you. You reach down and grasp his thick length, guiding him to your entrance.

He forces your hand away with a tsk, and you glare at him, but he is grinning, moving down your body already. He kisses the sensitive spot on your lower stomach, the one he discovered that always makes you gasp and arch your back for him. His shoulders force your legs open to accommodate his frame as he plants himself between your thighs.

Andy's mouth descends on your core, his tongue laving your sensitive folds. You arch into him, a moan escaping your lips. His beard scratches deliciously against your inner thighs as he works you over with his skilled tongue. He alternates between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, building your pleasure steadily.

Your hands fist in his hair, holding him against you as you rock your hips. The coil of tension in your belly winds tighter and tighter. Just as you're about to topple over the edge, Andy pulls back, denying you release.

“Andy, please,” you beg.

Andy's breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, making you shiver and whine. He places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, then another, slowly working his way back towards your center. You squirm, desperate for more contact, but his strong hands hold your hips firmly in place.

He chuckles, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you. "I thought this night was for you," he teases, his beard scraping deliciously against your thigh. "Let me take care of you."

Before you can protest, his tongue laves a long, slow stroke up your slit. You cry out, your back arching off the bed. He repeats the motion, this time circling your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Your hands fist in the sheets as Andy's talented mouth works you over. He alternates between long, languid strokes and quick flicks of his tongue, never letting you settle into a rhythm. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that he knows makes you see stars.

"Oh god, Andy!" you cry out, your hips bucking against his face.

He hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His fingers pump in and out, matching the pace of his tongue on your clit. The dual sensations are overwhelming, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy murmurs against your flesh. "Let go for me."

His words are your undoing. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your body arching off the bed as pleasure overwhelms you. But he’s anything but finished.

Andy doesn't let up, his mouth and fingers working you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another peak. Your body trembles, oversensitive but craving more. You tug at his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"Too much," you gasp, but he ignores your weak protest.

He adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he continues to lap at your swollen clit. The intensity builds rapidly, and before you can catch your breath, you're tumbling over the edge again. This time, Andy pulls away, allowing you a moment to recover.

He kisses his way up your body, pausing to nip roughly at your collarbone. When he reaches your mouth, he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into the kiss, your hands roaming over his broad back.

Andy positions himself between your thighs. You reach between your bodies and guide him to your entrance. You need him inside of you. He pushes in slowly, stretching you deliciously, filling you completely. You both groan as he slides in to the hilt, and you throw your head back. He stills there, kisses along your jaw, then gives a soft rock of his hips, rutting against you, but not thrusting.

“Move,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to urge him on.

Andy leans down and claims your lips again, demanding the intimate kiss as his price, his tongue licking into your mouth to tangle with yours. He then sets a steady rhythm that has you moaning with each thrust. You buck your hips to draw him in with each stroke. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans of pleasure.

You drag your nails down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. He hisses, then retaliates by biting down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The sharp pain mixed with pleasure makes you cry out.

"Harder," you demand, needing more, needing to lose yourself completely.

Andy growls, his grip on your hips tightening as he complies with your demand. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, the force of his thrust pushing you up the bed. You cry out in pleasure, your nails digging into his shoulders. He sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his movements. Your walls clench around him, drawing a guttural groan from his throat.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy grunts, his voice rough with exertion. "Take what you need from me."

You're climbing higher and higher, chasing that blissful peak. Andy snakes a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He rubs tight circles over the sensitive bud, and it's too much.

You shatter, screaming his name as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body convulses, clenching rhythmically around him. Andy fucks you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you're a trembling mess beneath him as he chases his own release.

It takes a few more strokes, and then he’s spilling his hot seed inside of you, groaning against your neck. He collapses his weight onto you for a few moments, catching his breath. Your hands roam over his back. If you had been given the chance to choose him, to choose this life, wrapped in his arms right now you would have felt blissfully content, and so since tonight was a pass on reality, you let a satisfied sigh fall from your lips.

Andy’s lips find yours again, and you kiss until you feel floaty and boneless beneath him, head empty of all thoughts.

When the fervency of the kisses finally slows into a languid calm, Andy finally rolls off of you. He reaches for the switch to turn off the soft lights that had been on, then settles on his side, facing you. He traces lazy patterns over your form with his fingers, and you close your eyes and simply feel.

You didn’t know you had fallen into sleep except that the motion of Andy pulling you into his chest so he can spoon up behind you pulls you back into consciousness. He chuckles softly at your little mewl, and then pulls you a little closer to his warm chest and plants a kiss on your neck, just below your ear. You settle against him without complaint.

You’re exhausted, and you don’t know where he finds the resilience, but his hand snakes down to cup your cunt again, and you hum as he begins to work your clit. You have no strength left in you, but if you don’t have to work for it and Andy’s going to give it to you, you’ve learned under his hand that he always knows how to coax out one more climax from you when you think you’re already spent.

Your breath speeds up again, and you can feel the promise of pleasure pulling at your muscles, tightening them for one final release.

As he works you quickly up to that point, he speaks directly into your ear. “You said tonight was for you, not for me. It’s the lie you needed to tell yourself to let go, and that’s fine, but know that your pleasure is always pleasure for me.”

And so unfairly, your body comes for him right then, exactly as he wants you to, and you cry out before going even more limp in his arms. He presses another kiss on your neck, and you can feel his satisfied smile against your skin. You desperately wish you could break out of his arms and roll away from him, but you do not have even an ounce of strength left, and so you simply let the exhaustion overtake you and escape from him in sleep.

You’re vaguely aware of how close Andy keeps you all night. Since he typically does, it’s a surprise when you wake to an empty bed. There is only a vague suggestion of sunlight beginning to come in the windows, so you know it’s still incredibly early. The sheet is down around your waist, and you splay your arm out to where Andy should have been. The bed isn’t cold, but there’s only a hint of warmth, so you know he’s been up for a while.

As if unnervingly on cue, Andy comes in from the ensuite bathroom and hums at seeing you awake. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

He strides right up to the edge of the bed, leans down, and plants a kiss on your cheek, then rubs his hand softly over your jaw.

“Morning,” you respond.

You hate how lovely this scene should be. Your heart wants it, but your brain reminds you not to accept this contrived intimacy he pretends is real and normal.

He crosses the room and retrieves his phone, starts to put on his watch, the finishing touches before he embarks on his day.

“You can sleep in,” he says softly.

“Why are you up so early? It’s Sunday.”

“Early tee time at the country club,” he answers.

You make a vague sound of acknowledgement and pull the sheet and duvet back up to burrow in for a lazy morning of more sleep and maybe some reading.

“Enjoy lunch with your mom, by the way,” he says at the door. “I’m teeing off with your father, so I’ll persuade him to have lunch with me to give you two time as just mother and daughter.”

You suck in a sharp breath and he departs, dropping this revelation, and leaving you to seethe at his making yet another bold move, seeping steadily further into the foundations of your life.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

SO

YEAH

Still with me here?

Even though I figured out the plot point for this chapter a while back, when I wrote it, I had to take a break a few times because I was upset over how some things were playing out.

I was also surprised by some of the development with her security detail of Mark and Shep. I randomly made them up really quickly during Prepare for Takeoff, but then here I learned they were going to end up being even more important than I thought (including something key for two specific future plot points).

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Tumblr isn't letting me find again @fictionadventurer's and my own posts on epistolary novels, but I have been thinking about it again, because I fell down a Goodreads review rabbit hall and I have thoughts again.

So many people dislike the style, and honestly, I don't blame them, because it's so often done... not well. It is in some aspects, a deceptively easy one, and in others, deceptively hard. And because I'm trying to write a novel with this format myself, I have been thinking about what makes or breaks an epistolary novel.

I talked yesterday about TGLPPS, because it is an interesting case to analyze. I have thought many times about it, and cannot think of a single non-merely-aesthetic reason for it to be told in an epistolary style. A lot of it depends on -British- people who have survived some terrible war conditions willingly opening up to a stranger about their experiences, and that's made... even more difficult if the medium is letters? typically writers will appeal to tropes like making the reserved character drunk, or have them share an extreme experience in isolation with the stranger to create sudden intimacy. None of this is possible in writing; if anything, one is much more self-conscious about the things one writes than the things one says; verba volant, scripta manent.

It seems to me the story would have flowed much more naturally if Juliet had been stranded on Guernsey for some reason -like the first author herself!- suddenly Dawsey commenting that he got a book from her library makes so much more sense! Yes, certainly, if you met a stranger out there, and they introduce themselves and you realize you have a book that once belonged to them, you would tell them so! And it is in this way that the epistolary format does violence to a story that would otherwise sound much less contrived.

Another problem is the large cast of characters and multiple settings. For all I complain about Dracula, Stoker manages this pretty well (of course he has the model of The Woman in White, but TWiW has fewer povs), at least on the first half, because structurally the storylines of the characters are converging, and that does a lot to guide the reader in the understanding of the character's relationships. TGLPPS's relationship structure is more of a multidirectional flow chart, and that becomes confusing really fast.

Another novel I read reviews for recently is one set in WWI, composed of back and forth letters between two lovers torn apart by war, and one common complaint was... that the climactic scenes, the times they meet, etc all happen... off-camera. It is a fair complaint, but also one I cannot really blame the author for, because that's what usually happens with real life compilations of letters of that kind. Sure, usually the editor/compiler will fill in the blanks sometimes and add an epilogue of sorts explaining what happened afterwards, and that is possible if you are writing it fictionally too, but some may think it spoils the effect of immediacy and whatnot, which, fair too.

But it makes me think of how aware Jean Webster was of these difficulties, and how deftly she managed them in both Daddy Long-Legs and Dear Enemy. Both novels have aged badly in terms of content and message, but they are very interesting stylistically.

DLL is a bildungsroman with a dash of romance; through Judy's letters to daddy long-legs we can see how she grows as a person, gaining independence intellectually and economically, and as a writer, as her grammar and vocabulary change and grow. Between making Judy an orphan who hates the orphanage where she has lived her whole life, and one where she lived past the usual age of being thrown into the world, Webster does away with the need for letters between Judy and her friends and family: all her friends and family are her college roommates and her benefactor, who is the person she writes to. The benefactor scheme also makes it so that she doesn't have to write dll's replies, which in turns makes it much more natural and acceptable for the reader when Judy writes him the ending's love letter describing the feelings and impressions of their finally meeting in person and in truth; Judy has become a writer, and she is so used to write to him as another person all the time, that it just makes sense for her to write to him one more letter at the point where her benefactor and her lover become one and the same person. She has written a novel where the core is the correspondence between lovers AND managed to include as well all the moments of their meetings that we would otherwise miss.

Dear Enemy is a similar, but longer and more ambitious story. Instead of one relationship-connection (Judy and Daddy's), we have Sallie as a nod of connections: she's Judy's friend, Jarvis' "employee", the boss of several characters, has a tense colleague-boss relationship with the visiting doctor, a boyfriend of sorts in Washington, and a family we have met before. It is, in that way, a similar setup to TGLPPS: a urban girl of means becomes a fish out of water in a different setting till she ends up assimilating to it, and settling definitely through marriage. But Webster does a few things differently to make it click.

For starters, it is clear to her that this is the story of Sallie's maturation -I have sometimes talked of Dear Enemy as a novel where a Mary Crawford-like character undergoes a transformation arc. The happenings and stories she meets and tells Judy about along the way serve this arc, besides standing on their own as case studies to illustrate the problems, ideology and solutions proposed to the secondary themes of the story (education and social reform). I feel like TGLPPS is much more interested in Guernsey's survival through the war, in which case Juliet's story is already a frame, which, again, makes the epistolary format cumbersome rather than complementary.

Dear Enemy adds more correspondents, but it is very austere/economical with them, and narrows the letters we see to only those Sallie sends. YMMV regarding if it was too much cutting or not, but the undeniable effect is structural soundness; you are never confused by what is happening or who is writing to whom. We can guess the Honorable Cyrus Wykoff probably wrote some indignant letters to Jervis, and those would be funny to read, but... would they be worth the break in the flow of the narrative? I don't think so. To this effect, just having Sallie write a line to the effect of "I expect at this point you have at hand an irate letter from the Hon. Cyrus" is enough to paint a picture for the reader. Perhaps a letter or two from Dr. MacRae would have helped develop his character more -definitely a first read of the story obscures how much misdirection there is in Sallie's narration to Judy, which in turns tends to create an impression of suddenness to the closing letter that doesn't come across well to the reader.

The choice of Sallie mainly writing to Judy is, IMO, a really good one too. It not only establishes a connection with DLL, but it also allows for the intimacy that makes disclosure believable (something TGLPPS struggles with, as I mentioned above). When you add a few letters to the doctor and Gordon and Jervis, you also get a better perspective of Sallie's personality, how she deals not only with a friend, but with acquaintances, romantic partners and coworkers.

From all this it is pretty evident that for Webster the main function of epistolarity as format is aiding in showing psychological and moral development. But that's not the only thing the format can be really good for: perspective is another, and Austen uses it to great effect in both Lady Susan and Lesley Castle.

Both stories deal with mainly static characters, but who have very strong perspectives of the same situation, and it is this singularity of setting and story that anchors the narrative to avoid confusion, while the variety of perspective brings interest. In Lady Susan, we are dealing mainly with the marrying off of Frederica and seduction of Mrs. Vernon's brother, Reginald. There where Lady Susan paints Frederica as an undisciplined, irrational and ungrateful daughter, her sister in law, Mrs. Vernon, paints her as a sweet girl and a victim of her mother's ruthlessness and lack of love. Both agree that Reginald is being seduced, but, of course, with opposite goals: Lady Susan wants him to succumb, Mrs. Vernon, to escape, and this is a delicious struggle for the reader to follow!*

Lesley Castle being an earlier effort, and unfinished, does show some of the defects I have mentioned before (mainly, the relative confusion of having several correspondents in separate storylines), but illustrates well this same perspective effect: Margaret writes to Charlotte about the new Lady Lesley, and the new Lady Lesley writes to Charlotte about about Margaret and her sister... and in these contrasts lies the main interest of the narrative.

Some conclusions to these musings, then:

Not every story is suited to the epistolary format.

The epistolary format seems to work the best when it is used for either A) showcase psychological and moral development B) to play with perspective on people and/or events.

One of the main difficulties of the format is finding a narrative element to anchor and structure the letters around.

It must have a core couple of correspondents, or at most, two. More than that will make it confusing (unless, perhaps, the story is very short and about a single event or two).

A delicate balance must be found so that the secondary correspondence doesn't cut the flow of the main one, and if possible it must feed into it.

*It is interesting how Love and Friendship, being such a delightful -and I sustain one of the best ever- Austen adaptation, is by force of the perspective switch towards a more impersonal third person, more about a love story between Frederica and Reginald than a struggle between Lady Susan and Mrs. Vernon. Which isn't dissimilar to how adaptations of DLL end up being more about the romance between the leads than Judy's coming of age in college; tropes aside, I feel like if the epistolary format is well embedded in the story, it's going to be nearly impossible to reproduce the effect in adaptation.

[shift-shaping]

let's go save wycome

clan lavellan receives a letter from lady volant regarding the danger she and solas have found themselves in.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan (discussed)

warnings: pregnancy

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

My Blessed Lady,

    It has been my pleasure to meet Duke Antoine of Wycome and pay my respects on behalf of the Inquisition. The duke is a most friendly man. Indeed, I dare say he thinks the best of everyone, and has advisors from as far away as Tevinter! His city is a wonder, and he was quite keen to display some of the improvements he has made recently. Of particular note are the wells, which use a red crystal to purify the water from which all humans in the city drink. Duke Antoine has not yet made these improvements to the wells from which the elves in the alienage drink.

    The duke assures me that concerns about some sort of disease affecting his city are wholly overblown, and has quite convinced me that his plans to rid the city of "the rats causing the problem" should be underway quite soon.

    Any concerns I have raised, he says, can wait until then. The duke's Tevinter advisor has indicated an eagerness to make my acquaintance, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to resist such a tempting offer. This advisor has also expressed great interest in my serving man, though for what reason I cannot say. Perhaps they share some hobby or background that this advisor wishes to contend with him over.

    I continue to enjoy my visit to Wycome, and I confess that I hope I do not hear the noisy clatter of the Inquisition's armored troops ruining my quiet afternoons. The elves of Clan Lavellan, by contrast, are quiet, like their poor cousins here in Wycome's alienage, and it might be a welcome change to my daily regime to see them in the future.

    Yours in haste,

    Lady Guinevere Volant

Enaste sat against a tree in a clearing within her clan's camp, frowning at the letter. She had just finished an early dinner with Hallin and Harea, and had almost managed to convince herself the Inquisition was some sort of awful nightmare.

As her brother predicted, the meal was everything Enaste could have wanted: buttery, fleshy lobster tails rich with garlic and seasoning, accompanied by clams, corn, and a pile of fresh herbs and mushrooms. They didn't always have such extravagant meals, so this was something of a celebration. Enaste had eaten so much it was hard to walk, and she had to read the letter multiple times to understand it through her fog of fullness.

"I'm impressed she knows enough elven to know what your name means," Hallin offered after Enaste read the letter aloud. He sat beside Enaste with Harea's head in his lap. His hand rested on her pregnant belly.

"You've received word from your ambassador?" All three looked up to see their Keeper enter the clearing. She gestured to the letter in Enaste's hand. "May I see it?"

Enaste handed Deshanna the letter, and she was quiet for a while as she read it over. Then she looked past it, down at Enaste. "We must act quickly."

"Wait, why?" Hallin asked, frowning at her. "It sounds like everything is fine."

"The Tevinter advisor," Harea said, lying comfortably on her back, eyes closed in relaxation. "Anything Tevinter is bad news."

"I guess." Hallin looked down at his bonded, uncertain.

"I forgot --you weren't there last night," Harea said. "The evil magister trying to kill Noodle has a cult of Tevinters called the Venatori." She opened her eyes and nodded to Enaste. "They're good at weaseling their way into things. This advisor is probably one of them."

"I think that's a reasonable assumption, yes," Keeper Deshanna replied. "Your ambassador is specifically asking us to intervene, Enaste." She stared at the letter, her expression hard to read. "And this mention of the rats... the Duke intends to purge the alienage." She paused, then turned her gaze to Enaste. "Our hunters could kill the Duke and this advisor to keep the alienage safe."

Hallin balked. "Intervene in a shemlin dispute? Why would we do that? They'll just blame us and kill their flat-ears anyway."

"I think those flat-ears are the reason it's not just a shemlin dispute," Harea looked up at Deshanna from Hallin's lap. "We already know from Enaste's captives that the shems are blaming the elves in the alienage for this plague." At the mention of the plague Deshanna looked at the letter again. "If nothing is done, they will be slaughtered."

Hallin ran his hand over his thick black braid. "But if we intervene, they'll just turn their blades on us instead."

"Not if we're careful," Enaste said, shaking her head. She looked at her brother seriously. "Not if we're quick."

Harea reached up and flicked her lover's nose. "And that's what our hunters are best at, vhenan."

Hallin sighed and took her hand. "I don't think we should do anything to draw excess attention." He looked at Enaste, concern scrunching his features. "Maybe we can help the flat-ears evacuate instead of --whatever this ambassador wants us to do."

Enaste bit her lip. She'd studied maps of the city before her arrival and knew how trapped the alienage was. "We don't have enough boats. It would take days, at minimum, for me to get the vessels needed to extract everyone from the alienage."

"Enaste," Deshanna said, her voice soft but tight. "This letter mentions a red crystal."

"Fenhedis," Enaste hissed and took the letter back. She scanned it again, more awake now, and saw now what she'd failed to realize before. "The Duke is poisoning the nobles' wells with red lyrium."

"Red lyrium?" Hallin asked.

"A type of lyrium that's red instead of blue," Enaste said without looking at him.

"I gathered that much, thanks."

"It's a known tool of Corypheus.” She frowned at her brother. “Red lyrium drives people insane, but it also makes them much, much stronger. He's using it to make his templars into unstoppable monsters.”

"He wants to know if it will work on civilians," Deshanna said. She looked at Enaste. "He wants it enough to risk the safety of an entire city. The life of your ambassador is hardly an obstacle."

"And of Solas," Enaste added. "We have to do something. I, at least, have to do something." She remembered how Solas protected her in the future at Redcliffe, how his voice rasped and his skin gave off a sickly red glow. She remembered seeing his dead body lying limp on the cold stone floor. Whatever it took to prevent that future from coming to pass, she would take it. Her throat was suddenly tight with nerves. "I can't let them hurt him."

"Enaste," Harea said, her voice suddenly more serious, and Enaste turned to her. Harea tilted her head and narrowed her dark eyes. "Are you sleeping with him?"

"What?!" Enaste and Hallin said in unison. Deshanna sighed. "Why would you ask that?" Enaste blurted, and Harea rolled her eyes.

Hallin looked between them, shocked. "Sleeping with who?!"

Harea raised her eyebrows and pointed at Enaste. "Her arcane advisor. The one she sent to help the ambassador. She smiles at him like a little girl with a crush." Enaste struggled for the words to defend herself. She wished the ground would swallow her whole. Was it that obvious?

"Da'len, this is not the time," Deshanna chided gently, and Harea pursed her lips for a moment before exhaling and giving up.

"Fine--" she said, but Hallin didn't stop.

"You're sleeping with someone?" His wide green eyes made him look like a frightened halla. "A shemlin?"

"He's not a shem," Enaste said defensively. Then, realizing that was arguably the lesser accusation: "and I'm not sleeping with him!" Her face burned, and her stomach twisted into knots. "I don't know why you'd even think that," she huffed, glaring at Harea, who wore a wicked smirk at the chaos she'd caused.

"Enough," Deshanna said, and the three of them finally obeyed. "You can discuss this later, if you must."

"He's too old for you," Harea added quickly, then raised her hands in front of her before anyone could reply. "But whatever. Let's go save Wycome."

"You're not going anywhere," Hallin said. He looked at Enaste. "And I'm not either. I --I understand the importance of this, but I can't just--"

"No, I know." Enaste sighed and tried to take Deshanna's advice to worry about Harea's accusations later. "At least some of you have to stay here in case something goes wrong. I'll take Jester, and Blackwall, and a handful of our hunters." She closed her eyes and nodded slowly. "We will still need to arrive by sea, though."

"That can be arranged," Deshanna said. Her features were tight with thought. "You will have all the supplies you need."

"Thank you," Enaste breathed, looking up at her. "And we should leave soon. I don't think they have much time."

"Of course." Deshanna looked at her, head tilted. She was quiet for a moment, and Enaste wondered if they were missing something. "I agree with Harea, though." The Keeper's expression turned disapproving, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. "He's too old for you."

Harea laughed and Enaste groaned in frustration. Hallin was visibly disturbed by the conversation, almost as much as Enaste herself, and said nothing. "I'm leaving," Enaste announced as she started to stand.

"Wait." Harea grunted as she rolled over, first to her hands, then kneeling, with Hallin's support. Enaste paused, looking at her. "I know I kid but... Be careful, okay?"

"I will be, Rea."

"No, really." Harea's dark brows knit together. "Promise me you'll be careful. I can't..." Hallin put his hand on her back, but she kept her eyes on Enaste. "I can't lose you.” Her voice fell. It was unsettling to see her like this, soft and vulnerable instead of bright and strong. “You have no idea how terrifying it was when we heard what happened at the Conclave." Enaste heard the sounds of evening chores all around them, but their little clearing was quiet. Harea’s words were gentle, and so much quieter than she usually was. "We --I..." She trailed off, closing her eyes, and shook her head.

Enaste stepped closer to her, and knelt in the grass in front of her and Hallin.

"We thought you died, Noodle," Hallin said quietly. "We thought we'd never get to see you again."

"I'm sorry... I should have reached out sooner." Guilt settled in her then, weighed down with the realization that she could have done more, could have tried harder. Somehow, in all the turmoil of the Inquisition, she’d forgotten how much her absence would hurt the people who loved her most.

"Maybe, but... Just don't do it again, alright?" Harea said gently. "You can always come home."

Enaste tried to speak, but the words disappeared in her mouth. Harea reached out and squeezed Enaste's hand --the one that bore the anchor. Instead of saying anything, Enaste pulled her friend into a warm embrace, wrapping her arms around her back. Harea let go of Enaste's hand and hugged her tightly, leaning her forehead against Enaste's collarbone.

Something moved in-between them, a tiny kick from inside Harea's body. Harea snorted, the sound tickling Enaste's ear. "It knows," she drew the word out and Enaste laughed.

"Don't call your baby an 'it,'" she teased, and Harea shrugged.

"What should I call it instead? Harea the Second?"

"That's better than 'it,'" Enaste pulled back and looked down at Harea's belly. "But you're right." She met her friend's eyes again. "I'll be careful."

"Good. Because Harea the Second isn't coming until you can deliver it."

"Don't say that, vhenan," Hallin groaned. "Esa taught our healers everything they know. Bri or Virin would do just as well."

"No," Harea said firmly. She put one arm around Enaste's shoulder and pulled her close, frowning at her bonded. "The only person I trust to deliver Harea the Second is Noodle the First."

Hallin sighed. "Just focus on coming home safe, okay, Esa?"

Enaste nodded, leaning into Harea, and for a few heartbeats focused on the warmth of her friend's body against her, the softness of her robes, the rise and fall of her shoulders.

"You promise?" Harea asked, giving her a squeeze.

"I do. I promise."

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[yellowflowerbub]

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♡ Feb. 11th ♡

♡ Day 2 of 5 ♡

꒷︶ ̇ ̟ ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ︶꒷

summary. you’re not so sure how they ended up in your locker but you take the box of candy and split them with Denji during a free period

wordcount. 1.6k+

pairing(s). denji x reader

tag(s). sharing candy, fluff, denji is very nervous

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

‘BE MINE’

You tore apart a box about the size of your palm. It was made of a thin cardboard material that tore like paper when it opened. The box itself was poorly painted white, a few splotches of the terrible paint coverage made view for the original color underneath; a light purple, near lavender, along with a multitude of other shades around it.

In big bold letters on a small heart shaped candy that was the lucky piece of the many inside the box you plucked from it, read,

‘BE MINE’

The box was found in your locker. It sprang out of the door and fell to the floor face down and upon picking it up the bell overhead, somewhere down the hall, resounded in the air. You stuff it in your pocket quickly without giving thought to how it got in your locker originally and hurried off to class, bag and books clutched to your chest as tightly as you could muster. 

Denji was there to meet you, just as late as you but not in nearly as much of a hurry. You genuinely smiled and he did too. For a moment your eyes met as you both did so, but you disappeared behind a door which he thought to be your classroom leaving him in the hallway with his own bag lazily draped over his shoulder.

‘HUG ME’

After you chew on the first one you reach two fingers into the depths of the box to fetch another. It isn’t the best tasting candy in the world, however it’s good enough for you to want one more. It has a chalk like consistency and would’ve been bitter if not for the excessive sugar ingrained into it. You crunch on the heart but while you do you think of its purpose.

These moderately corny notes shaved into each candy are obviously a cash grab for couples to gift to each other on Valentine’s Day but why? Were you meant to do what they say while you eat them? You’ve never heard of people eating candy together… as an activity. It seemed a bit weird. 

But why would anyone give one to you? If they wanted to do these things with you wouldn’t it make more sense to give it in person and not throw it in your locker and run away to hide and gouge your reaction from a safe distance? You’re not complaining by any means, if anything, you're relieved you didn’t need to reject anyone today however you’re still on edge. Anyone could confess their love for you at any moment and claim the candy was their gift to you. How frightening. 

‘HUG ME’

You found Denji waiting outside of your classroom, right where you’d left but he’s slumped against the wall and sitting on the floor. You tapped his shoulder to garner his attention but reprimand him for sitting on such a floor. “I don’t even remember the last time I saw someone with a broom come down here!” You tell him.

He’s volant to apologize but switched the subject right as he leaped from where he sat, “Ya’ get anything for Valentine's Day yet?” He had a smile draped across his face, one you couldn’t read all that well.

“Nope.” You snapped, “Oh! I did get this box… it’s right in my pocket.” You felt around your pants for it and pulled it from your pocket. 

“Oops. Crap. It’s a bit squashed ‘cause I just threw it in my pocket when I heard the bell.” You felt a bit bad for whoever put it in your locker to begin with. They’d obviously spent time preparing it for you from the way the box was painted white however it was chipped and didn’t have nearly enough coats on as it needed. Still, you could see some effort through the bad brand covering.

You looked toward Denji whose mouth is practically frothing. You know he doesn’t have a problem with the box’s condition, he only cares for the chance there’s candy hidden inside. 

‘I’M YOURS’

Another candy falls into your mouth, you’ve now noticed it melts with any moisture. You’re sure if you kept it sitting on your tongue for long enough it would completely dissolve, a remnant of cotton candy but each time you attempt to do so you can’t hold back the urge to crush it between your teeth. One after the other goes the candy, all varying in color and, for the most part, words until you’d reached the last one stuck to the base of the box.

You peer into the depth of it with a countenance of desolation. A question now intrudes on the mood that had been building over the course of your lunch period; which one of you would eat the last piece. 

Denji fiends for it, “Those are my favorite.” He says, looking into the box along with you. He sits with you on a near corroded bench on top of the school roof a few scoots away from your shoulders touching. Every now and then the door to the roof was left unlocked after maintenance but no one besides Denji cared enough to certify it.

“Yeah Denji, I can tell.” He’s been the culprit responsible for the lack of them, “We might be able to split it?” You're not so sure that it’ll comply with you though.

Denji picks his head up, “You're kidding. You think you can get it in half?” He seems optimistic, almost amazed at your phony confidence.

“Maybe,” You pick out the candy with your index and thumb then obtain the best grip you can on it, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

You strain and grunt trying your best to get an even split however the candy breaks in two completely different sizes, one very obviously larger than the other. You glance up at Denji who gnaws at his nails absentmindedly then back at the broken candy. In a quick decision, you shove the larger piece into his hand and eat the other. 

He jumps, “Oh! Woah, thanks.” You’re sure a pink color dusted his cheeks before he turned away. 

You hum. At the moment the box became empty, wonder racked your mind. Your curiosity was discarded when you both originally met for lunch but returned the instant you had time to submerge within your thoughts. 

“Did you… did you think of any possible people who could’ve put the candy in your locker.” 

“I was just thinking about that.” You laugh, “And no, I haven’t.”

Denji faces away from you, the locks of hair that fall over his face curtain his features and even as thin winds blow through them it barely budges. He looks to nowhere in particular, still he’s content on not facing you.

“T-they would've had to know your locker combo. Y’know, to put it in there.” He mumbles.

You hum in agreement. You're not sure who you’ve told your locker combination to; several people have asked to hold their things in your locker however you’re close to certain they didn’t see you spin the nozzle enough times for it to stick in their memory. Who else would know?

You nibble on your thumb as you think, “No one else knows my combination besides.. you. Did you leak it or something?”

“No! Of course not.” He halts as though he wants to face you and stutters as though he has more to say but he never turns nor does he speak. He keeps quiet, hiding his eyes from your own with his burning orange locks.

In a moment of cognizance, you ask, “Did you put the candy in my locker, Denji?”

He provides no answer which is more than anything he could have said. You can feel your heart swelling almost to the point of a pain behind your chest. You request to see him, but he weakly shakes his head.

“I’m not mad or anything.” You are not at all. You are everything but mad, “Can I see you?”

Your voice is no louder than a whisper, the dead silence of the evening and wisp of winds seem louder than you are. Maybe that's what coerced him to finally meet your gaze. You take his hands in yours, “This ok?”

“Mhm.” 

Your thumbs brushes over the back of his scarred hands then over his palms, “I liked them.” You smile, “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

He won’t fully meet your eyes, they bounce around to everything but you. The bench’s peeling paint, his palms that progressively grow sweatier, his backpack near the edge of his foot, and the low sun.

“If I knew you got me something I would’ve tried to make or buy something too. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Mhm.”

You laugh, “Do you plan on saying anything but ‘Mhm’, dude?” 

“Uh uh.” 

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.” you find it a little hard to meet his eyes just as badly as him.

“You can kick me off the roof if I’m reading you wrong but, will you be my Valentine?”

His grip on your hand noticeably tightens, “Mhm.”

“Thanks. I’ll get you something better tomorrow, how about a date?”

'I'M YOURS'

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

a/n: i saw the candy while i was out shopping and immediately knew what i was making day 2 about

Feedback and Reblogs are Appreciated!! 

[martieshub]

His mind was still running through what had transpired a bit ago and couldn't help but shake the feeling of what it would feel like to press his lips against hers. What closing that gap would have done to him. Them. This mission was about to uncover a lot more than just the players of the game. Something in him as he looked at Elizabeth screamed this wasn't a game with her. But he knew that if he'd say anything now, it would be chalked up to him teasing. Which, in fact, was their thing. This week and a half would give him a beat to think things through and figure out what to do next. For now being Lennox would have to be the main focus.

Oh, but she was good. He'd give her that. The soft way cerf volant came from her lips was like a siren calling out to its victim. Only, this time he couldn't find a single care to be worried about being pulled to her. This would definitely get him into trouble territory. He knew that. Half the guys on the plane would probably know if they watched their interactions.

The nickname made him laugh and nodded his head. ❛ He will answer to 'memo. Yes. He's not going to be overbearing. He knows his cues and knows to keep a healthy distance. Here's a sparkly watch for you. Our tech Operative built that. It has a GPS that tracks your movements. It also serves as a camera and in case you need it. You can point it at someone and make them fall asleep. This phone is yours also. It has all the bullshit contacts you'll need. Star is mine. It'll connect you to me. We're sharing him. I have Weiss in my ear too. Unfortunately for you, you'll be stuck hearing my voice as your conscience. ❜

There was a moment he could feel something coming off of her but didn't really question her. Figured she was just reading the files. Before he forgot he made her look at him and placed the diamond ring on her left hand. He rubbed his index over her knuckles in a swift movement. Almost like he was telling her that no matter what he was going to make sure she was safe. Nothing would happen to her. He lingered longer than was necessary and dropped her hand as he sat back in his seat. ❛ No. We are not meeting any of them. In a twisted way it's a competition to get him to see who's the better team. If I can get him alone and have him think I know he's got more of a chance to win with me then the next job is monitoring him until he leads us to big daddy. The one who currently has no name. There's 12 cells and right now we don't have much more than this. He's our only link. This guy, Roberts is just a pawn. He's the one that they'd sacrifice if they thought it'd get them somewhere higher. And that's who I'm starting with. He's the easiest one because he worked at your company. ❜

Being around him and his teasing ways was something that she had become accustomed to, this though, this felt different. When he reached out, something inside of her wanted to lean her face fully against his hand, feel the warmth of his palm on her cheek. She chalked it up to having to play his wife. It was just her brain telling her not to forget to sell this, right? 

A smirk tugged at her lips, about to tell him that she knew what a cerf volant was, she was silenced and left without thought when he closed the space between them. She hadn’t realized when she began to hold her breath, waiting for the kiss to land. There was an anticipation, a nervousness, she hadn’t felt before as his lips stopped near hers. She just found herself nodding yes silently as her amber eyes looked into his before looking down at his lips back up. Something in her made her move forward as if this was a dare, a game of chicken that neither would back down from, and rubbed the tip of her nose against his. ❝Cerf volant.❞ She repeated back softly in agreement, before smiling and turning away. 

Settling in, she read through the files prepared for her. ❝Guillermo,❞ she was merely repeating it to herself as she read. ❝ I knew a ‘Memo once. Do you think he’ll be okay if I call him ‘Memo? Will he give me space?  ❞ She didn’t care to have someone watch over her, she wanted to make sure that Wally would return home safe to his family. Unlike him, she didn’t have someone waiting for her to come back home. Were there people that would miss her? Sure, but they would move on after a while.  Wally had family. 

 ❝No, thank you. ❞ Looking up she replied. ❝ What about you? Shouldn’t you have someone too? Or are we sharing ‘Memo?❞  There was that look again. It made her want to squirm out of her skin like he could see into her mind.  She forced her eyes back down to the documents before her, she needed to focus on anything else but the man before her. As she began to go through the names, some were vaguely familiar, the rest unfamiliar, but there was one that jumped at her. One that had her heart plummeting into her stomach, maybe it was just a mistake. It had to be.  ❝ Are you supposed to be meeting all of these people? Or are you guys competing to be this guy's favorite? ❞

[bitchyfoxymama]

So,after i saw the preview of the new episode of Hotd I’m on my knees for dilf Daemon (blame it on my daddy issues).Can you write a Daemon x Targaryen!reader where they teach their children how to ride their dragons for the first time?We all know how Daemon is but i feel like he would be an amazing dad!

Dragon Riders - Daddy!Daemon x Mother!Reader

Summary: Daemon shows your children how to ride dragons for the first time

Basically i got the inspiration of the scene of them riding with the children from the ending of how to train your dragon where hiccup and astrid's children meet toothless and his family ya know??

Warnings: None pure fluff and lovely Dovey Daemon

Words: 321

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Dracarys!” Your daughter Alyssa shouts causing Caraxes to shoot fire from his mouth and earning a praise from her father. 

“Good my little firestone, just like that” Daemon says as he kisses Alyssa’s hair. 

You smile while holding Bradyn as you both ride on the back of your dragon Volant. 

Alyssa and Daemon begin to fly lower, alyssa taking the riens this time and guiding Caraxes on her own this time, while you are Bradyn gently glided through the air on Volant. Bradyn still being a bit skeptical about dragon riding, soon you and daemon switch children having both dragons glide next to eachother as you do so. 

“Mama when will i be able to ride alone?” Alyssa asks while looking back up at you, you smile down sweetly at her

“When your father thinks you to be ready, which knowing him wont be until you are 30 little dove” You snicker at her little pout. 

Daemon had said today was the day you teach your children how to ride dragons, as the twins were now 6 years of age. You however wanted to wait just another year but the three of them managed to convince you, caving into the pleads of your children was most definetly the best thing since both children were naturals.

When you all land again your children rush off to go and play. You turn to Daemon, “Perhaps you were right on deciding today was the day the children were ready to begin their riding lessons” you say as you wrap an arm around his middle. 

He kisses the top of your head, “They are Targaryen children after all, and Targaryen’s are the children of dragons” he says smiling. 

No one ever expected that a girl from a village would be the one to capture the rouge prince’s heart and tame him, but here you are 7 years later, happy with the little family you created. 

[felassan]

BioWare Blog Post: N7 Day 2022

"Greetings from across the stars!

Today marks our annual celebration of you—the Commanders and Pathfinders who’ve made such a celebration possible. Happy N7 Day!

Since we last spoke about the next Mass Effect™ game, pre-production development has been proceeding very well. The team, comprised of Mass Effect franchise veterans as well as some amazing new additions to BioWare™, has grown steadily! They’ve been hard at work crafting new characters and locations that you’ll love, as well as revisiting many that you’ll remember.

This year, we wanted you to meet some of the people leading that work, so we’re putting a spotlight on four of the team’s leads for you to get to know a little better. With every game we make, pairing new talent with veteran developers has provided us with fresh perspectives and ideas, not to mention skills and experiences built from across the industry. Allow us to introduce to you Mike, Danielle, Mary, and Parrish!

One day, when we’re ready, we’ll have more to share on the next Mass Effect, so thank you for being a part of this journey with us. It’s exceptionally exciting for the team and we’d love to continue sharing glimpses of what we’re working on with you in the future. And, on today of all days, we also want to honor the legacy that got us here. Millions of you have now experienced Mass Effect Legendary Edition, as returning players or for the first time. It means the world to us to see you enjoy our games and become part of this story.

Whether you’ve donned the N7 since the beginning, are planning to someday soon, or anything in between, it’s a privilege to see you wear it.

A few folks at BioWare and Maxis came together with their mutual love for Mass Effect and The Sims 4™ to make a little something they wanted to give to fans of both franchises. We’re excited to share that we’ll be releasing N7 Day-themed wearable items in The Sims 4 on the 17th of November. These items are free to anyone with The Sims 4. Don’t have it yet, but want these exclusive crossover items? The Sims 4 is now free to play across all platforms! 

We can’t wait to see you all rocking your Mass Effect fandom while doing incredible things in The Sims 4. Be sure to show us your Sims after the update goes live!

Sul sul!

Our friends beyond our studios have been busy, too! From the BioWare Gear store to Dark Horse and more, we’ve got some cool stuff coming your way for fans who want to add something new to their collections or wardrobes. Full details and lineups can be found on each retailer’s website, so be sure to check out what they have in store for this N7 Day!

BioWare Gear Store

Sanshee

Dark Horse

Volante Design

And for those of you looking to jump into Mass Effect Legendary Edition on PC, we’re also having a sale on the remaster on the EA App and Steam! Be sure to check it out if you’re interested.

Every N7 Day is special to us—every single one. It’s a day made for all of you and exists because of your passion. As our team on the next Mass Effect game celebrates today with you, they wanted to leave you with one final message from the Project Director of the next Mass Effect game, Mike Gamble.

In the nearly 15 years since the release of the first Mass Effect, the biggest reason we still love working on it is the warmth, dedication, and passion of this community. There are some of you who have been with us through everything. We’ve grown together, sacrificed Ashley together, (Editor’s Note: Or Kaidan, Mike! We all make different choices.) faced difficulties together…and laughed until our Faces Were Tired…together! And for those of you who are new to Mass Effect (thanks, Legendary Edition!), welcome! I can promise that many years of fun, adventures, and characters you’ll fall in love with are still ahead.

Regardless of when you joined us, through four games and more expansions, I can say with certainty that we’re in this because of you, and every N7 Day is a wonderful reminder of that. As we look forward, each week is a fun and exciting challenge for the team. We love bringing this universe to life, and although there’s much more we want to share with you, that’ll have to be for another time.

For now, there is something we want you to have a look at. We’ve intercepted some strange footage from one of the monitoring stations in known space. It could be nothing, but…

Download Video

Happy N7 Day, everyone!

—The Mass Effect team"

[source]

[natewriteslol]

The Wonders of Magic Pt. 1

Non magical!Twisted Boys x Witch!Reader

A/N: This has been sitting in my brain for a while since I have Little Witch Academia brainrot and I love snooty rich boys asdfljsfaj

Characters: Keep reading to find out!!

Warnings: Language and Y/N goes by she/her pronouns 

Summary: Dealing with magical adventures and society deeming magic as “flashy but worthless” doesn’t deter Y/N L/N from reaching her goal of becoming a powerful witch. However, what will she do when she has to find a way to stop the selling Calypso Academy? 

~~~

All your life you had dreamed of being a witch, however there was a slight problem. You weren't a magic user.

And as magic use had started to become more oppressed and scarce, magic schools were starting to open their doors to all walks of life. Making the most elite schools fall to their knees.

Either you lose your elite status or fall into debt.

So this was good opportunity for you, you managed to make it into one of the most renowned magic schools in the country, Calypso Academy. But it wasn't all peaches and cream, you weren't exactly accepted among your peers. Your family weren't magic users, nor were they wealthy. Yet you still pursued magic, there was a fire burning in your heart that just drew you in all your life. And you couldn't let your dream go just because of some mean girls. But this is the story of how you met some of your greatest obstacles.

 ~~~

It was the night of the great Ball, Calypso academy was having it's 350th anniversary. And you unlucky for you, you still didn’t know how to ride a broom since you were learning from the ground up. 

So there you were, by yourself, in one of the open fields of your campus. Trying to make this broom fly. 

And in your flight teacher Ms. Flint’s words, “If the broom doesn’t leave the ground, you can’t step a foot in the ball.” And so far, your feet have been stuck on the ground.

You felt horrible. I mean, what witch doesn’t know how to fly a broom? And while you were incredibly dejected

 from your failures, you knew you couldn’t just let it go. 

‘The trick it to be determined, yet feel as light as a feather. Be one with the broom’ your manifestation teacher, Mrs. Fairi had softly advised. You had to do this for for her, she already put so much faith in you, she would be so disappointed if she didn’t see you at the ball. 

“Nubes Volant ro!” You casted, pushing your leg to lift. Expecting your legs to come back down and for your shoes to hit the softness of the grass... but it never came.

You opened your eyes and there you were, suspended in air. 

Your excitement was indescribable, but you needed to be skilled enough to meet the requirements for Ms. Flint. So you tried and tried again, and while a little shaky you still managed to fly and do a stable landing! 

“I did it! Screw everyone in this academy who doubted me!” You  squealed a little loud, doing a little dance. You heard  footsteps and chuckling, but you brushed it off as some of your classmates. Too excited to care, you grabbed your things and ran off to show Ms. Flint.   But there was one problem, the entire point of this celebration was to both celebrate the anniversary but... it was begging as well. It was no secret that Calypso was losing money to pay taxes, but they were being pressured to give it all up. So to persuade the buyers, they had invited their son's to be enriched in witch culture and tradition. To prove them wrong and show that magic has value. However the students of the academy weren't aware of the true intentions behind the invites of the son's of these rich men. Many whispered in the halls about the upcoming ceremony. Talking about how handsome the young men attending were. But the day of the party was finally here! The banquet was absolutely incredible with 25 foot tables of food on both sides of the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers with floating candles illuminating and creating a heavenly golden light. And the great ancient tapestries that surrounded the room. There was no way that anything could mess up your night. 

But then, you heard a shout from a classmate in the crowd. "The nobles sons! They're here!" You stopped stuffing your face for a moment. Everyone cleared the way for the grand wooden doors as they opened, a red carpet elegantly draping the piece of floor it laid on. Designer shoes clicked as they touched the ground. Every girl eyes followed as they walked, you snuck past some trying to get a glimpse of their features. They were five of them being escorted by one older gentleman, all incredibly handsome young men. One had a bright smile that was genuine and waving at some of the girls in the crowd. While the other had a smirk not paying anyone any mind, as if he was calculating something. One held a solemn expression, yet was incredibly poised and graceful. The last two however wore scowls, one that showed he most definitely didn’t want to be here while the other just looked strict. 

They sat down in their seats in the front table that awaited them. Each seat was just as fancy as a king’s throne, with gold embellishments and velvet seats. 

It was a cookie cut scene, they were made for this life of luxury.

~~~

It was an hour into the ceremony, showcasing tricks and theatrical dances from every witch culture from around the globe. But it was almost as though nothing was satisfying them, besides the one with white hair. While he adorned a smile, there was something behind his eyes, as though he was doing some critical thinking. 

Nothing was enough for them. 

But it was toward the end and the noble’s sons were promised a tour. Every witch in the school was made to study up on knowledge of the campus. So that if you were the “lucky winner” you wouldn’t look like a complete fool. 

As you snacked on your chocolate filled croissant, Ms. Flint with her booming voice had called everyone’s attention to the center of the stage. Raising her wand, a split of golden light had displayed random names. 

Knowing your luck, you knew you wouldn’t be picked. I mean this was probably a tactic to get people to study the school’s magical history. It did work, as if there was a slight chance you were chosen you wouldn’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of people like you usually did. But, Principal Hendrix wouldn’t be so irresponsible as to let a random student represent the school, right? 

Exactly. But even then, you sure did feel sorry for whoever was to give the tour-

“Y/N L/N!”

...

Remember what you said about shitty luck? 

Shocked was an understatement. Even though you had your two best and only friends Silva and Miete patting you on the back telling you congrats and to do your best, the hammering of your heart was too heavy for you to handle. 

Whispers broke out for a moment, a lot of girls were incredibly disappointed but cleared the way for you to go up the stairs and talk to Ms. Flint and Principal Hendrix. 

“Good job, Y/N. Now if you wouldn’t mind, please give these young men a tour of Calypso, would you?” Principle Hendrix said gently with a smile.

“Ha, ha, of course! But surely there’s been a mistake, I mean Lydia could probably recite the information without having to read a single book-” 

“No way, L/N. You were chosen, now do the tour please, the latest you can be back is at 9pm,” Ms. Flint replied, cutting you off sharply. 

“You’re an incredibly charismatic student, Y/N. Just keep them entertained,” Principle Hendrix whispered as you walked toward the table.

Be charismatic, not awkward! Got it!

“Alrighty then! Who’s ready for a tour?” you said, almost giving finger guns as a mechanism. 

“Oh, I am!” 

“Yes,  I’ve been wanting to see the range of this property in person.”

“Yes, I would like to get this over with. I have an appointment tomorrow and I would not like to miss it.”

Other than that, all you received was a nod and an eye roll. But it’s better not to pry and ask for more from them. 

Each getting out of their seats, you walked outside. Hearing cheers from the crowd and the occasional “Vil! I love you!” which made you a little embarrassed. 

Feeling the night breeze and seeing the stars poke through calmed you down slightly, it was 7:45 and all you had to do was blabber at them about the school until 9. 

Easy task, Y/N. Easy!

~~~

Once you got outside, the tour had been running smoothly for only a couple of minutes. But you couldn’t help but feel as though they started scanning you, as if they saw you from somewhere. Until unfortunately, the sunshine of the group’s lightbulb had went off. 

“Oh! You’re the girl with the broomstick towards the front of the school! You looked so happy practicing.” 

“There must be a mistake-”

“Are you sure? If so then I guess you have a doppelganger” the boy with glasses teased. 

“Didn’t you say, ‘Screw everyone at this academy’?” the short, red head questioned, persecuting your behavior. 

“Well some people here aren’t exactly the nicest. It was just an excitement of the moment thing, sorry,” You said, trying to get Mr. Non-Rule Breaker off your back. 

~~~

So... you had accidently overshared about your adventures on campus. 

It had all started when one of the boys looked shocked that the ancient Willow tree was thriving and looking beautiful as ever. When he looked at it from pictures given to him, it was completely lifeless and grey. 

“This tree, it looks completely different? It’s been sickly for years! How is this possible?” He asked, as his main piece of evidence the white haired boy gave to his father to buy this property was foiled. 

“Oh, that was me. They had willow worms in the roots that were ready to hatch and I accidently brought them out,” you said, a little prideful, yet it was quickly stomped out.

“That is highly irresponsible, you should’ve had a professional complete that task, not an inexperienced student,” the red haired boy scoffed, it seemed as though he didn’t respect this school at all. Yet the boy with grey hair and glasses paid him no mind, still incredibly astonished, but it was quickly wiped from his face and replaced with a somewhat of a sour look. As though you beat him at some game he was playing.

“...Interesting. I never knew magic could do something of that caliber,” he remarked,  pushing up his glasses. 

“Magic is incredibly useful, Mr...” 

Shit. You didn’t get their names...

“My apologies, I didn’t catch your guy’s names,” you said, placing a hand behind your head. 

You had never in your life seen a group of people get so surprised, besides the other white haired boy, who was happy to tell you his name. 

“I’m Kalim, Kalim-Al-Asim!” he said, shaking your hand with a vigor, “It’s a little funny that you don’t know who we are, but I like that about you!” 

How was it funny? You’ve never seen these people in your entire life? The blonde man was especially offended as you glanced at him for his name. 

“Vil Schoenheit. Actor, singer, dancer, beauty influenc-” 

“Hmmm, Vil I can’t help but feel that you’re angry at Ms. L/N for not knowing who you are,” the boy with glasses remarked before taking your hand, “Azul Ashengrotto, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’m Riddle Rosehearts,” the short red-haired boy said.

“...Leona Kingscholar.” 

“Alright, I’m glad I got your names! Let’s get a move on! I have got to show you some more stuff!” you said before moving along, gaining more confidence as you talked to them. 

Maybe this tour wasn’t so bad after all!

~~~

Coming up:

“How did you not know who the noble’s sons are?!” Miette yelled, but her soft voice wasn’t exactly giving the shocking boom to emphasize her feelings.

“I’m sorry! Everything was completely fine after that, if this whole tour was such a big deal then I would’ve studied them more instead of the school,” you said, completely pooped out from last night. 

So much pressure on you made you very tired out, and all of these new details coming out made you feel even more guilty for your half-assed tour. 

[sunder-soul]

I’ll start off by saying I adore this blog due to how amazing ur writing is & how active u r, it makes me so happy. I’m hoping you could write some tom smut where he’s the virgin & the reader (preferably a hufflepuff) is the experienced one? (cause I really can’t imagine Tom being popular or caring about sex in hogwarts). Like I can just imagine him having no idea what to do & letting the reader take in control and he’s highkey loving every minute of it (like he’s secretly just a sub).

You cannot imagine the effect this had on me. I… I am a changed person.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

Nox

Summary: You’re trapped in a closet with Tom Riddle playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. What happens in the dark, stays in the dark. Word count: 4.8k Content warning: explicit sex scenes. Underage drinking I guess?

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II HERE! 💖

It had taken some convincing to get you to come to the party, but you’d have to admit that it had been more fun than you’d expected – the Slytherin common room was the perfect place for a post-Quidditch game blow out, hidden away under the lake where the Professors wouldn’t hear the music blasting from enchanted gramophones, the creepy light filtering in through the tall glass windows leading into the dark waters of the lake giving the perfect background under the dim green lanterns illuminating the party.

You’re drunk on Firewhisky that a group of cheeky-faced seventh-year Gryffindor boys brought to bribe their way inside, and by the time the party is winding down at around two in the morning you’re laid out across Ruth Willows’ lap on one of the black leather couches by the fireplace, giggling and very unwilling to move.

“Alright you two,” one of the Slytherin boys you don’t recognise says, smirking. “Clear out – this is strictly Slytherin territory again.”

“Aww, come on, Hartley,” Ruth says teasingly, “don’t tell me you’re done for the night – out-partied by a couple of Hufflepuffs, are you?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Willows,” Hartley says seriously, pointing at her.

You sit up, the room spinning around you in a pleasant, warm way. “We can take you,” you say cheerily, resting your head on Ruth’s shoulder.

There’s a smattering of laughs from the circle of lingering party-goers – You and Ruth are the only Hufflepuffs left, but there’s a couple of Gryffindors too, and you recognise some sixth-year Ravenclaw boys whispering to each other next to the fireplace.

“A game, then,” Hartley declares, looking around the circle with a grin.

“A game!” you and Ruth echo cheerfully, lifting your drinks.

“Alright, who’s playing? Scott? Peters? How about you, Avery?”

You glance over your shoulder to the far corner of the Slytherin room at the only group left in at the party – the gaggle of Slytherin boys who had spent the whole evening sitting at the circular table looking disapprovingly at the revelry as they sipped their drinks and evidently thought themselves far too mature for such nonsense. You share an amused look with Ruth.

“No thank, you,” Avery says aloofly, turning up his nose.

“Too good for a bit of fun, are you?” one of the Gryffindor boys snickers.

“They’re just trying to show off,” another smirks back, “think they’re acting all grown up and responsible –”

“I’ll join you,” says a very unexpected voice.

The whole circle looks around in shock. Tom Riddle has stood from the table and approaches the couches, his acolytes staring after him looking surprised. “What are we playing?” Riddle asks pleasantly, taking a seat on the couch opposite you – Ella Scott from Slytherin scrambles to the side to make room for him looking like she’s just won the lottery.

“That’s the spirit, Riddle,” beams Hartley, “not like those hoity-toity friends of yours, are you?”

Riddle smiles with far too much charm as he laces his arm over the back of the couch and crosses one long leg over the other, his Slytherin boys sliding into spare places around the circle and casting him perplexed looks of surprise.

“So?” Ruth asks expectantly, grinning at Hartley. “What’s the game?”

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Hartley smirks.

The circle erupts; the Gryffindor boys whoop with cheers as the Ravenclaws groan and roll their eyes, and you laugh softly as your head rolls back against Ruth’s shoulder, the alcohol still making the room spin slightly.

“I don’t know this game,” Riddle says quietly through the cacophony – though everyone seems to hear him with ease all the same.

“It’s the best game ever invented,” the first Gryffindor boy grins – you think his name is Rory but you can’t remember his surname. “When it’s your turn, you spin your wand on table and whoever it points to has to spend seven minutes with you in the broom closet.”

“What is the point of that?” Riddle frowns.

There’s a smattering of snickers and Riddle’s frown vanishes at the sound, his face going strangely blank.

“Making out, of course,” Rory smirks, “catch on, Riddle.”

Riddle’s face remains expressionless but there’s a coldness to it that the others don’t seem to notice as they continue to chuckle quietly. He clearly doesn’t like being laughed at.

“Who’s going first?” you say quickly, looking around the circle to distract them.

“Hartley’s the one who suggested this, he should start,” a Slytherin girl (April…? Avril…?) smirks.

“Only because Willows goaded me!” Hartley accuses, pointing at Ruth.

“I’ll happily go first,” Ruth says with an easy smile, “since Hartley’s too chicken.”

There’s a low murmur of amusement as Hartley’s eyes narrow at Ruth leaning forward and spinning her wand on the table – only to explode into raucous laugher when it comes to a stop pointing directly at –

“Looks like you’ll be going first after all, Hartley,” Ruth says breezily, standing. “After you,” she gestures theatrically at the wooden door to the broom closet in the corner, and Hartley gets up from the couch looking extremely gobsmacked.

“Make sure you return him in one piece,” April/Avril snickers.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” Ruth says without missing a beat, grinning as she slams the door to the closet shut behind them.

“Hufflepuff’s got a set of claws on her,” the other Gryffindor boy laughs.

“Badgers are a natural predator of snakes,” you sigh, lying back on the couch and throwing back your arms in a content dizziness. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

You lie there listening to the group talk and laugh, the reedy music wheedling away in the background, and by the time the closet bursts open again it doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all – though perhaps that’s the alcohol talking.

“And that,” Ruth exclaims, falling back onto the couch beside you, “is how it’s done.”

“How’s Hartley?” you ask her, laying your head back on her lap.

“He’ll never be the same,” she says smoothly, inspecting her nails.

The group is still laughing when Hartley sits back down on the floor beside the table, his hair dishevelled and his expression rather shell-shocked.

“Have fun mate?” Rory smirks, clapping him on the shoulder.

Hartley nods blankly, and the laughter only grow.

“Alright then, who’s next?” Ruth says loudly, looking very pleased with herself.

The turn passes counter-clockwise, and April/Avril gets landed with one of the reluctant Ravenclaw boys before Edgar Peters spins Rory. Scott casts Tom next to her a very unsubtle hopeful look before she spins her wand, but when it lands on Lestrange she has the good sense not to look too disappointed.

“Alright Riddle,” Rory grins, his arm now around Edgar’s shoulders (who is blushing violently). “Your turn.”

There’s something strangely blank about Tom’s face as he leans forward and sets his wand on the table, and you let your head loll to the side to watch with interest as Tom’s long, pale fingers deftly spin his wand. You cast an eye around the circle and fail to hold in a laugh; nearly everyone is watching in utter rapture, mostly leaning forward expectantly. Your laugh is drowned out by the noise that erupts across the group when Tom’s wand comes to a gradual stop pointing directly at your face.

“Is that me or you?” you ask Ruth languidly, looking up at her from her lap.

“That’s you,” she smirks down at you, “I’ve had quite enough Slytherin for one night.”

“Alright then,” you sigh, sitting up and stretching before swinging your legs off the couch and sprightly standing.

Tom is looking up at you blankly, unmoved from the couch.

“Well come on then,” you say in amusement, waving your hands at him. “The clock doesn’t start until the door shuts, you know.”

Riddle blinks and then smoothly stands, and you totter around the couch and stroll towards the door to the closet, still buzzing from the Firewhiskey. Riddle follows you silently, not looking at you as you hold the door open for him.

“Have fun!” someone shouts from the couches to general giggles.

You roll your eyes and let the door fall shut. Darkness and utter silence immediately falls, and you realise at once that at least one of the previous players has cast a muffling charm on the door to stop any potential eavesdropping.

“Lumos Volant,” you murmur.

A little ball of warm yellow light springs from your wand and hovers happily above the two of you, casting the inside of the closet into view – it’s small and cramped, a table stacked with boxes of books and old parchments beside you and shelves crammed with all sorts of things on every wall, hedging you in. Tom is standing in the middle of the closet, his dark, even gaze on you. There’s something suddenly very funny to you about the fact that he’s still wearing his uniform, impeccable as always.

“I thought lights were not permitted,” he says quietly.

You lift yourself up onto the edge of the table, feet swinging slightly. “I thought we might talk for a moment,” you say casually, looking around the closet.

Tom hesitates. “Talk?” he asks slowly.

“You’ve not done this before, have you?” you ask him, meeting his gaze with a tilt to your head.

“I believe I made it quite clear that I’m unfamiliar with the rules of this –”

“Not the game,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a soft smile. “This.” You gesture between the two of you.

Silence returns. Tom looks at you with an impenetrable expression as you wait for his reply, your feet still swinging lightly.

“And why would you think that?” he eventually asks, very evenly.

You shrug. “Just my read on you, I suppose. Am I wrong?”

Tom just leans back against the shelves, his hands pushing back his robes and sliding into the pockets of his slacks. For the first time you take a moment to appreciate exactly how good-looking he is; the black waves of his hair, the high cheekbones, the elegant curve of his lips – and the naturally regal quality of his features only augmented by the calm composure he always seemed to radiate. It was easy to see why he’d been made prefect, why Slughorn always fawned over him, why everyone said that he’d be Minister for Magic one day.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you say conversationally.

Tom arches one of his dark brows. “What do you mean?” he asks in wry amusement.

“A stranger in a closet at a party?” you smile. “With a time limit, no less… Not exactly a very romantic setting.”

“I’m not a romantic,” Tom says lightly, looking away.

“No,” you say quietly. “You’re not, are you?”

Tom’s eyes flash to yours. For a moment you think you see something almost annoyed in his eyes, like your comment rubbed him the wrong way, and then the look is gone and his attention returns to the closet. “Your read on me appears to be quite extensive,” he says distinctly.

You laugh. “Does it bother you to be so transparent?”

His lips curve into a rather unsettling smirk. “Transparent,” he echoes, looking up at the ball of light floating above. “I must say, that’s a first…”

“You don’t like being laughed at, do you?” you say nonchalantly. “Specifically when you’re being excluded – oh! Is that why you spend so much time with those horrible blood supremacists even though you’re a half-blood?”

Tom’s eyes narrow on you and his smirk vanishes immediately. Something sharp has taken over his face, and you think that perhaps if you hadn’t drunk so much Firewhiskey, you’d find it scary.

“You tell those boys what to do, don’t you? They listen to you even when they don’t want to – Avery didn’t even want to play tonight but he followed you the second you came over. Are you in control all the time?” you ask curiously. “Is that why you dress all…” you wave a hand at his absolutely perfect uniform, shoes charmed to a shine, hair set into tidy waves, Slytherin tie dead straight and his prefect badge gleaming on his robes. “Well anyway, I suppose that would explain the grades, too.”

“Extensive indeed,” Tom breathes, tone very cool. “Is there more?”

“Yes,” you smile, holding the edge of the table lightly. “I don’t think you’re one to be coerced into doing something you don’t want to do.”

“Is that so?” Tom asks icily.

You nod. “Which means you want to be here.”

“I’m regretting it already.”

“You are not,” you scoff, “or you would have left.”

“I’m considering it,” he snaps.

“Come here.”

Tom’s expression falters, his brow furrowing. “What?”

You lift a hand and motion him closer with a casual wave. “Come here,” you repeat softly.

Tom huffs disapprovingly and looks away. “If I were really so transparent you would know not to give me orders,” he says coolly.

“Tom.”

His eyes find yours immediately, and you tilt your head again. “I’m not ordering you,” you say quietly, “I’m inviting you.”

Tom frowns slightly, something very calculating about the way he looks at you in the ensuing silence. After a long moment, Tom gently pushes off the wall and takes three slow steps towards you, stopping a respectful distance from where you’re sitting on edge of the table, his hands still in his pockets.

You smile, amused. “Closer.”

The blankness has returned to his face. You wonder if perhaps that’s how he looks when he doesn’t know how to look.

Tom takes the final step towards you, just barely brushing your knees, looking down at you with impenetrable eyes. You slowly reach forward and gently take his wrists, pulling his hands from his pockets and placing them lightly on your thighs. Tom doesn’t react, he only keeps his eyes on yours, his hands utterly still where you’ve placed them. You let your own remain on top of his as you look up at him, watching his face curiously as you gently guide his hands to push your knees apart.

He blinks, the barest flicker of his eyelids, a seemingly involuntary reaction – but that was what you’re looking for. Something beyond the composure. Something out of his control.

Slowly, you glide your hands up his forearms, keeping your eyes on his face and watching for his reaction. You can feel his warmth through his robes, his body beneath the impeccable layers of his uniform, your touch traveling up to his shoulders, down across his chest, and in a single, unbroken motion you lace your fingers around his tie and pull gently.

Tom’s eyes flicker again, but he lets you pull him down towards you, smooth and slow, and you feel anticipation thrumming in your chest as he gets closer, those dark eyes fixed on yours, his expression still blank and inscrutable. He’s less than an inch from your lips when you stop. Tom pauses at once, bent to you with his hands still resting on your thighs, your knees brushing against his hips. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath warm on your face.

“Are you quite sure I can’t order you around?” you ask softly, leaning up and very gently pressing your lips right next to his mouth. Tom exhales slightly, his eyes closing. You smile and then press your lips up against his neck, right in the most vulnerable point under his jaw. “I think you might like it,” you murmur against his skin.

Satisfaction curls in your stomach when you feel his fingers press ever-so-slightly harder into your thighs. “What would you have me do?” Tom asks quietly, and he’s almost entirely successful at concealing the slight thickness in his voice – but not quite.

“I’d have you move those hands of yours,” you say softly, your lips trailing back up his jaw. “I didn’t put them there to stay still.”

Tom exhales again, tense and measured, and then very slowly his hands slide up your thighs. His hands are warm and reserved, travelling to your hips as you press your lips against his pulse point and listen to his breathing, the deliberateness of it, the brittle tension in it. Tom is trying very hard to remain in control.  

You pull away and Tom’s hands fall still on your waist. His eyes have gone hooded and dark, and a flutter of excitement swells in your stomach at the sight. “Keep going,” you say quietly, gently pulling on his tie again, bringing him down to your lips and holding him there, barely a breath away.

Tom hesitates only for a second before his hands start to move again, sliding up your waist, your ribcage, the side of your chest – you nearly smile at how obvious he’s being at avoiding touching your breasts – up your collarbones, your neck, coming to a halt on either side of your jaw.

For a moment he holds you there, and you hold him there too, your hand on his tie anchoring him in place mere milimetres from you. His gaze is level but you can see the hesitation behind his eyes, feel the reservation in his hands.

“Nox,” you whisper against his lips.

The light above you goes out.

In the darkness, the warmth is all-encompassing, the sound of his breath louder, the heady, rich scent of him more potent, and the feeling of his hands on your skin more overpowering, and you lean without hesitation, kissing him slow and smooth, and…

Your stomach twists. He’s kissing you back just the same, restrained at first, hesitant like you were expecting, but when your arms slide up around his neck to pull him closer, drawing him into you, some of Tom’s restraint starts to falter. His hands against your face hold you more firmly, his breathing getting sharper, and his head tilts to the side to kiss you deeper. When you lock your ankles together behind him, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips he breaks the kiss and you look up blindly into the dark.

“What?” you ask softly.

“I… you were right,” he says, still breathing slightly harder than normal. “I haven’t… done this before.”

“Do you want to?”

There’s a ringing silence. You frown in the dark. “You don’t have to, Tom.”

“You’ve already noted that I’m not one to be coerced into doing something that I don’t want to do,” Tom says smoothly, leaning back down to your lips.

“Right on that count too, was I?” you smile, kissing him again before he has a chance to reply.

Tom inhales and his hands pull your face closer to him, his mouth moving more insistently, and as you twist your fingers through the soft waves of his hair, you experimentally brush your tongue against his top lip. He immediately pulls away again and you laugh softly.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, “too much?”

He hesitates. “I wasn’t expecting it,” he says evenly. Some of the restraint has returned.

“Shall I do it again? Now that you’re expecting it?” you ask with no small amount of amusement.

By way of reply Tom slowly leans in again and kisses you deeply, and then – exactly as you had done – his tongue traces your top lip, like he’s mimicking you. He is mimicking you, you realise as you kiss him back enthusiastically, he’s copying what you’re doing because he doesn’t know what else to do.

If you’re leading by example, then there’s only one thing for it.

You slide your hands from around his neck down his body, pressing your hands flat against his chest and sighing against his lips – he feels good. Down your hands fall, curving under his jumper, gently tugging his shirt from his trousers, and Tom is kissing you harder and harder, stepping in closer, a hand falling from your face and slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him.

Your fingers brush his warm stomach and Tom breaks the kiss again, his head falling onto your shoulder as you touch him, your hands travelling around his hips and up his back. His skin is soft and smooth, his body lean and warm, and you’re breathing hard yourself when Tom lifts his head again.

“Can I…” he says slowly.

“Can you what?” you breathe.

Tom slowly kisses you, full and open, his lips lingering when he pulls away. When he speaks, he’s so close that you can feel his lips forming the words against yours. “Can I touch you?” he murmurs.

You laugh softly again. “If you weren’t so opposed to being ordered around, I would have already told you to.”

Tom’s arm around your waist tightens and pulls you into another kiss, and this time when his tongue brushes your lips you reach up and take his other hand from where he’s still cupping your face, gently guiding it down your neck, down the swell of your chest – Tom’s breathing takes on that same brittle quality – down your hip, your thigh, coming to a stop where the hem on your dress rests just above your knees.

Your lips draw from his and there’s a ringing silence. Too quiet. You realise that you’re both holding your breath.

“Is this what you meant?” you ask softly.

Tom swallows, and he nods.

You kiss him again, sliding his hand up your thigh and under your dress. When you bring his hand up to the hollow where your thigh meets your hip, Tom exhales again, breaking the kiss as his head tilts down. “I… I’ve never…” he says slowly, swallowing again. “I don’t know what to do,” he finishes quietly, and you can hear the conflict in his voice, his pride battling with his desire.

“Would you like me to show you?” you murmur.

He takes a breath and nods again.

You guide his hand inwards, the touch of his fingers against the outside of your underwear making heat spread across your skin. Slowly, you push Tom’s hand into place and carefully press to curve his fingers. When he feels how wet you are Tom breathes out very shakily and then – to your surprise – his lips are against yours, kissing you as you move his fingers with your own, showing him what to do.

He’s a fast learner. Tom’s fingers slide gently against you, mimicking what you show him and kissing you the whole time – it’s too much very quickly, and you can’t keep yourself from moaning as searing pleasure burns at his touch, smothered by his kiss. Soon you draw your hand away, confident that he knows how to continue, and place your palm against his cheek to draw him closer into the kiss. Tom’s grip around you tightens, his tongue meeting yours, the pressure and speed of his fingers just barely increasing and making you gasp into his mouth.

“Like that?” he asks softly.

“Like that,” you breathe, your eyes squeezing shut as tension coils in your core. “Don’t… don’t stop…”

Tom’s mouth presses hot against your jaw and your head falls back automatically, his lips moving – just like yours had  – right on the vulnerable part under your jawbone.

You feel the pleasure hike, growing and growing, and then with your palm still flat on Tom’s cheek and your other curled into a fist around his tie, it hits you hard, gasping as the dark closet seeming to spin with lights for a moment before you slowly come down.

Tom slowly draws his hand from you, and over your own panting you can hear him take a long, tense breath that sounds suspiciously shaky.

“Now,” you say a little breathlessly, “it’s your turn.”

Tom is silent as you slide your palm down his neck, his chest, keeping one hand fixed around his tie as the other brushes his hip, slips under his shirt again and traces the top of his trousers.

With a small, sharp tug on his tie, Tom’s mouth is nearly against yours again and you hear his breath stutter. “Do you want me to touch you?” you whisper against his lips.

He swallows. Nods.

Your fingers curl around the button of his trousers, pull it open, and then slowly undo the zip. Tom reaches up and takes your face in his hands, taking another shaky breath as his forehead presses against yours, and you can almost imagine his eyes closing, the tension on his face, the wanting.

Slowly, knowing that you’re teasing him, you slide your hand against his skin just beneath the line of his trousers, feeling the flat warmth of his stomach, the sharp angle of his hip bone – Tom’s hands hold your face tighter and he’s trying to control his breathing as you push your hand lower, lower –

There’s a rap on the door that makes you both jump and you pull your hand from him quickly.

“Time’s up!” someone yells from outside, muffling charm broken. “That’s seven minutes!”

You suppress a laugh as you reach for your wand on the table next to you. Just when things were getting good… “Lumos Volant,” you say again softly.

From your wand the same ball of light erupts, and you freeze.

Tom is still standing in front of you, but he looks nothing like when you saw him last. The refined, impeccable, composed Tom Riddle has been replaced by a figure unlike any you’ve seen – Tom’s dark hair is tousled and curled, his eyes black with hunger, his lips slick and pink and his cheeks flushed. His tie hangs loose from his crumpled collar, his shirt untucked and his trousers still unbuttoned.

Worst of all is the way he’s looking at you.

Tom’s dark, ravenous eyes sweep over you in what must be the same way you’ve been looking at him, lingering on the sleeve of your dress fallen from your shoulder, the hem pushed up all the way to reveal your thighs where his elegant, pale hands are resting. Whatever he finds on your face catches his attention because his jaw tightens and he looks on the brink of leaning in again.

“We… should…” you say slowly, unable to look away from him.

He nods silently.

Neither of you move.

You clear your throat and force your gaze off his face, straightening your dress pointedly and standing. Tom’s uniform slides back into its usual perfection with a single wave of his hand, but as he moves to step past you, your palm flashes up and catches his chest. Tom looks down at you at once and your heart skips a beat at the heat in his eyes.

“Your… your hair,” you say sheepishly, nodding at it. “You might want to…” You reach up before he can and push your fingers through it, smoothing it out and returning it to its regular impeccable state.

Tom’s eyes don’t leave yours as you touch him, and your cheeks grow warm, pointedly not lowering your gaze to his as you work.

“There,” you say quietly, smiling at him as your hands drop.

He doesn’t step away. He just looks down at you.

Your face gets warmer still. “Listen,” you say softly, “do you… want to keep this between us?”

The barest hint of a frown appears on Tom’s face. “Why would I want that?” he asks evenly.

“I just thought you might,” you shrug.

His lips flicker into what might be called a smile. “Just your read on me?” he asks with the faintest brush of dry humour.

“So?” you smile, rolling your eyes slightly. “Would you like that?”

Tom’s expression falls sober. After a second he steps in a little closer and you can’t ignore the way your pulse spikes when he lifts his fingers and pushes your hair back behind your ear, so soft that you shiver. “Yes,” he says very quietly, “I would like that.”

You nod and quickly turn away before you can get distracted again, pulling the door open and humming absently as you step out. You know without needing to check that Tom is following you with that blank composure returned to his face.

“Oi oi,” Ruth calls, winking at you. “You sure took your time – longest seven minutes I’ve ever seen!”

“We just talked, Ruth,” you say with a wry grin, leaning against the back of the couch. “Tom is an excellent conversationalist.”

“Conversationalist?” she repeats, smirking. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“We should be going,” you say dryly, giving her a look. “It’s nearly three in the morning and we’ve got Apparating class tomorrow.”

“Merlin’s beard, if I don’t splinch myself it’ll be a bloody miracle,” Ruth mutters, standing. “Alright you lot, try not to do anything too irresponsible once we’re gone!”

You catch Tom’s eye as he sits back down on the couch, but both of you look away again.

“Good night lovely people!” Ruth calls gaudily, throwing an arm around your shoulders and leading you across the Slytherin common room towards the steps, “Oh – and Hartley.”

The circle snickers, and you chance one last glance over your shoulder at Tom – but he’s not looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the little table in between the black leather couches, on his wand resting there, still pointing at where you’d been sitting.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II HERE! 💖

To request sequels/being tagged in follow-ups, leave a reply in the notes!  💖

[amyreadsandstresses]

Sherlock Fic Rec: Wingfic Edition

Or, a fic rec with some nice wingfics

*Flighted Universe - JessamyGriffith

2 works, 27k, Johnlock, Mating, First Time, Mating Cycle, Basically flying porn, which is great

When Sherlock is forced to share his eyrie, he is determined to make the best of it. However, he has no intention of ever pair-mating. It's a pity his body has other ideas.

John Watson can't believe his luck when he meets Sherlock Holmes. But who would ever want a flightless Tiercel with PTSD who can't even manage a courtship flight?

**Feathers 'verse - Kryptaria

4 works, 23k, demon!John, ducks, Asexual Sherlock, Johnlock, very soft

No one has ever stayed with Sherlock longer than a month. At least, no human. Fortunately, John Watson isn't about to let the little things - like biohazardous experiments and the constant threat of danger - get in the way of his friendship with a very special, very brilliant man like Sherlock Holmes.

*M Gene - icestorm1199

X-men AU, Winged Sherlock, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestarde, Holmes Family, Victor Trevor, Prejudice, Bullying, Neglect, A WONDER OF A FIC

Sherlock was born different. Too excitable, too curious, too smart for his own good. But when he is ten, things go from bad to worse when he starts to grow wings. Mutants are not really welcome in the Holmes family, and he is forced to hide what he is, especially when he is sent away to school. The story follows Sherlock as he grows up, suffers through secondary school and university, delves into his life as a young adult and finally consulting detective.

*Volant Au Vent - liy_winterwood

4k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes,Character Study

From the instant he discovers the black feathers at six months, Sherlock Holmes knows that he is different. 

*A City on the Head of a Pin - Mad Maudlin

5k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Magical Realism, CHECK TW

John, for once, sees something Sherlock doesn't.

*The Tings You Don't Know - lotherington

1k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Post Reichenbach

‘Your wings match your hair, you don’t know that,’ John murmured, quietly enough that he wouldn’t be heard over the back-and-forth sound of jagged metal on bone.

*Overrated - ShoyDragon

838, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

Sherlock Holmes hated his wings... then he met John Watson.

*Primary and secondaries - Tashilover

1k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

Sherlock's wings are beautiful. John's are not. 

I have a few I haven't read yet, so I might make a second list with those :)

[schtroumpfcurieux]

alright i guess now is as good as any of a time to do this

Smurf stories rated by how dark and/or fucked up they are when you think about it (Part 1)

only in the main line comics tho

Les Schtroumpfs noirs (The Black Smurfs/The Purple Smurfs) : 5/5

Imagine if you will: you're a smurf who lived a very easy peasy life so far; today you and the people in your village go to work, and your buddy ends up going alone a bit further away. When he comes back, he's... different. His skin is not blue anymore, he can't talk, doesn't recognize anyone, and he seems mean, almost evil. Your leader is immediately worried, and tells you that it's not the first time he sees this happens, and it's not good. Then you find out that by a bite, that... thing will turn you like him. Your leader knows there is an antidote, but can't remember it. As he tries many things, more and more people in your village get turned and join the group of infected. Finally, he finds the remedy, by pure luck, and when you go back to the village to prepare the remedy, you can notice that there's only ten of you left. Ten on almost a hundred. The remedy is prepared, and it works, but you are easily overwhelmed by the number of infected. You're 9, then 8, then 7, then 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, ... you get bitten, and as you turn, you see your leader alone, surrounded from every corners by the things you're about to become a part of. The reader sees Papa Smurf transform, and everything seems lost... until, by pure luck again, an explosion allows the remedy to fall on everyone in the village, saving the day.

So anyway the first smurf adventure is a zombie apocalypse that by all means ends bad, but luckily kid comic+first story armor makes it so that all the characters are saved. Zombie apocalypse scenario already gets points because they're very dark in nature, but here it's made even darker by the facts that 1) it reaches the worst outcome before luck ex machina, 2) in universe it's supposed to be the first time the smurfs deal with a very dangerous and distressing situation that affects them directly. actually it's the first time they have to deal with something bad happening to them. quite the first time.

Le Schtroumpf Volant (The Flying Smurf): 0/5

There isn't much plot in this one; a smurf wants to fly, and he tries different techniques. It's closer to a comedy short than an actual story, so there isn't really something dark or fucked up in it.

Le voleur de Schtroumpfs (The Smurfnapper): 3/5

In this story, Gargamel is introduced! While he is already a goofy villain, Gargamel is very much a big threat in this. Most of the story is spent seeing the smurfs trying to save one of them, who's been caught and will be put in snake venom at dawn (to be melted for a potion Gargamel needs to do in order to change metals in gold). Every time they're about to free the poor smurf, Gargamel comes back and so everyone has to quickly hide. Eventually, dawn comes, and Gargamel is about to put the smurf in the mixture when all the smurfs attack at once and flee.

Points for potion that asks you to kill a sentient living being to get rich, almost smurf melting, and for the characters, first time meeting Gargamel which for them must have been particularly distressing.

Le Schtroumpfissime (King Smurf): 2/5

A smurf makes false promises to get elected, then once in power he does nothing of it and becomes a dictator. Points for dictatorship and how sad it is that a 60s comic still hits with current politics.

Schtroumpfonnie en ut (Smurphony in C): 5/5 oh my god

Alright alright so. In this shirt story, the smurfs want to play a symphony. But one of them plays incredibly bad, so they kick him out of the band. The smurf goes in the forest to lament, and Gargamel hears him. He disguises himself as a fsiry and gives to the smurf a musical instrument that he says will always sound good. But it was a trap, as the instrument actually puts people who hear it in a deep sleep. The smurf learns the truth from Gargamel who followed him back to the village, and a chase follows. The smurf escapes, try different ways to wake up the others, with no success. He then decides to go to Gargamel's house to find an antidote. At one point Gargamel is in a position where if the smurf played the instrument, he'll get rid of him forever( deep sleep+falling from very high, you can guess what would happen), but he decides against it after remembering what Papa Smurf taught them. So the smurf finally gets to read about the instrument, and learns that no remedy has been found. Now sad and all alone after being tricked into causing the death eternal sleep of everyone in his village, the smurf lines them up, and takes out his trumpet to play them goodbye. But his first note is so off that it could wake up a dead, and guess what happens (btw it's literally the saying used in the story, wikipedia may say coma but the text says death). And so the smurf found the remedy, playing his music, and wakes up everyone. All is well that ends well, the smurfs play the symphony, the smurf included. Since he plays trumpet and plays off with any instruments he uses, we can easily guess it's Musician Smurf. So if you like his character and didn't know it, that's his backstory, putting everyone into a magical coma and finding the remedy by accident after he resigned himself to be alone forever.

Do I need to explain the rating.

I will stop on this one, because next story is the smurfette and i dont trust myself in keeping it short

[adiarose]

There is Something About Destiel

There is something about Destiel, isn’t there? Of course there are the obvious draws. They are two well fleshed out and intriguing characters who have gone through heaven, hell, and purgatory for one another. Who have gone through so much independently you just want them to be together so they could shoulder it easier. Who can function together as well as without.

But there is also that draw from friends to lovers. My favorite tv show couple before them was Mondler (Chandler and Monica from Friends.) And this was because they were friends first. No matter what. And I know given the fifteen years worth of information I have received about Dean as a person (be it a fictional one) and eleven I know of Castiel, they would always be friends first.

It doesn’t matter if they are in a fight. They are friends and they will fight together no matter what. Damn society and whatever small bubble it may try to shove Dean and Cas into, because it is not going to happen.

The truth of the matter is this. If Destiel had lived on with both characters openly expressing their romantic affection and attraction with the other, not much would change. We would still get Cas being confused at what appears to us to be the most mundane of things. We would still get Dean ribbing at him as he has done with everyone he cared about including Sam and Bobby. We would still get Team Free Will fighting together with platonic moments where they are a family. Because they are a family. They wouldn’t be a couple and Sam they would be as they always were. The difference?

Dean and Cas would touch one another each time one returned from part of a hunt. Be it a hug, brief kiss, or even just a soft touch on the arm. Just a nice little greeting that could do wonders for their moods. They would get to lay down together every night and know due to pass experience that the other would be there when they looked to their side. Whether it was Dean opening his eyes after a slumber or Cas’s head moving to see the older Winchester after turning the page of a new novel Sam had given him. And they would sit together in those quiet moments in life. As they did when they were no more than friends. But this time they could express those hints of affection that could ease the other from tears or make them smile. Bring peace to hell streaming in a mind or soothe a volant stream of thoughts concerning Sam or Jack.

It would just be the little things. Their would still be those platonic moments. They wouldn’t be jumping one another six ways to Sunday. They would just be less enclosed in that box. Just a little more free. Just a little more okay.

There is just something. And its a combination of every factor of Destiel. The story that made them meet as well as that which came before hand. The conversations, inside jokes and looks crafted over the years. The look that has formed when we picture them. Physically and mentally. The unintentionality of it. The canon and fanon mixing together in ones head and even sometimes into the show.

It came from a source so strange that the source (Supernatural) unintentionally created one of the best and most heartbreaking love stories ever crafted. A angel raised a man from hell. The angel then fell from heaven for the man. They would proceed to put their faith in one another. And sometimes they would break the other for their sense of pride or morality. The angel doing so first. But then the man would help the angel fix what he had broke. Would fight through a land of monsters, refusing to leave without the angel. Their bond would only grow. And even though their were cracks, they would heal. Don’t worry. Because they were a part of one another now. Because they loved one another.

They are everything aren’t they? They are a combination of everything the show put forth as well as what the fans added into the mix. There is just something about Destiel that is so remarkable, that sometimes you just can’t not sit down and think about it for a moment.

Because there is just something about it.

[vangoghmusings]

𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

masterlist

pairing: vampire!hawks x gn!reader

genre: angst w/ nsfw themes 

word count: 2.8k 

warnings: swearing, mentions of dead animals, mentions of nudity, main character death 

a/n: so~ im back from my break! i decided i’d only come back once i had content to post :) this one shot was originally going to be smut but angst fit better with the plotline so heres some sad shit for y’all :’) the song for this fic is ‘samson’ by regina spectre, linked here <3 i hope y’all like this cause angst isnt really my thing asfjkhld 

✁  𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖗  ✃

“We all have wings, but they have not been of any avail to us and if we could tear them off, we would do so.”  Franz Kafka

It was a quote you knew by heart. After all, it was sitting neatly framed on your desk. It was a graduation gift, but you don’t remember from who. Years of schooling behind you, you were finally an expert in your field. Animal locomotion, volant insects- it was all the same to you. Creatures with wings were your life and passion. As you looked at the mounted glass boxes that held a variety of pinned butterflies that lined the walls of your office, you were brought out of your daze by a familiar ringing.  

You sighed, picking up the telephone, wrapping the old cord around your finger as you awaited the greeting at the other end.  

“Hello, is this Dr. L/N?”  

“Midoriya?”  

The familiar voice brought a smile to your face. Izuku Midoriya was you best friend, the both of you working towards doctorate in animal studies. You specialized in wings, he specialized in secrets. More specifically, mythical creatures, a secret that zoologists and the government held from the public as to keep chaos from ensuing.  

“Ah Y/N! Yes, it's me! How are you?”  

“Good, how-”  

“I’m fine, thank you, I just- I need your help.”  

“Oh? Is there a situation?”  

“Well, yes and no... we’ve been told there’s been a spike in livestock and animals going missing, along with carcasses being found at an alarming rate. So, we’ve been conducting research and taking in recent sightings into consideration. We think there's a vampire in the Aokigahara forest.”  

“A vampire? Midoriya you know that’s your expertise not mine. I know nothing about vampires, isn't there anyone else that can help you? I wouldn’t be of any use-”  

“No no Y/N, you don’t understand. This vampire, it-it has wings.”  

The line went silent, the ringing of the tone slowly becoming too much to bare.  

“Are you sure-”

“We have photos, they're not great, but we’re certain its him.”  

“Him?”  

“It's a guess, but yes, a him.”  

Another deafening pause.  

“Do you have a plan?”  

“Yes actually!”

The sudden confidence transmitted from Midoriya’s end of the phone made you chuckle.  

“We’d like you to camp out in the woods, film what you can for us as well as observe anything you find or witness.”  

“Midoriya, that sounds really dangerous, this is a vampire, right? I’m not baiting myself for science-”  

“I promise it's not like that! You’d always have a walkie talkie running the entire time and have contact with me and the team. Nothing will happen to you, I promise.”  

“Promise?”  

“Promise. And besides, you’d get to keep his wings.”  

That caught your attention. Like a puppy, your ears perked up at the magic w-word.  

“Really?”  

“Once we complete the research, we’d have to put him in captivity, and we’re not taking any chances on letting him escape, so we’ll extract them and give them to you.”  

You bit your lip, imagining whatever possible large pair of wings could adorn your walls next.  

“I’m in.”  

“YOU’RE THE BEST!”  

You laughed as Midoriya cheered on the other line. Research and new discoveries always made him bounce with glee, and despite not being able to physically see him, you knew he was bouncing around his office like a baby bunny learning to leap.  

“When do we start?”  

“Huh? Oh, do you think you could come to the northwest research building tomorrow? I’ll pay for your bus ticket and everything.”  

“No no, it’s fine, I can make it over by noon.”  

“Perfect! I’ll see you then!”  

Before you could say goodbye, Midoriya hung up the phone, probably dashing around his office to prepare as much as he could for the upcoming events.  

You chuckled and sighed, putting the phone down. You were going to be in the woods for God knows how long studying a vampire that could potentially kill you and suck you dry- all for a pair of wings.  

You later received a text from Midoriya instructing you to pack a bag with at least a months' worth of clothing and your own personal items. He said that his team would bring all the other needs- food, water purifier, stationary and a walkie talkie. You would be set for the entire month to study the elusive winged vampire. All that was left now was go to Aokigahara. But nothing could have prepared you for what was to come in the next month.  

As you trekked the hills of the Aokigahara forest that faithful day, all you could think of was the words Midoriya had said to you that morning.  

“Our hope is that you actually meet him?”  

“Meet him? The vampire? Midoriya you are trying to get me killed, aren’t you!”  

“But the best research is done when you’re close to the primary source!”  

You heaved a sigh and wiped the beads of sweat falling down your forehead with the back of your palm. You were entering the forest with the faux appearance an overwhelmed camper, seeking solace in the forest through self-reflection and meditation. Thus, everything had to look realistic, as to not make the vampire subject suspicious. The immense weight of the hiking backpack resting on your shoulders was unbearable, but you knew you still had to go further into the forest. You had to find the perfect spot. And finally, after several more exhausting hours, there it was.  

The lake.  

You beamed at the crystal-like water, ripping softly from the wind. Without hesitation, you dropped your backpack and began to set up camp. You had a fairly large tent, a cot and sleeping bag, and all your items, plus the ones promised by Midoriya’s team. Once you were happy with the setup of your tent, you deemed it was time to bathe. You were drenched in sweat and your muscles ached and you wanted nothing more than to engulf yourself in the lake’s cool waters.  

Once you rid yourself of your sticky clothes, you stepped into the water, sighing happily. You soon submerged your whole body in the water, humming as you scrubbed the grime off your skin. The sky above was shifting from pink to orange, the sun quickly beginning to set. You could see the outline of the moon too.  

“Pretty isn’t it?”  

You jumped at the unexpected voice, quickly covering what you could of your naked body. You looked around anxiously, fearful of who or what had been watching you. You narrowed your eyes at a tree looming over the water, a figure seated on one of its branches. You clung to your chest tightly as the branch shook, the figure hopping off with ease.  

Infront of you stood a blonde-haired man, incredibly fit, which was easy to see since he was shirtless. It seemed his only clothes appeared to be a pair of dirtied linen pants and a pair of poots. But that’s not what caught your attention- no, it was the enormous pair of bright crimson wings that stemmed from his back. They were breathtaking.  

He chuckled lowly at your frozen stance.  

“I meant the moon.”  

You nodded slowly.  

“O-oh,” was all you managed to say as it occurred to you that that man, creature, vampire, would be your subject of research for the next month.  

His brows furrowed as he looked down at your toiletry bag that sat on the shore.  

“Shit, is that soap?”  

“Uh, yeah?”  

What was happening? He was so normal? So calm? Were you not in his territory, invading his space? Or was he being kind, as to not scare off his next meal?  

“I haven’t been able to use soap in a while. My parents visit me sometimes and bring me soap and shit, but they haven't in a while...can I use yours?”  

Parents. He had a family. Did they have wings too? No, he was exiled, his wings made him an outlier. He was alone.  

“Uh, yeah...” you mumbled, shyly gesturing to the toiletry bag with your chin. The man beamed and dug through your bag.  

“Holy shit, you have hair soap too? Fancy,” he purred. Hair soap- did he mean shampoo?  

You watched curiously as he tossed out item from your bag and set them on the shore. You found your cheeks burning with heat as you looked away while he undressed. You looked down at the water, ripples appearing as he stepped into the lake. You gulped and peered over your shoulder.  

“What's your name?” You asked shyly.  

“Keigo, you?”  

You blinked at his unexpected friendliness.  

“Y/N.”  

He gave you a nodded before picking up one of the bottles he placed in the water that began to float away.  

“So, which hair soap do I use first?”  

“Uh, the one that says shampoo.”  

Keigo looked down at the floating bottles before him.  

“I can’t read,” He mumbled.  

You gaped, he must’ve been exiled at a young age, with neither of his parents willing to take the time to educate him.  

You stepped towards him carefully, we’ll aware of the danger he could pose. You picked up the shampoo bottle and handed it to him.  

“Here, use this one first.”  

He grinned, two large fangs appearing. It was obvious they caught you off guard, since he began to laugh.  

“Scared of my fangs but not my wings? Interesting.”  

You scoffed as he poured the shampoo in his palm.  

“I’m not scared.”  

“Right,” He chuckled, before putting the shampoo in his hair. Which he did a terrible job at, since it all began to drip down his face and into his eyes. “Ah fuck- this shit stings! Are you trying to poison me?”  

You laughed and covered your mouth. 

This was the dangerous vampire Midoriya had summoned you to research? He seemed helpless, and frankly a bit pathetic.  

“Well it’s just for your hair, not your eyes.”  

Keigo growled and plunged his face in the water, washing the shampoo out of his eyes. He flung his head back up and shook the water off, similarly to a dog. You winced at the water droplets that hit you.  

“Do you- do you want help?”  

Keigo raised a brow and crossed his arms over his chest.  

“Why are you here?”  

You froze, not expecting the question.  

“Uh well, I needed a break from work. Just time to be alone and meditate, you know?”  

“No, I wouldn’t know,” He frowned. You bit your lip and looked down.  

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you-”  

You were caught off by his laugh once more.  

“You’re fine Y/N, it’ll take more than that to offend me. Besides,” He said, a sharp taloned hand wrapping around your neck and pulling you close, “I could kill you if you ever did.”  

He smirked, feeling you gulp in fear against his palm. You stood still in his grasp as leaned close into your ear.  

“So, you’ll help me with the hair soap?”  

✁✁✁

In the following weeks, you developed an unexpected closeness to Keigo. He hung around your tent day and night, occasionally leaving when he got hungry. In those moments alone, you updated Midoriya and wrote in your journal. By the end of the second week, you found yourself realizing how close you had truly gotten to the vampire when he finally let you shave off his rugged beard.  

“Look at you!” You beamed, holding his face in your hand. He rolled his eyes and swiftly scooped you up, walking you both out of the water.  

He set you down gently and handed you your towel. He on the other hand, used his wings and flapped himself dry, fluffy feathers flying everywhere. You wrapped the towel around your body and smiled up at him, trying to cover up the sinking feeling in your chest. You were beginning to see Keigo as a person rather than a specimen. And when the month ended, he’d be transported to a facility and have his wings clipped and handed to you on a silver platter for decoration. You shook the thoughts away and flashed Keigo another smile.  

“Its getting late.”  

He nodded and slipped on his pants, which he now also allowed you to wash. You bit your lip.  

“Where do you sleep Keigo?”  

He adjusted his waistband and looked to you.  

“A treehouse.”  

Your eyes widened.  

“Really? Why haven’t you told me?”  

He chuckled and ruffled your hair with taloned hand.  

“Didn’t think it mattered. Wanna check it out?”  

You nodded eagerly and scrambled to put your clothes on.  

Keigo rolled his eyes and extended his hand out to you, which you took once you were dressed. He picked you up and cradled you in his harms before taking to the skies, protecting you from the branches above with his wings. This moment was your paradise, seeing his wings in action. You looked at the trees below you, looking miniature as you glided through the air. The air was thin yet crisp, you couldn’t help but give Keigo a grin.  

He soon swooped down and gently landed on the ground, helping you to your feet.  

“Keigo that was so cool!” You beamed up at him, jumping up and giving him a thankful hug. He blushed and hugged back, not expecting the affectionate contact. You looked up at the large well-built tree house that sat in the tree. With ease, Keigo helped you climb up the tree and inside his home.  

Your eyes widened at the sight. The home was scattered with crimson feathers, blankets, pillows, and old blood stains on the wood.  

“So uh, this is where I sleep,” He said gesturing to the nest-like pile of plush. You nodded and looked up at him.  

“This is really cool Keigo, thanks for showing me!”  

He grinned proudly at his home, despite its emptiness, you understood the sense of coziness it held.  

He looked down at you and seemed to contemplate his next words.  

“Would you, uh, like to stay here with me tonight?”  

You looked up at him curiously.  

“Promise not to kill me?”  

He chuckled and nodded.  

“Yes, I promise.”  

“Then yes.”  

It was already nighttime and you and Keigo had already eaten. All that was left was to rest. Keigo turned on the lamp and stepped into his “nest”, you follow his lead. You step into the softness of his fluffy nest and sink into it. As if by instinct, Keigo wraps you in his arms and pulls you to his chest, your breath hitching when you feel the warmth emitting from it. His wings wrapped around the both of you tightly in a secure fashion. You looked up at the silent blonde.  

“Keigo?”  

He hummed in response.  

“Why haven’t you killed me?”  

Keigo scrunched up his face at the question.  

“I’m not a killer Y/N, I don’t kill humans.”  

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just- you’re a- and you know,” you trailed off.  

Keigo stayed silent, his large hands pressed against your back as he helped you. After what seemed like eternity he spoke.  

“Y/N?”  

“Hm?”  

“What does love feel like?”  

You smiled softly and looked up at him, his eyes peering down at you under his long eyelashes.  

“Well, love is when you really care about someone, and would do anything for them and you always want to be around them and-”  

“Then I love you.”  

Your mouth gaped at the confession.  

“Keigo-”  

“Everything you said, I feel it for you.”  

You gave him a weak smile and ran your fingers through his hair. A familiar story came to mind: Samson and Delilah. Samon loved Delilah so intensely he let her shave his head and take away his strength, leaving him weak. You found yourself in the same position, using Keigo’s love to let you clip his wings to give to the Philistines, well, in this case Midoriya.  

“I love you too Keigo.”  

His face broke out in a wide smile, but he had no clue what to do next. He had never been in this position before.  

You chuckled softly and gently stroked his cheek, “Do you want to kiss me?”  

He nodded, a shy blush creeping onto his cheeks. You giggled lightly before snuggling closer to him and pressing a soft kiss against his lips, feeling him melt at the touch.  

You really did love him.  

And you remembered it every day.  

You remembered him every day.  

You remembered the angry cusses he spewed at you when you watch him get captured by Midoriya’s team.  

You remembered his screams of agony as you watched him wake up from his surgery, only to realize his wings were gone.  

You remembered his sulking, deteriorating body when you visited him, only to learn he hadn’t eaten in days.  

And you remembered your heart breaking when you woke up at 2am to a phone call from Midoriya to learn that Keigo had died.  

As you stared at the crimson wings propped up on your office wall, you couldn’t help but curse yourself. Were a pair of wings worth learning that a vampire with wings had the capacity to love?  

taglist: @oikawaplssteponme @kac-chowsballs @mixfi @melaninmedia @strawberry-ice  @therainroguefanfiction  @johariameil  @katsushimaa @xizimagines @lunabby010 @ecao @bnhainthewoo @v-vpluto @iiminibattlehero  @cellotonin @mythiccheroacademia (dm to be added or removed <3) 

[lornasarts]

Once you get this you have to say 5 things you like about yourself, publicly, and send it to 10 of your favorite followers! (non-negotiable). SPREAD POSITIVITY!!!💓💓💓🥰🥰🥰 Much love!!!🤗😘

(you probably did this already, but that only means you must think of 5 NEW things >:D)

Ahhhh I can’t not answer this again especially from the talented and super amazing @verbo-volant ! Sending all the virtual hugs your way, you deserve it all! 🥰❤️

I love dogs! My god I love dogs 😂

I like my interests. I’m into tech and art a lot plus I adore video games! It’s nice to come home from a stressful day and just play one of my comfort games or hell a new one I’ve been excited to start!

I like where I live! It’s in the country and it’s always such a joy just to walk outside and not hear the rustle and bustle like the city I work in. Just free to go outside and bring the doggo for a walk and clear my mind after a stressful day at work.

I always like learning new things! It may take a whole lotta motivating given I can be quite a lazy person, but if there’s an opportunity to learn something new or something that has caught my interest I always try take some time out to try something new!

I like when I can spend time with myself. I do love meeting people and hanging out but my gosh is it nice to spend time in my own company. It give me time to catch up on some projects I’ve left idle, play some new games, draw, read and even write.

I feel these kinda turned into facts about me but hey what the hell! Look at you you’ve learned even more about this gal lol

[imorphemi]

WOO LORE TIME ‘rubs hands together’

First off though, lets name these kiddos. I’ve decided to call those five the Reborn for now, though I might change them later. Anyways, those five are (from left to right) Kael, Volante, Taryn, Roane, and Diya. The one alone on the left you already know. Thats Arine, or Naeri, her new name.

So these six have the most lore >:3 All of them were pretty much just average skykids, until, yknow, Arine sucked their wings out of them and basically combined their souls with hers using the contraption that their ancestors made long ago.

Arine is Corrode’s sister, and she’s been in Sky for a very, very long time. She enjoys helping younger kiddos around, until it got kind of boring. To her own amusement, she began feeding moths to the krills. It wasn’t long before Corrode witnessed her doing that and saved the poor moth from the krill, and she yelled at him for saving the kid. She continued on krill feeding, taking off her mask as a sign that she was able to be trusted. One day, she discovered the machine that sucked the light out of creatures to be stored in power diamonds. Long story short, she used it on other skykids, Roane being the first because he was the youngest moth she knew who she did not feed to the krills; he did not have a lot of wings. It worked, so she led and trapped four other kids in the machine, taking away their light for hers.

Keep in mind that it was quite a painful process (have you seen the residue left behind by the creatures after their light was taken???)

This part is just an idea, im not sure if i will keep it: Since she had too much light to contain, she began to manifest the light into physical objects.

Anyways, the Wasteland Elder noticed her soul and detained her, calling the other elders like, dude this girl’s soul has five other ones in it. The elders separated the souls and brought them back to their bodies for the kids to be reborn, complete wipe, no memories, while the Vault Elder also gave Arine a chance to be reborn, either from her own means or the Elder’s. Arine decided to let herself be reborn, so she went to Eden one last time (with Corrode, because he hasn’t seen her in weeks and convinced her to let him join) and was reborn.

Corrode went into sort of a frenzy trying to find her after that trip.

The Reborn woke up in Isle together and just, decided to stick together. For some reason, they felt this deja vu everywhere they went, as if they knew it a long time ago, but couldn’t quite remember it. Still had fun exploring the worlds though!

They came to wasteland and Kael led everyone safely around the krills. However, when they were on top of building overlooking the krills, they saw a very, very unfortunate moth get krilled by all the dragons in the area. It was as if they sensed her and just went out to get her. All five of them were standing there like, uh, we should probably help her. But the thing is, not only is there the fear of the krill, they also felt like that moth was dangerous, like she should not be approached.

Corrode soon swooped down and rescued said moth so aight shes fine lets go.

They did meet again later, although I’m not sure how yet.