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buckets-and-trees · 1 year ago

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Sweet, sweet Aspen. You have been a very bad girl. This soft!dark guy, your boss, caught you doing something wrong—something that could easily get you fired—but he decided maybe, jussst maybe, he should keep your indiscretion, and your resulting punishment, between the two of you. After all, he’s been dreaming about filling you with his cock for ages 😏

(I picked this GIF because it looks like he’s saying, “On your knees.” lolll)

well, dearly beloved sister ho, you know we were thirsting over a particularly ... inspiring gif.

I don't think you anticipated your ask to spawn THIS, but... here we are! THANKS FOR POPPING MY ANDY CHERRY!

Title: I'm Your Man Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 3k Summary: You've spent weeks working to pull off the perfect night for Andy Barber's big charity event. A rush job, but you worked meticulously and diligently over six weeks to coordinate the biggest event of your career to date. You weren't the only one with a plan for the night.

Content Warnings: extortion, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT, spitting, oral - male receiving, spanking, vaginal intercourse, breeding kink, unprotected sex

Logistical Notes: A NAUGHTY submission @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge. Prompts incorporated are in bold.

Additional Notes: I didn't want to write a summary. There's only enough plot here to smut you up. Dividers by @rookthornesartistry and @firefly-graphics.

You sit up straight when you hear the door to Andy’s home office open behind you.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he says as he strides across the room and takes a seat in the leather executive desk chair.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Barber,” you reply. Every part of your body is tired – tired in a good way from the long day of work – so you were eager to get home, soak in your tiny tub, and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend, but it hadn’t been an incredible inconvenience when he’d asked if he could speak with you before you left.

“Tonight was exquisite, you did well,” he doles out the praise, and you try to quell the blooming in your chest. In the six weeks working with Andy Barber to plan the charity event you’d just executed for his foundation you had seen that he wasn’t one to casually compliment, hard to impress. You had taken more and more satisfaction out of each meeting, email, or text exchange as you consulted and then presented him with options for the event when he had fewer and fewer notes, knowing you had cracked his taste and gained his approval. He’d been your toughest client to date, but by far one of the most rewarding as he had excellent taste.

“Nearly perfect,” he adds.

Your smile falters ever so slightly, and suddenly your chest floods with a chill. “Nearly perfect? I’m sorry, sir, what didn’t live up to your expectations?”

This was far from your first event, you had built an incredible portfolio over the years, and you knew you were finally ascending to be one of the best event coordinators on the eastern seaboard – you had received an email request from a goddamn Vanderbilt to plan a wedding for them in a year and a half that you were going to respond to and accept in the morning. You weren’t arrogant, but you’d worked damn hard and knew you were good.

“You.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I – what?”

“Only one misstep tonight.”

Your brain flies back through the evening, reviewing every moment, raking through trying to determine what you could have possibly missed.

“I’m very particular about what belongs to me, and I cannot abide theft.”

Your jaw drops.

“Empty your bag.”

Now your whole body is buzzing with incredulity. You shake your head.

“I know what’s in there.”

You almost didn’t take this job when it landed in your lap. He was the reason you knew you should have said no. There were whispers about his reputation, his real businesses. But you took the initial consultation because the pitch was more money than you’d made over the last three years. Then when you’d met him, he’d been so normal, so nice, maybe a little charming, and up until this moment you had convinced yourself there was no way any of those rumors had been right.

But before you even put your hand in your bag, you knew you were wrong to have thought he wasn't all those awful things.

Not one, not two, but three Rolex watches nestled in the bottom of the main pocket. Watches you'd never seen - wouldn't even have known where to find them.

You scoop them out and drop them on his desk, eyes burning with tears. “Why?”

“Yes, why? I was already giving you a fat paycheck. What a shame when I had just given your name to the Vanderbilts’ social secretary for their son’s wedding a few days ago, I’ll have to reach out and let them know.”

“No,” you breathe.

“I’ll have to discreetly let everyone in my network know it’s better not to invite someone in their home with such light fingers.”

Your breath hitches and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle an almost sob, trying to hold back the onset of tears. “Andy, no, please.”

His smile softens. “There we are,” he coos, “you finally called me Andy like I’ve told you to so many times.”

He leans forward resting his arms on his desk.

“Now, if you go upstairs, be a good girl, put on what I left for you in my room, and wait for me, maybe I can make all of this little misunderstanding go away.”

His steel blue eyes are hard, they demand an answer.

You cock your chin up wishing you could say no, wishing you could even scowl at him, but aside from the heat and hurt in your eyes, you know you can’t do anything more without risking further ruin, so ultimately you let your chin drop and nod, resigned to the impossible power this man wields.

“Now we’re back on track for a perfect night, sweetheart. I’ll be up soon.”

You don’t know how long he makes you wait, using the promise of soon as another show of his power, but long enough that your knees hurt from sitting back on your heels in a submissive, kneeling position with your head lowered, hands folded in your lap, and back to the door as the card in the white box left for you had instructed.

Also in the box had been a set of exquisite black lace and silk balconette bra and cheeky underwear. That they fit you like a glove had been both humiliating and alluring.

Even though Andy was the reason you almost said no to the job, even though he was the humiliating reason you were in this position – extorted into a nearly naked state, no question of what was to come – he was also the reason you took the job.

Dread pooled in your stomach, but along with the dread and humiliation, there were rivulets of shameful desire.

You had taken the job for the money and for how quietly charming he had been. He had never outright flirted with you, but he always left you with the question of whether he was. You worked hard for him because it felt good to win his approval. He praised you and you had preened under his intense blue eyes every time. You had forced yourself to keep everything professional.

All for nothing since you were in the farthest position of professional now.

When you finally hear him enter the room, your sit up straight again.

He tsks and says, “Head down, sweetheart.”

Andy comes around to stand in front of you. You see his perfectly polished shoes, the perfectly tailored trousers. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. He runs his thumb over your lips, circling them.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

You do.

He leans closer, then spits in your mouth, and you blink in surprise, a surge of humiliation running through you, but his grip on your jaw is powerful, so you don’t move away.

“Close your mouth but don’t swallow.”

He moves back from you then, and he begins to silently undress. He had already taken off his jacket, but he doesn’t hurry as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, the buttons down his chest, and then shrugs it off his shoulders. He places it nicely on a plush armchair on the side of the room. Next he sits on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes and socks.

The way he doesn’t watch you but does all of this in your line of vision, knowing you have to watch, is another move meant to communicate who is in control of this situation. Still holding his saliva on your tongue is starting to become uncomfortable. Your instinct is to swallow, but you don’t know what disobedience may mean with Andy, so you fight the urge, not wanting to tempt any more of his darkness.

He stands and takes the shoes and socks to a large closet off to the side of the room, and when he returns, he stands directly in front of you again, takes your jaw in his hands again.

“Show me,” he says.

Your eyes watch his face you open your mouth, showing him the pool of saliva.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmurs. You hate the small bloom in your chest those words immediately invoke again. He spits into your mouth for a second time, then with a caress that is too tender he urges you to close your mouth. “Swallow.”

You do.

Andy unbuckles his belt, unbuttons the top of his fly, then unzips and pushes down the waist of his trousers with his briefs, and reveals his hard cock for you.

He’s big.

You had gotten yourself off to the thought of him a few of times late at night alone in your bed, most recently a few days ago, and you hated that you had since you were now here like this, forced on your knees in front of him.

Your core is pulsing with heat at the sight of him though – bigger than you had fantasized, and bigger than any man you’ve been with previously. You know he’ll fill you in a way that will ruin you for other men. You want and dread it.

“Take me in your mouth, sweetheart,” he commands.

Instead of forcing his cock into your mouth, this is more possessive, having you submit yourself to pleasing him of your own accord. You know every way he’s manipulating you.

“If I have to tell you one more time,” he trails off, leaving the end open for your imagination.

You plant one hand softly on his hip and wrap your other hand around his shaft, leaning forward to take him in your mouth. As you push forward, he groans. He won’t hold back when he’s pleased with you – he never has, he knows it affects you. His hands go to either side of your head. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, sucking him, bobbing up and down his length, and for a while he lets you control the speed and the depth, but his hands let you know he can and will control this when he wants to. After the first couple of minutes, he makes this clear when you push back to take a breath and wipe the mix of your spit and his pre-cum dripping out of your mouth and his hands firmly prevent you from moving off him. Instead, he pushes you down slowly – more slowly than you had been pumping – and doesn’t stop until your nose hits his lower abdomen. You try to push against his hips, and he pushes his hips forward with you still anchored on his dick. Your eyes well up.

“So pretty,” he says, “imagined you like this, but you’re more gorgeous than I thought you would be.”

Something in your chest melts. You wish he wouldn’t say things like that. It makes you weaker – weaker for him. He pulls back just an inch or two, then pushes his length into your throat again.

“That’s it, sweetheart, my perfect fucking girl.”

You whimper, and the tears spill over.

His right hand moves away from your face and around behind him. He’s quick, and when you can see his hand again, it’s to discover he’s taken his phone out of his back pocket. He takes photos of you, angling the phone a few different ways. Then he tosses the phone onto the chair where he’d laid his shirt.

Then he resumes his small, concentrated rutting, only easing out just enough to make the thrust back in worth it for him. As he does, he groans, swears, wipes tears from your cheeks, and the moment before it’s too much, he finally pulls you off him.

You fall forward, gasping for deep lungfuls of air, but he’s already putting a hand under your arm and hauling you up.

“Get on the bed,” he instructs, man handling you with surprising ease, doing most of the work your weak and aching legs can’t do to hoist you up onto his Alaskan king bed.

He’s immediately up as well and behind you, the last of his clothing stripped off. His fingers quickly undo the clasp of your bra and pull it off your shoulders and toss it away. He pushes you forward, toppling you down to the mattress. He slaps your ass, and you gasp and jerk. He brings his hand down on your round flesh again, with another sting, but the second one has you moan, and he lets out a satisfied, “Yes,” before giving you a third slap, the hardest, and you moan again, but this one more guttural, and you’d be mortified if you weren’t shocked over the way it translated to pleasure so quickly to your brain.

Then he yanks the lacy underwear roughly down and off your legs, tossing it away as well. He pushes between your legs behind you, splitting your legs open, and his fingers seek your cunt.

He hums in approval, “So wet for me. Ready for me.”

You huff and pant.

He leans over your back, pressing you down into the mattress. “Are you eager for me?”

“Andy,” you whine.

“Say it and I’ll fuck you good, sweetheart.”

You don’t want to. You bury your face in the covers.

He slaps your ass again, and you yelp.

“Admit you want me to fuck you.”

Another slap.

Another.

“Yes,” you finally concede.

“To breed you.”

You gasp, but he’s already hauling you further up the bed, and he drapes himself over your back, arms caging you in on either side of your body. His legs push yours apart as he leans down to press kisses over your shoulder blades, at the base of your neck, along your spine. He uses one hand to guide the thick head of his cock to your leaking entrance. He doesn’t care to stretch you. “Take me in your cunt, sweetheart, it’s mine.”

The only mercy is that he slots himself in slowly.

You press your hands up against the headboard and concentrate on taking deep breaths, on trying to relax your walls completely, because he’s entering you, in you, filling you, unrelenting invasion and it’s pleasure and pain and too much and not enough because every moment of more fullness is exquisite and you can’t even think about holding back the sound he’s pushing out from your diaphragm, up your throat, and out of your mouth, because that’s how it feels as he's filling you.

Once’s he’s fully inside of you, he presses his mouth right next to your ear. “I’m going to fill this pussy with my seed.” He anchors one hand on your hips, then begins pull out, only so he can start thrusting back in. “I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

You’ve never had an orgasm only from vaginal penetration, but the way he fills you as he fucks you, and at this angle, making you almost forget to keep breathing, you wonder if this is how you’ll go, strung out as his cock punishes you with the pleasure, but then his hand works around beneath you and his fingers quickly find your swollen and aching clit. You cry out, and one of your hands reaches back to cling to him, fingers clutching into his hair. He nips at your neck, chuckling darkly.

“My pretty girl, my good girl, taking my cock so well, you close?”

An immediate, “Uh huh,” is all you can manage.

“Then let go,” he commands, pinching your clit harshly.

You see stars, and you cry out for him.

Hearing you scream his name and feeling you clench around him is all he needs, and he pumps his cum into you, saying more dirty, filthy, possessive things, but you don’t know what the words are, because you’re completely lost to coherency.

He sinks his full weight on top of you when he’s completely spent.

Both of you are silent while you come down, heartrates returning to normal.

You wait for him to say whatever he’s going to torment you with next, but he doesn’t speak.

After more long moments, he finally pushes up enough to turn you from your front to your back. He cups your jaw again and strokes his thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitches at the intimate gesture in the aftermath.

“Aw, why are you crying now, sweetheart?”

No, you didn’t want more tears, and not these - the soft tears. You try to look away, but he forces your face back to look at him.

“I would have slept with you if you’d asked, Andy, why did you have to do it like this?”

“Because this is so much more than that, sweetheart. I didn’t want to just sleep with you, and I needed you to know from here on out that you’re mine. I own you. I’m very particular about what belongs to me. I didn’t want you to have any illusion that there’s a choice here.”

He brushes the tears off your cheek.

“I’ll have my men move your things here in the morning, and we’ll elope in a few weeks. I’m closing the deal on a resort in Lake Como, doesn’t that sound perfect? We’ll tie the knot and then spend our honeymoon there – we can stay all summer if you want.”

You hesitate.

“No one else is gonna take care of you like I do. Now I asked you, ‘doesn’t that sound perfect?’”

“Yes, Andy,” you whisper.

“Of course, it does.” He finally kisses you – and it’s dangerously soft. Warm lips engulfing yours, insistent, sucking your bottom lip between his. You whimper, and he licks his tongue into your mouth, lapping you up. He rolls over with you, putting him back on the mattress with you on his chest. He holds you pressed to him with one hand, the other hand securing your head so you can’t escape his kiss until he’s done kissing you.

It isn’t until you think you might pass out from how breathless you are that he finally breaks off the kiss. He shifts his pelvis up against you, his cock hardening again. “And I was serious about you carrying my child. But first you’ll ride my face until I’ve made you cry for a good reason, and then I’ll fill you up with more of my seed. You’re not leaving this bed the rest of the weekend.”

ARE YOU OKAY? AM I? DO WE EVEN CARE IF WE'RE OKAY?

read: -> THE MORNING AFTER

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

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#andy barber x female reader #andy barber smut #soft dark andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #tw: dubcon #aspen wrote something #navy and roo's sleepover #i'm your man collection

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utopiastri · 11 days ago

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Hi, hello!!!

May i request sleep deprivation for the fic prompt, pretty please???? To be honest I'd be so happy with any ship (bc im obsessed with ur writing), but mayhaps landoscar or maxcar???🥺🥺🥺

Hope you are having a wonderful day!<3

-💫

💫 anon!!! hi lovely! thank you for the prompt! i hope you're having a lovely day too and i hope you enjoy some maxcar!!!

Of all the people that Oscar expected to bump into whilst walking around Monaco at 5am, he wouldn’t have bet on Max Verstappen.

Or, well, he wouldn’t have bet a lot on Max Verstappen – Monaco’s tiny and Max does live here, so it’s not entirely unreasonable to run into him. But still.

5am.

“Oscar! Mate, hi!”

Oscar does his best not to wince at how cheery Max is. From the way Max’s face falls slightly, he’s guessing he doesn’t do a particularly good job of it.

“Hey, Max,” he says quietly, giving him a tired smile.

“What are you doing up so early? I wouldn't have guessed you were a morning person.”

“Just, um, going for a walk, I guess.”

Max frowns. “Hm.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further. Oscar prays that the street lighting is dim enough for the dark circles under his eyes to stay hidden.

Eventually, when it becomes clear that Max isn’t going to say anything else, Oscar says, “Right, uh, I’ll see you.”

Oscar’s barely even turned around to start walking in the opposite direction when Max calls out, “Wait! What are you doing after your walk?”

Living the Monaco high life, Oscar thinks to himself, going back to bed and tossing and turning for another six fruitless hours.

“Nothing much,” is what Oscar actually says. In fairness, it isn’t exactly a lie.

“I was just finishing up my run. You should come back to mine for some breakfast,” Max suggests.

Oscar gives Max an assessing look and notes that he looks more like a person about to go for a run than one just finishing one up. Max folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, as if daring Oscar to call his bluff.

On another day, maybe Oscar would. But he feels so tired his bones are heavy with it and giving in is the much easier thing to do.

“Yeah, ok.”

Oscar doesn’t realise that the breakfast invite is a trap until he’s blearily blinking his eyes open a few hours later. Or, maybe ‘trap’ is the wrong word. ‘Trap’ implies that there was some trickery or persuasion involved. Max didn’t exactly have to do much convincing to get Oscar to take a seat on his sofa. And Max certainly didn’t have to do much convincing to get Oscar to let his eyes flutter shut, since they were very much doing that of their own accord.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Max calls from the kitchen. Oscar slowly begins to register where is. He bolts upright when he realises that he managed to fall asleep on Max’s sofa when the poor man had only invited him in for a pastry and some coffee.

“Shit, Max, I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to stand up from the sofa and only managing to almost fall flat on his face, his legs getting twisted in a knitted blanket Max must’ve thrown over him. His face flares bright red and he refuses to look in Max’s direction.

Unfortunately, Max has other plans. He feels Max’s gaze burn into the side of his face until finally Oscar looks up and meets Max’s eyes. He’s smirking ever so slightly.

“No apologising. You needed sleep and, for whatever reason, you cannot get it at home. So you slept on my sofa.” Max says it so matter-of-factly that Oscar almost finds himself nodding along.

“No, wait,” Oscar shakes himself and reminds himself that this is ridiculous, “Max, it wasn’t fair, or, I mean, it was rude of me to fall asleep on your sofa.”

“No, it wasn’t, I didn’t mind.”

Oscar groans slightly. “Well, maybe, you should mind.”

A calculating look appears on Max's face. “To clarify," he says, "You object to the part where you fell asleep on my sofa?”

“Yes,” Oscar says firmly.

“Fine. I agree you should not fall asleep on my sofa.”

“Good.”

“You should fall asleep on my bed.”

“What?” Oscar splutters staring at Max, “Hang on.”

However, Max is too busy grabbing Oscar by the arm and frogmarching him through his flat to take heed of Oscar's request for him to hang on. Oscar’s so bewildered by this turn of events he doesn’t even fight the manhandling that much. Before he knows it, he finds himself sat down on Max’s giant bed, staring up at him.

Max is smirking again.

“There, problem solved. You can’t fall asleep on the sofa if you’re asleep in my bed.”

“Max,” Oscar starts.

Max raises an eyebrow ready to counter whatever Oscar’s next argument will be. Oscar sighs.

He knows when he’s beaten. Max smile grows even wider.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me." He turns to leave but Oscar, almost without thinking, grabs his hand before he can.

His skin starts tingling where it's touching Max's and he does his best to ignore it. Oscar swallows. “Stay?” he asks, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Oscar thinks he might have found the one thing to say that would catch Max off-guard, even if that wasn’t his intention. His expression doesn’t shift, but Oscar can just about make out two dots of pink high in Max’s cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“Stay,” Oscar repeats, less of a request and more of a command.

Max takes a second but eventually nods and crawls into the other side of the bed. Oscar carefully arranges his body so it's not touching Max's at all and then has to do his best not to react when he feels Max reach out and gently interlock their fingers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

Oscar convinces himself the kiss he feels pressed to his forehead is purely induced by sleep deprivation.

#baby's first maxscar!!!#at one point i accidentally changed vibes halfway through and these two accidentally talked themselves into a game of gay chicken #i'll save that for a different maxcar fic perhaps #maxcar #maxoscar #💫 anon i love youuuuuuuu #you're so wonderful #💫 anon #drabbles #asks

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dumpywrites · 9 months ago

Text

Tears and Poetries - Kim Namjoon / RM

Prompt: “You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, comfort, idol Namjoon, non fan reader

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

a/n: Come back to me got me feeling all inspired soooo yeah :)

It was late. Frankly you did not bother to check the time but you knew it was at least way past twelve. You just needed some air. Late night polluted air might not be the right option, but it was the best you could have at the moment. Getting out was the only coping response your mind could think off. Getting out from where exactly you could not be sure.

Work life had been a real shit-show. You were on your fifth revision for your company project and your manager still would not accept your draft. While life? Life had been pretty exhausting. Recently your mother had been pestering you about wanting you to achieve more, comparing you to her friends’ sons and daughters, while also underestimating your own accomplishment.

And not even two weeks ago, a guy who you were seeing just admitted that he apparently had a girlfriend. He really just dropped that info to you like a bomb, as if you did not spend time with each other the past six months. True, you never really put a label on whatever you both had, but in your head you were single and so was he. Until he told you that he got a girlfriend and had dated her for a month already.

The wound still felt fresh especially with all the external problems added to the equation. Bearing the feeling of unwanted, unimportant, and never enough at once, was hard. Even labeling it as only hard sounded like an understatement.

So you ran. Theoretically speaking you did not run away, you just took off from your apartment randomly to wherever your feet and your worn off sneakers took you. And they took you to a random spot near a river.

You sat down on the dirty grassy ground, not minding how your shorts could get dirty from it. Just sitting down and looking at the night sky, as if the cold breeze would calm you and do anything besides giving you a possibility of catching cold.

Five, fifteen, maybe it was around half an hour you had been sitting there with empty thoughts, just letting the cold air hit your skin, when you suddenly heard a sound of a bicycle stopping and footsteps approaching.

“Hello? Are you alright there?”

The deep voice started you and made you look back in an instant. There was a tall and quite big built guy standing with his bicycle. He had a buzzcut from the very faint image you could see due to the low light.

Although skeptic, you decided to answer. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

You realized how shaky and stuffy your voice sounded. It probably was not a very convincing “don’t worry”. And when you did not voice another reply, the person parked their vehicle and slowly walked towards your direction.

“Hey! Stranger danger!” You said, backing off from where you were seating.

The guy stopped in his tracks but did not walked away. “Do you mind if I join your pondering session? Who knows two great minds might think alike.”

You stayed still in your position, eyes searching for his in the very confusing lack of light. You could barely make out of what he looked like.

“I’m not a creep, I swear!” He threw his hands in the air. “There’s a police station nearby if you wanna shout as loud as you can, they could hear you from here.”

He took your silence as a green light and stepped closer until he reached a spot on your left. He cleared his throat and sat down next to you.

There you could eventually fully saw his face. The first thing you noticed was the nicely shaped nose, and his plump lips, then his dimples which showed when he politely smiled at you.

The first ten minutes was spent in complete silence. You did not expect the man to whip out a notepad and pencil and just started writing. A story? Poem? Or song? You tried your best not to sneak a look. He was even humming at some point when he wrote, and it was strangely enough, soothing.

“What are you writing?” You finally asked, the suspense was killing you.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied with excitement. “I’m writing a poem. Though I’m starting to think it’d sound better as a song.”

“You’re a singer or something?”

The man looked at you in disbelief for a good second before chuckling. “Sorta.”

“Am I suppose to know you?” You eyed him back with the same questioning look.

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know for today.”

You looked at the guy suspiciously, which earned a laugh from him. “The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen your face somewhere…”

“Oh yeah?” He said, a light tone of nervousness was visible in his voice.

“You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

He almost choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Yeah, that one dude from BTS.” You repeated. “Although I don’t think any one from them has a buzzcut… Idols always seem to have either colorful hair or beautiful long locks.”

“Really…” The man voiced out, sounding unsure.

“Are you perhaps an indie artist? K-hiphop? Don’t tell me you are a DPR member that I somehow don’t know about or something…”

“Okay, enough about that it’s not important.” He dismissed. “You wanna take a look of what I’ve written?”

“Uh, sure…”

You leaned a bit closer to him and peeked over his notes. He took his notepad nearing it to your side so you could read better. Despite the low source of illumination, you could read the delicately written words. It was deep and meaningful. Whatever he wrote on that paper seemed a little too real to just be a song, it almost felt like it came from true experience.

“You sound like you went through hell to get to where you are right now.”

You commented, you were not aware of how reading through his words affected you until you could practically hear your heartbeat. You clutched at your chest, trying to calm it down.

“I’m not only talking about the sufferings.” He pointed out. “I also mentioned about the journeys in between.”

His expression brightened as he explained further. You found it really attractive for some reason.

“The feeling of loss, left out, were there alongside the feeling of excitement, growth, and wanting to change for the better.” He grinned. “And I think life needs that small bits of flavor to complete us as human beings… Wouldn’t have loved myself so much without all my struggles and flaws.”

You gazed at the guy in front of you in awe. “Guess you’re right.” You finally broke into a smile. “That was beautiful though, almost got me tearing up.”

“Thank you.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “What about you though? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s kinda lame…” You nervously laughed.

“I’m listening.” He scooted closer, making your knees touched.

“There are a whole list of messed up things happening in my life right now, but I guess I could name one or two…”

You took a deep breath and the guy in front of you patiently waited for you to speak.

“Basically my mom’s been yelling at me saying stuff about how unsuccessful I am for my nine to five job, while getting bullied by my manager at work, and not to mention, how I just got dumped by a guy who I was seeing for six months.”

“That’s fucked up…” He looked at you with wide eyes.

“You tell me.” You replied sassily. “I mean I guess for the most part it wasn’t really about the problem itself. I’m aware of how perfectionist my manager could be and multiple revision is expected. My mom never really feels content with anything, so that’s also expected. And that fucking guy leaving me? It was probably for the better…”

“Hey.” He grabbed your shoulder suddenly, catching you in a surprise. “Don’t downplay your feelings like that. You’re allowed to feel sad when other people treat you like utter shit. It’s valid.”

There was something about his words that triggered an emotion within you. Unknowingly, a tear escaped your eyes, followed by more next.

You leaned backwards to free from his grip, only for him to lose it but proceeded to take off his knitted sweater, revealing a black oversized t-shirt underneath. He took it off with one hand before shoving it through your head so you could wear it.

“It’s chilly. You might catch a cold.”

Hesitantly, you rolled the sweater through your body. You felt the neckline stained with tears and wondered if it was his polite way of helping you wipe your tears. You thanked him and he told you to continue.

“I don’t know what else to say, I don’t want to trauma dump on you.”

“How are you feeling though?” He asked, eyes gently looking at you.

“I just… I felt unwanted? Unimportant and undesirable? It happened all at once and it got me connecting strings. The root cause of my problem felt like it came from me as a person and I felt sick…”

He gazed at you and quietly nod, allowing you to continue.

“I came here because it was loud and deafening in here,” You tapped your head with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m glad I did. Not only did I manage to tone it down a couple notches, I also get an exclusive song preview from a top star!”

Both of you laughed in unison. You were the first to break the eye contact due to the sudden invasion of butterflies in your stomach. It might be dark and late at night, but your eyes could not lie about the beauty of the stranger in front of you.

The silence was soon broken by a buzzing notification from his phone. It was on silent mode, but the multiple vibrations got him shuffling his hand on his pocket, fishing his phone out from his cargo pants.

“Damn, I gotta head back. Someone needs me in the studio…”

“At this hour?!” You argued immediately.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He ran his hand through his short hair in a frustrated way.

“What’s your name?”

You both stopped and looked at each other, dumbfounded. Both of you asked the same question at the same time. Laughter filled the air once again.

“You first.” The guy gestured.

You got up and he followed right after. Now looking at how tall he was compared to you, spelling out your name felt a little bit harder. Your heart was beating in an abnormal rate. You finally managed to tell him your name and you patted yourself internally for not voicing out like a squealing hormonal teenager.

“I’m Namjoon.” He said with a huge contagious smile.

“Now where did I hear that name—“

“Can I have your number?” He interrupted. Glancing at his phone screen, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost three, you have to go home.”

“Oh.” Your lips formed a small O shape. “Sure. Here, give me your phone…”

You both then exchanged phone numbers.

“I want to take you back to your home so badly but I really can’t…” Namjoon sighed. “Besides, my bicycle can only do so much…” He chuckled.

“It’s okay, I live nearby.” You smiled. “You take care, though.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll text you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “Thank you, Namjoon.”

“Don’t mention it, I’m really glad we met today.” He nodded at you before retreating to where he parked his bicycle.

“Wait!”

You followed, running to his direction. You stopped when your arms barely linked behind him, hugging him tightly. It was bold of you but it just felt right at the moment.

“Thank you so much, I mean it.” You said with voice muffled a little by his clothes against your mouth.

And you did. You meant it, it felt really nice having someone who actually listened to your problem and seemed like he cared about it too.

He hugged back. “You’re not unwanted, okay? You are loved, please know that.”

You nodded and broke off the hug. A big smile plastered on your lips and he mimicked it. “Okay, you may go now.”

You both bid your goodbyes and that was how you found yourself smiling and giggling at three in the morning, by yourself, on your way back to your place, all while hugging the sweater that you forgot to give back. That encounter was weird, but in a very good way. It almost felt like the universe sent you an angel knowing how down you were feeling. In a peculiar way, it almost felt like he saved you. You went to sleep easily that night.

The next morning you were awaken by a text notification popping up from Namjoon. You smiled like an idiot to yourself before opening it.

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Did you arrive safe yesterday? Sorry something came up, I wished I could stay longer.”

You quickly replied to him. “I slept good. Probably thanks to you, hehe. No problem though! Maybe we could hangout again someday? I need to return your sweater after all :)”

After typing the text and sending it, suddenly a curious thought filled your head. His name did ring an unknown bell. Namjoon did mention that he was a singer, an idol maybe? You could not be sure. You tapped your Google app on your phone and started typing his name followed by the word “singer” behind it.

Maybe this was your cue to be more aware of the Kpop industry. You had your fair share of listening to K-hiphop, and were even an avid listener of groups like Epik High and Balming Tiger.

So how come you failed to notice that last night you in fact just hugged Kim Namjoon, aka RM from the internationally well known boy group, BTS???

Thank you for reading! 🌙

a/n: this was a rather short one but i hope y'all like it nonetheless <3

Prompt request: HERE

#bts fanfic #bts fic #bts scenarios #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x you #namjoon imagine #bts rm #bts namjoon #kim namjoon

626 notes · View notes

tealfloyd · 2 years ago

Text

ANONYMOUS REQUESTED:

"Okay, okay! Hear me out on this: An MC who gifts every boy and the staff (minus Crowley) a specially made gift (alongside chocolate ofc) for Valentine's Day. For example, Riddle gets a bouquet of roses alongside heart-shaped chocolate, Ace getting a chocolate cherry pie and a watch, and Cater gets a skateboard and spicy chocolate.

I can just imagine the chaos that will ensue.

"Hey! Your chocolate is bigger than mine!"

"No fair! I wanted that too!"

Thank you and have a great day!"

AN UNTYPICAL VALENTINE’S

“Congratulations, MC. You have now become the Santa of Valentine’s Day!”

SUMMARY: It's Valentine's Day in Twisted Wonderland, and you already know what that means: a mix of chocolates and petty discussions~! (Everyone x Fem!Reader)

WARNINGS: None... Other than MC’s empty wallet.

CONTENT: Ortho doesn’t have a section, but his reaction is described in the introduction. Me trying to understand these boys and their past, so they might seem a little ooc. Also Lilia’s part may have end up a little too philosophical.

A/N: Okay okay. I know Valentine’s was five months ago, and that I was in an unexpected hiatus for more than six months, but I just really wanted to post this because this draft was eating me alive. Also, I don’t know why, but Pomefiore’s part was so difficult to write, and thus, I ended up giving up temporarily.

Annnd, I know that the request asked for the staff as well, but I didn’t want to make this longer than it already is, so I decided I will post it separately. Eventually.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! :)

WORDS: 10K+

Ah, Valentine’s Day. A lively festivity that encompasses love and friendship, usually celebrated by those who want to demonstrate affection to the people they care about the most, being in a platonic or a romantic way.

Yet, that’s talking outside of Night Raven College, an academy that’s full of eccentric students, and so, on behalf of that eccentricity, things are a little bit different.

And it all starts with your protective and small companion, Grim.

You finished checking your bag for the last time before leaving, assuring that all the chocolates and gifts you packed were inside, afraid of forgetting any of them in the dorm.

“Sevens, how am I going to carry this...?” You murmured while staring at the huge sack that contained all of your presents, thinking that it resembled the bag that a certain character would only use every Christmas.

All you did was sigh, mentally preparing yourself to carry that seemingly heavy Santa bag.

Or at least that’s what you were going to do, until a sleepy voice stopped you from doing so, effectively getting your attention.

“Where are you going, henchman...?” Grim groggily asked, yawning as he rubbed his eyes. “And why do you have that bag...?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Grim’s drowsy expression as you approached him, scratching his head lightly. “You see, since today is Valentine’s, I wanted to make something special for our friends, so—” And before you could finish your sentence, an excited scream echoed from the old dorm, startling you both.

"Did someone say Valentine's?!" Conrad yelled, cheerfully floating around.

"This brings back so many great memories! I still remember all the chocolates I've received when I was alive. Such great days~" Brawley said, his mind consumed by memories from his past, all while wearing a nostalgic smile.

"Oh, what do we have here~?" Arthur asked, curiosity getting the best out of him as he picked some of the presents that were at the top. "Some gifts for your friends, perhaps~?" He teased, wiggling his eyebrows in a funny manner.

Letting out a soft chuckle while trying to calm Grim down—who was certainly not happy after the abrupt appearance—, you answered. “Indeed, it’s Valentine’s after all. Do they meet your expectations?” You jokingly asked, prompting a playful laughter from the trio of ghosts.

“I absolutely approve them, but I don’t know if those students will.”

“It's obvious they will! She even has personalized chocolates for all of them!”

“That’s true... I wonder how long it took you to prepare all of this.”

They commented, starting a light chat about the festivity, all laughing and having fun. However, in between the funny remarks and jokes, Grim had enough, whining in annoyance as his brain tried its best to understand what was happening.

“What are ya’ talking about?” He complained, turning to look at you with an angry expression. “Henchman! Explain this madness!”

“Well, Grim,” you started, trying to find the correct words to clarify the meaning of this holiday to him. “Valentine’s Day is—“ Although it seemed that you didn’t have to in the first place, seeing that you were once again interrupted by your strangely excited fellows.

“Oh!”, Brawley exclaimed. “Can we explain it?”

“Yeah, we’re the best people, er- Ghosts when it comes to Valentine’s,” Arthur enthusiastically stated.

“Can we make the explanation, MC?” Conrad asked, and since you didn’t want to ruin their happiness, you agreed.

“The floor is yours,” and with that cue, they stood in front of a confused Grim, who looked at you with slight fear and overall confusion.

It took you a few moments to realize that they took it quite literally as you listened to their old-styled song about the festivity, which maybe overused the word “love” in a romantic way... Yet, it was a detail that you didn’t pay much attention to, instead deciding to enjoy the show.

But someone that didn’t take this lightly was Grim, being that a certain sentence was starting to repeat in his mind over and over again: “A day when love stories start! Who would be the next one to take this important step~?”

He was so alarmed that he missed the part where they explained that it was also a day to share with friends, so the first thing that passed through his head was: “They’re tryin’ to steal my henchman! I cannot let that happen!”

And so, a genius idea was born.

“I’ll go with you, henchman!” He suddenly exclaimed, taking you by surprise, frowning in response.

“Really?” You inquired, and so did the ghosts, adding themselves to the confusion train while raising an eyebrow.

“What? I’m just sayin’ I’m going with you!” Grim repeated, further confusing you four.

“Yes, I heard that, but why...?”

“Why not?” Your companion said, avoiding answering since he knew you were going to tease him about it, instead choosing to walk towards the front door.

“Why though…?” You questioned for the last time, eyeing him with suspicion as you made your way towards the door, picking the bag—that was, to your surprise, much lighter than you thought—in the process.

“We don’t have time for this! If we hurry, we can come back in time for dinner!”

Now that was the Grim you remembered, and even if you never thought that hearing that sentence would make you relieved your wallet isn’t pleased to hear this though, this time it certainly did.

“Okay, let’s go then,” you said, turning to your translucent companions—who still had their mouths wide open, very much resembling to a cartoon—to wave them goodbye.

“Goodbye, guys! We will see you later! The song was amazing, by the way!” Was the last thing you said before closing the door, snapping the ghosts out of their trance.

“Aw! She loved our song!” Was the first thing Conrad said, happy that you liked their performance, not noticing the strange looks he received from the other two.

“Is he just going to ignore the fact that Grim seemed suspiciously protective over MC?” Arthur asked, and Brawley shook his head, disagreeing with him.

“It’s not weird that Grim is protective over her, that’s like a world-known fact,” he paused for a second, as if trying to think of the results of your sincere actions. “I’m more intrigued by how those boys would react upon receiving such a lovely gift from their oblivious love interest.”

And that, my dear Brawley, is what are we going to witness today.

VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, FIRST STOP: HEARTSLABYUL

Heartslabyul was your first dorm of choice, and that was because you knew everyone will be in the same place at the same time. It was supposed to be easy; go in and go out.

Yet, what was the first thing you heard when entering the dorm’s living room? Screams. Certainly one of the most welcoming sounds while stepping into a place that embraces the idea of discipline.

Seeing that the other students (or at least most of them) were minding their own business, you thought it was not that big of a deal. After greeting the ones that weren’t busy, you both walked over to the kitchen, encountering a not so peculiar scene: Riddle arguing with Ace.

"Guys?" You asked, eyebrow raised as you wondered what happened.

"Oh, Prefect!" Cater exclaimed, cheerfully approaching you. "Thanks for appearing! This situation was #stressingmeout," he commented, thankful for your presence.

"Prefect," Riddle said after coughing slightly, attempting to compose himself. "What brings you here?"

“Well, since I assume you already know what day it is, I thought it would be nice to gift you some chocolates,” you voiced, chuckled at the expressions of your friends as you gave them their respective presents, who were pretty much baffled to hear that. “Or maybe you don’t know, and the heart motifs everywhere are misleading.”

The ones that caught up the fastest were Trey and Cater what a surprise, promptly putting two and two together and realising the reason behind your sudden but cute action.

"Sevens, is it Valentine's already?" Trey questioned, placing a hand on his hat to cover his face due to the embarrassment.

"Are these for us~?" Cater excitedly asked, already pulling out his phone to document this moment. "They are totes cute! Thanks, Prefect!" He said, taking dozens of pictures of the little red box.

“Valentine’s...?” Deuce muttered, face turning pale after his brain clicked and realised what that meant. “I’m sorry, MC! I don’t have a present for you!” He quickly apologised, bowing before you.

"You don't have to give me anything, you know?" You assured, trying to ease his concern. "I just wanted to gift you all something as thanks for all your help and support, and for being my friends, of course."

And that is how you make the Heartslabyul (and pretty much anyone in NRC) students blush in mere seconds; if these guys weren’t blushing before, now they undoubtedly are.

"Yeah, yeah, enough of these speeches!" Grim chimed, wanting to move onto the next dorm already. "We don't have all day! Let's go, henchman!"

"Geez, what has got into you today?" You said, turning to the students to wave them goodbye. "I have to go now; I hope you liked the— Agh! Grim, stop pushing me!"

In an instant, the two of you departed, leaving behind five startled students who were speechless by the sudden turn of events.

Riddle’s heart-shaped chocolates match his new bouquet of red roses.

Riddle never had a Valentine’s Day celebration before. Mainly because his mom, being the main factor in his life, used to call the holiday a “disruptive event,” and so, he ended up thinking that Valentine’s was an unnecessary and dumb festivity. You can now assume he doesn't think that anymore. As everyone already guessed, this boy was red; in fact, if you inspected his face closely enough, you would notice that his cheeks were tinted with the same shade the flowers gifted to him had, which he used to cover his face. And don’t get me started when he saw the chocolates; he nearly dropped the box out of embarrassment, not believing that you were bold enough to give him heart-shaped chocolates... But it’s not like he’s complaining so please gift this boy more heart-shaped sweets.

Trey’s hazelnut chocolates match his new set of heart measuring spoons.

Trey doesn’t know how he could’ve possibly forgotten about Valentine’s; his family owns a bakery, by the Sevens! He must’ve had the date imprinted on his mind by now! He's just wondering how he didn't think about it before while looking at the gifts, feeling a bit guilty that he didn't have anything for you. Although... That doesn't mean he wouldn't focus on your kind-hearted present, after all, who could after receiving such a detailed gift of your dear romantic interest friend? Immediately after this, he knows that he has to make something for you as well; something to remind you how special you are. Hence, why his mind is in a whirlwind of ideas, contemplating which chocolate would best match your taste, and what’s better, he can use that cute set of spoons you just gifted him.

Cater’s spicy pumpkin chocolates match his new skateboard.

Cater was very aware that today was Valentine's Day. Like, it's Cater we're talking about. He literally spent the entire week thinking of gift ideas for a friend crush in order to find the perfect one for you. He just wasn't expecting for you to pull an uno reverse card on him, or at least not before he gave you your gift. Less to say that he was over the moon with this action; he already had a new wallpaper and ten new posts featuring his new possessions. He was so excited that he forgot he had something for you, and by the time he remembered you were already gone. He figures out he can drop by Ramshackle later, but it didn't take long for him to realise that everyone would have the same idea. Oh well, what a perfect occasion to have a new skateboard~.

Ace’s chocolate-covered cherries match his new frog watch.

Ace has never been a big fan of Valentine's. After breaking up with his first girlfriend, he ended up disliking the romantic idea of the holiday. Though that didn't mean that he didn't like the presents and the chocolates, which he would sometimes receive. He used to feel confident when receiving those, yet he didn't give them too much importance, so he doesn't understand why he was blushing over some chocolate-covered cherries and a stupid frog watch. Like, are you mocking him, MC? Do you really think that he would use such a dumb thing? He definitely doesn't think that this is so cute coming from you, and he definitely is not going to use that watch everyday spoiler alert, he is definitely going to.

Deuce’s cinnamon flavored chocolate eggs match his chicken plushie.

Deuce isn't very versed when it comes to Valentine's. He did celebrate it with his mom, but that was literally it. The only times he received chocolates and other gifts were from anonymous letters, but he thought it was a joke, so he never tried to find the author (which ended up being a girl that had a huge crush on him). Hence why this boy is worried. He definitely appreciates you and your gifts, because it’s not every day that you get a Valentine’s gift from your crush! Like, what is he supposed to give you (even though you said it was fine) after you took the time and effort to elaborate such a wholesome gift? He ends up worrying so much about it that the chocolate has probably melted by now. But don’t worry, his plushie is still safe and sound!

You may be thinking that “they ended up living happy forever after,” right? No. That’s not how Heartslabyul works.

"Hey! Why is your chocolate bigger than mine?!"

"How is that my fault...? Hey! Stop trying to steal my chocolates!"

"There's no need to fight. I'm sure that the Prefect made sure to make everyone's chocolates equally."

"Yeah! You should worry about what to gift her instead~"

“I will take my leave then. You're free to come with me to try to find something that she would like.”

"Why did that sound so condescending...?"

VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, SECOND STOP: SAVANACLAW

Savanaclaw’s was the second dorm you entered, and even if you loved the dorm, you weren’t sure how your chocolates were going to handle its weather because, surprise surprise: heat and chocolates do not go well together. Unless they like melted chocolate.

The situation didn’t seem to go any better, as you didn’t know where could the Savanaclaw students be. Well, all of them except for Leona, who was comfortably sleeping on the living room’s couch.

“Maybe we should find the others first. I don’t want to wake—” You commented, being abruptly interrupted by Grim and his yells, sighing upon the situation. “—Him up.”

"Hey, sleeping beauty! Wake up!" Your companion shouted, about to jump on his stomach before you grabbed him, keeping Grim from doing anything he might regret.

“Why are you being so goddamn loud...?” Leona grumbled, groggily standing up with a scowl on his face due to the sudden awakening. Looking at Grim, fully aware that he was the nuisance that interrupted his sleep, he sent him a threatening stare.

Before Grim could reply (or try to, at the very least), you stopped him from doing so, further explaining why you were in the dorm to begin with.

"I'm sorry, Leona. I'm sure it wasn't Grim's intention to wake you up in such a rude way," you stated, briefly glaring at the pouting creature.

"That's not true! And don't think that you've scared the great Grim! I—" Deciding that it was enough, you started to scratch behind his ear, sending an apologetic smile to the dorm leader in front of you, who seemed to be a little annoyed jealous of this action.

"I brought Valentine's presents for all of you," you answered, momentarily shocking the lion for a few seconds before his lips erupted into a smirk.

"Valentine's, huh?" He remarked, stepping closer towards you. "Then I guess today's the perfect day to—"

And just like we saw before (and will continue to see), Leona was interrupted, because students at this college apparently don’t like when people are about to finish their sentences.

Ruggie and Jack weren't far away from where you three were. In fact, both of them were preparing their meals before they heard your voice coming from the living room.

And when they decided to check, what's the first thing they see upon exiting the kitchen? His dorm leader shamelessly flirting with you at a really close distance while you carried a sleepy Grim.

"What do we have here~?" Ruggie chimed, walking towards your side so he could be near you. "What can we do for you, Prefect~?" He asked, ignoring Leona's death stare.

"And why did you bring such a large bag?" Jack questioned, making the two beastmen suddenly notice the heavy bag you were carrying on your shoulders.

"Glad you asked, Jack," you replied, looking through your bag’s different contents until you finally reached the ones that were labelled after them. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

Immediately following your statement, you presented them with their respective gifts, easily recognizable by the distinct yellow hue of the packaging.

The beastmen’s cheeks were slowly turning into a bright red after receiving the present, treating the little package like the most precious thing on earth, which was true, at least in their eyes.

"Are these… For us…?" Ruggie hesitated, unsure of how he should react.

"Duh! Didn't you just hear her?!" Grim said, annoyance showing in his voice.

"You're just jealous you didn't get anything," Leona guessed, smirking upon seeing how irked he got by that teasing comment.

"I'm sorry, MC, but I don't have anything for you," Jack apologised, and before he could even think of bowing before you, you stopped him.

"You don't have to give me anything. As long as you like the present, I have nothing to worry about," you explained with a small smile, starting to walk towards the exit. "Unfortunately, I can't stay for much longer. So, I guess I will see you later!"

And with that, you managed to leave just before your fluffy companion started to complain.

Leona’s smoked dark chocolates match his new lion pendant.

Leona isn’t that used to celebrating holidays, and Valentine’s wasn’t the exception. He would sometimes receive large amounts of gifts, ranging from expensive jewelry to different sets of clothing; things that he would just leave unused and forgotten. But your gift is a different story. You can be sure this man is going to use that necklace until he dies. He’s not going to entertain the possibility of it going missing in the depths of his bedroom, already frowning at the imaginary scenario of looking at your sad face while you ask where his gift was. He even clicks his tongue in annoyance, putting on the pendant to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere. Let’s see how fast you catch on this one, herbivore.

Ruggie’s mini donuts covered in chocolate match his new handmade bracelet.

Ruggie hasn't received, nor gifted a Valentine's gift ever. Holiday presents were (and still are) something that he deems as important and special. The only times when he did gift something to someone were during birthdays and as thanks, and vice versa. He’s not used to receiving presents outside those situations, and what’s even more surprising to him is that you were the one that brought the gift. Actually, no; what’s more surprising than that is that you don’t want anything in return, something that really caught him off guard. Less to say that he is going to be over-protecting those presents; this was something that you made for him and him only, and so it shall continue that way except the donuts, he can’t let them rot, can he?

Jack’s pear cider chocolates match his new snowboarding gloves.

Jack has actually received quite a few Valentine’s gifts, but the thing is, just like Deuce, he still doesn’t know who the person behind those presents was. He never paid a lot of attention to it at the time, and so he continued with his life. Now he’s aware that he had to paid attention before. The one day that he doesn’t check the calendar ends up being Valentine’s Day; I can completely assure you that he’s setting up an alarm for the next one, also adding to the reminder some present ideas that say: “you’re my crush,” but don’t scream it. When you leave, he stands so still you can mistake him for a statue; if statues could wag their tail, of course.

Savanaclaw is savage what a shock, right? These boys would not even let the other one stand next to their present. Sevens, they wouldn’t even let them breathe next to their present.

"I feel sorry for you. That's really all the Herbivore got you?"

"At least I will make sure to use it. I wonder how long it will take before that pendant disappears."

"What did you say?"

"I guess I will see you later. I don't want to be a part of this."

"Hey, come back!"

"We haven't even started on your present!"

VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, THIRD STOP: OCTAVINELLE

Octavinelle, as your following choice, felt like a secure place. You were almost sure you were going to find your friends in the blink of an eye, give them their gifts and head to the next dorm. Yet the variable you didn’t have into account was considering how empty and eerie the dorm appeared at first glance.

"Henchman?" Grim started.

"Yeah?" You answered, slowly walking towards the Mostro Lounge.

"Don't ya’ think there's something fishy going on today?"

"What do you mean?"

"Floyd and Jade aren't here."

And upon that remark, you stopped. Looking around to try to spot your usually welcome committee, you noted that Grim was correct. Jade and Floyd were nowhere to be found, slightly confusing you.

"Well, today must be a busy day at the Mostro Lounge. They are most likely working," you said, resuming your walk.

Although Grim didn’t seem to want to continue the walk, scared to be a victim of whatever evil scheme the eels were plotting.

You assured that you wouldn’t let anything happen to him on your guard, to which he responded by saying he didn’t need your protection, rambling about how you dared to think he wasn't strong enough to protect you— Ahem, to protect himself and you, until he suddenly stopped.

"Henchman," he started again.

"Yeah?" you answered a second time.

"I think there's someone behind us—"

Noticing two large shadows that covered yours, you both slowly turned around, encountering two identical faces that looked down on you with a sly smile, vocalizing:

"Shrimpy~!"

"What a pleasant surprise to see you here, Prefect."

Grim let out a high-pitched scream, hiding behind your legs due to the shock, unaware of the death stare that Floyd directed at him.

"Ah, Jade, Floyd. We were just talking about you," you said, sighing in relief upon listening to their characteristic voices.

"Wah~! Did you hear that, Jade? Shrimpy was looking for me~" Floyd exclaimed, to which his twin only chuckled.

"I heard that she was looking for both of us, in fact," and before his brother could whine in response, Jade added. "Why would that be, Prefect?"

"Before I answer to that, do you know where Azul is?" you asked, looking behind them in hopes that the octomerman would appear.

"Azul? Oh, that's right," Jade let out a small smile. "He must be looking for us."

"Eh~? But I don't want to go back!" Floyd whined, thinking about what he could do to avoid going to work again. "Oh!" He exclaimed, an imaginary light bulb appearing over his head. "I can hide behind you, right, Shrimpy~?"

"You can try, but I don't think it would do much," you responded, and just when he was about to do it, you heard a yell coming from the end of the hallway.

"Jade! Floyd!" Azul screamed, walking over to where you were. "Do I need to remind you that you are still working? If you continue—"

"Hello, Azul," you greeted, seeing how the businessman yelped due to the surprise, unaware that you were behind Jade. "Great timing, I was about to look after you."

"Prefect!" He exclaimed, unconsciously tidying himself up, trying to distract you from his earlier action. "And why did you want to see me?" He stuttered, cheeks tinted of a light pink.

"I'm sure you already know what day is today, so I'm just going to give you these," you briefly explained, handing all of them their respective gifts and chocolates. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

"Valentine's...?" Floyd muttered, face brightening up due to the excitement. "Does this mean Shrimpy loves me~?" He boldly asked, trying to get a shy reaction out of you, all while Azul covered his face in embarrassment, making this scenario all the much more entertaining to Jade, who was lightly chucking.

Yet when all of this unfolded, you talked, saying something that took all three of them by surprise. “Of course, I love you all after all,” you replied with a bright and contagious smile; it was at that moment that Grim realised that if he didn't do anything about this soon, they wouldn't let you go, and he can't let that happen.

"Henchman! We have to get going! Is gonna take us forever to finish if we stay here!"

You sighed at Grim’s impatient behavior, not really understanding where it was coming from. But he was right; your chocolates weren’t going to last a whole day outside, they just weren’t made for that kind of purpose.

"As you see, me and my new guardian have to get going, so I will see you later," you joked, being weakly dragged by your companion, biding them farewell (hoping that Floyd wasn’t going to carry you like a sack of potatoes, again).

Azul’s blueberry flavoured chocolate coins match his new octopus coin.

Azul didn't really care about Valentine's (and no, it’s not because he was made fun of constantly during this day, why would you think that? It was, please give this boy lots of hugs and support); the only reason keeps track of it is that he knows it's a very profitable holiday. And I said "didn't" because that was before he realised that he had a crush on you... Okay, maybe Jade made him aware, but he still realised it. He spent the last couple of months planning the perfect plan to confess to you or at least try to, but this wasn't on his schedule. He marked this situation as "very improbable," hence why he looks like he has a fever. Furthermore, he tries to dissimulate it since he doesn't want the twins to make fun of him (again), but it's too late. A flustered Azul is always going to be interesting to witness.

Jade’s chocolate shaped mushrooms (like the Meiji Kinoko Chocolate), match his new decorations for his terrariums.

Jade is sort of neutral about Valentine's. He's not one that usually gives gifts (he definitely gave Floyd some mushrooms as a Valentine’s gift, and you can tell he was not happy about it), but he has definitely received a couple of presents, which he usually doesn’t keep unless they're interesting enough. But, if he's being honest, he wouldn't throw away anything that you gift to him; most people would call it "simping", he calls it "courtesy." His first reaction is to smile upon receiving it, yet unlike most of his mannerisms (which he keeps very controlled), this was something that to the untrained eye would go unnoticed, yet his twin and his boss childhood friend know that there's a hint of genuine happiness in it.

Floyd’s sea salt caramel lego-shaped chocolates match his new eel bracelet with his name on it.

Unlike his brother, Floyd thinks Valentine's is a very interesting holiday. He considers it the “funniest” day just because he finds the rejected Valentine’s faces so amusing. One thing he has in common with Jade though, is that he doesn't keep most of the presents given to him, especially if he can't see the reaction of the person. So, to meet his expectations you have to: one, give it to him directly, and two, wait for the best. Fortunately, we're talking about you, so that’s good news for you. Although the bad news is that you only have two options now that you’ve given him something: run or face his clinginess.

If you didn’t know who these students were, you wouldn’t be amused, but if you do, well, it certainly was strange seeing all three (especially Floyd) staying idle in the middle of the hallway just... Existing.

"Why are you standing there? Go back to work."

"Aren't you going with us, boss?"

"Yeah! That's really unfair!"

"I have some important things that I have to take care of."

"Really? How strange, I remember you said that you had some paperwork to do."

"Oh~ Jade caught you lying, Azul~"

"Just go back to work, and don't even think about following me."

"Do you want to follow him, Jade~?"

"Of course, Floyd."

VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, FOURTH STOP: SCARABIA

Since Scarabia was your next stop, you were a bit worried. Mainly because Scarabia’s weather, just like Savanaclaw, wasn’t the ideal for your chocolates to be in. Yet, something that kept your hopes high was your positivism, assuring yourself (in order to not panic) that you were going to find your friends rapidly.

"Henchman, don't ya' think we should hurry? I don't think those chocolates can stand this heat."

"I know, it’s starting to worry me," you responded, face changing from concern to determination. "But I think I know where they could be."

Grim tilted his head, as if asking: "What do you mean?"

"I called Kalim earlier to ask him about his and Jamil's plans. They don't stay in one place for long, so it was only to be sure."

"And where are they then?"

"Right here," you stated, standing in front of a big door: the one that contained all of Kalim's treasures.

You grabbed the handle, ready to open it when suddenly, the door pulled towards you. It collided with your forehead, making you lose your balance slightly, trying to not fall since it could make it worse.

"Prefect!" The Scarabia students exclaimed, worried and confused about what just happened. "Are you okay?!"

"It's okay, I'm okay," you reassured them, holding your head as a reflexive reaction.

"Henchman! Can you hear me?!" Grim yelled, making you wince slightly due to the headache. "How dare ya', pesky humans! She could have died!"

"I'm so sorry, Prefect! Do you need to go to the infirmary? Jamil and I can bring you there!" Kalim exclaimed; eyes full of concern out of fear of something severe happening to you.

"Don't worry, Kalim. I know it was an accident," you said, feeling much better now that they were starting to quiet down. “I’m sure it’s not going to leave a scar or something.”

"Prefect, are you completely sure? We don't have any problem accompanying you to the nurse," Jamil suggested, but you refused.

"Guys, seriously, I'm fine," you said, crouching down, so you could look for their gifts. "Now onto the thing I wanted to talk about..." You handed them the presents and chocolates. "Happy Valentine's."

"Valentine's...?" Kalim asked, thinking about something for a moment before an imaginary light bulb appeared over his head. "Oh, that's right! We also have a present for you as well! Right, Jamil?"

Jamil didn't answer, seemingly lost for a few seconds until he snapped out of his trance. "Yeah, that's right," he answered, murmuring a little "thanks," loud enough for you to hear.

"It's nothing. I hope you like it, I tried to make them the best I could."

Before they could show you your gift, Grim had enough of this and decided that it was time to move on, practically dragging you outside Scarabia.

"Goodbye guys, maybe we can see each other later— Grim! Stop pulling me! I only have this pair of pants!"

Kalim and Jamil may be very different, but if they had one thing in common as of right now is that they were completely happy to receive such a heartfelt gift.

Kalim’s coconut chocolates match his new friendship bracelet.

Kalim has definitely received plenty of Valentine's chocolates and gifts in equal amounts, even if most of them came from his parents and his thirty siblings. All of this made Kalim believe that celebrating Valentine’s like that was very normal to be honest, it’s more of a lovely Halloween than most things, but that’s fine, it’s Kalim; at least, the platonic side of it. This could explain why it felt kind of odd when he received your gift, but don’t worry! It’s a good type of odd. He knows that he has a crush on you Jamil’s courtesy, so this gave him the slight hope that you might see him more than a friend one day. And even if not, he’s totally okay with it, since he will still be able of being your friend.

Jamil’s chili pepper chocolates match his new talking parrot plushie.

Jamil isn’t very fond of Valentine’s. It is not a surprise that he didn’t receive as many gifts as Kalim, but he never showed his discomfort to not anger his family; after all, he already knew that he just wasn’t made to give and receive something like that, or at least, that was his mentality until you and your adorable present came into the picture. He just thinks you’re a box full of surprises He had absolutely no idea that he was going to fall for you, but just like he never expected to like you, you surprised him with a gift. You gifted him something. MC, let me tell you that if he wasn’t head over heels for you, he now is.

Scarabia is by far the most normal one out the seven dorms. They’re happy, and that’s all. The difference is that one of them shows it and the other doesn’t.

“Did you see that, Jamil?! She said she made them herself!”

“Yes, Kalim, I heard it. You don’t have to yell”

“Oh, right, sorry!”

“...”

VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, FIFTH STOP: POMEFIORE

Pomefiore, being the next one on your list, gave you hope. Hope that maybe your original plan will work, and that you would be able to leave quickly enough to continue the rest of your long journey.

But, as you already may have guessed, things can’t be that simple.

“How strange...” You muttered, walking away from the common room after finding it empty. “Where could they be?”

“Nyah! It’s gonna take us forever to find them!” Grim whined, already tired from all the searching. “Can’t we just leave the gifts at their doors?”

“I’m not going to do that, Grim,” you stated, intently searching for your friends. “The whole point of this was to hand them the presents personally, even if it takes me the whole day.” Believe me, MC. It is going to take you the whole day.

“But we can’t just expect them to appear out of nowhere!” He claimed, unaware of the towering figures that stood right behind him after voicing those words.

“Yes, that seems certainly impossible,” Vil said, scaring Grim to the point where he climbed to your arms, hissing at the student. “Oh, did I scare you?” He teased, a bit more playful than usual.

“For your information, ya’ didn’t scare me!” Your companion quickly retorted, and although he tried to come up with an excuse to fight back, you stepped in to prevent a petty argument—certainly a wise decision—.

“So, before Grim can start a discussion here, in the middle of the hallway. Again,” you called out, eyeing him, trying to make him understand the hint. “I would like to give you these.”

“Are these... Gifts?” Epel asked, unsure of why the sudden display of affection. “Why are ya’ giving us this...?”

“Epel, don’t be disrespectful,” Vil corrected, sighing upon seeing that his little apprentice apparently didn’t know what day it was.

“You see, Monsieur Crabapple. Today is the magnifique holiday called Valentine’s Day!” Rook briefly clarified, proceeding to deliver a monologue embellished with fancy words, listing all the wonderful things that Valentine’s entailed. “How wonderful out of you, dear Trickster, to grace us with these detailed presents!”

The hunter approached you, taking your hands in his as he gazed into your eyes, seemingly aware of the looks he was receiving from his housewarden and dorm fellow.

It wasn’t until Vil coughed that Rook stopped, only chuckling slightly while leaving your hand, not wanting to infuriate his beautiful friend.

“They do seem very elaborate. So, I’m grateful for this present, dear potato,” he thanked, looking at Epel to remind him that he hadn’t thanked you yet.

“Oh! Thank you for these gifts, MC. I’m sorry that I don’t have anything to give you in return...” The boy apologized, making you sigh once again.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” You commented, amused at your friend’s sincere words. “I’m not doing this in exchange for gifts. This is a gift to thank you all for being amazing friends.”

Ouch. Collective friend-zoning. That must’ve hurt.

“Yet, we do have presents for you, ma chérie,” Rook voiced, not wanting you to go before you received their display of affection.

“Indeed. We don’t have them here, but—”

“No!” Grim interrupted, having enough of the whole conversation. “Henchman, it’s getting late and, we still have lots of gifts to deliver!” He said, trying to convince you to get out of Pomefiore before Vil and Rook’s charms trapped you there.

You turned to the students, doing an apologetic bow before explaining. “I’m sorry, he’s right. I can’t stay for much longer. But I appreciate the intention, and I hope to see you later— Grim! Why are you so impatient?!”

“We have to keep moving! So say goodbye to them already!” The little creature demanded, threatening to rip the hem on your pants.

“Okay, okay! Goodbye, guys! Maybe we can meet later!” Was the last thing they heard you say before disappearing behind a corner with your protective monster-cat.

And so, surprised and with rosy cheeks that weren’t part of their makeup, they headed towards the— Oh, it seems like they don’t remember anymore... You’re giving people amnesia, MC.

Vil's chocolate-covered berries match his new bouquet of violets.

Vil has a long history with Valentine’s Day; specifically the gift part of Valentine’s. This man right here has received countless gifts and cards from fans and people around him confessing their love in extravagant—and sometimes expensive—ways. He’s used to this by this point, but his balance point was broken the moment you decided to hand him that present. Dear potato, have you ever thought about being the partner of a renowned celebrity? No...? Well, would you like to? Because Vil takes this detail as your way of expressing your fondness for him. Sure, you said it was because he’s an ‘amazing friend’ (which he obviously is), but that doesn’t mean you can’t see him as more than a friend. After all, Vil’s patience is truly one of his virtues just don’t tell him you have a gift for Neige. You know, only if you want him to live a bit longer.

Rook’s mint chocolates match his new poetry book.

Oh dear, when I say no one at Night Raven College loves Valentine’s as much as Rook does, I’m being completely serious. We’re talking about a holiday that’s all about expressing love, and taking into account that Rook calls himself “le chasseur d’amore...” There’s not much left to piece together, is it. He is mesmerized by this gift; it doesn’t matter if you said it was to appreciate his friendship, he’s focusing on the fact that you, kind and wholehearted you, seemed to put so much effort to make this present that was for him and him only. Oh, beautiful Trickster; I hope you are prepared, for this dedicated hunter is going to be next at your feet expressing his admiration and appreciation for you in a very... ‘Rook manner,’ for the next couple of days... Or weeks. Maybe months, but it’s not like he didn’t do that from before, so that’s fine.

Epel’s chocolate-dipped apple rings match his new apple plushie (with an evil smile, may I add)

Epel isn’t really involved in Valentine’s. His experience with it consists of him occasionally receiving some gifts from his family and carving out some apples with Valentine’s elements on them. Being the only young boy in a village full of elderly people, we can assume that he never really got into touch with the romantic part of the holiday; at least, not until now. And I have to congratulate you, MC; you just made Epel’s face resemble an apple, and all because of your thoughtfulness. Now, does he think that having plushies is manly? No. But will he put your gift aside because of this? No. Not only because it will make you sad, but also because he assumes it wouldn’t be so bad to have an evil apple plushie in his room. You know, at least it’s evil, and that makes it a bit more manly. Sevens Epel, a manly apple-?

Pomefiore are just turning on the passive-aggressive mode. Nothing can stop these boys from feeling superior just because they received a personalized gift (which everyone got, but let’s not ruin their fantasy).

“Isn’t our belle Trickster so endearing. To take her precious time by making all of us these detailed gifts; ah, what a beautiful way to celebrate Valentine’s!”

“Although yours doesn’t seem that detailed, Rook. Are ya’ happy with that pocket diary?”

“I could ask the same to you, Epel. Although I may say that plushie compliments you.”

“Quit that, please...”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Monsieur Crabapple! The magnifique shade of this plushie truly enhances your beauty!”

“I’m not going to ask you anything from today onwards...”

VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, SIXTH STOP: IGNIHYDE

Ignihyde had to be the easier dorm to “infiltrate” so far. The housewarden was known for being a programming genius, but also, and most important of all, for staying in his room.

It was a fool-proof plan. Entering Ignihyde, encountering Ortho along the way, and finally, greet Idia at his bedroom Nothing could go wrong.

And this may surprise you, but contrary to all the things that happened to you today, nothing went wrong. In fact, the list of events I just spelled did happen in that order.

After entering Ignihyde, you were greeted with the usual sight of an almost empty living room, saluting the few students that weren’t occupied with winning an intense game of Animal Crossing.

Subsequent to the first stage of your plan, you encountered the youngest Shroud brother while walking towards the oldest, seeing his cheerful face approach you with a welcoming voice.

“Hello, MC! What brings you here today?” Ortho said, instantly noting the large bag behind your bag. “And why are you carrying that bag? Are my brother and you going to study today?”

You giggled at his comment, shaking your head in refusal. “Not exactly. I’m here to gift Idia a Valentine’s present.” You explained, followed by asking if he was in his room.

Ortho stayed silent for a couple seconds, quickly searching for the holiday you just mentioned, and when he knew what it was about... Let’s just say that his expectations of you confessing to Idia (because honestly, at this point he knows his brother isn’t going to, for now, at least) were rising like the sky-high.

“Of course! My brother will be very happy to see you and to receive your awesome present, MC!” The little one answered, taking you by your hand to guide you to Idia’s room.

As soon as he arrived, Ortho knocked on the door, patiently waiting for his brother’s response.

“What is it, Ortho?” Idia asked, lazily opening the door, thinking that Ortho had come up with another plan to hang out with you. Jokes on him, no plan was needed, as you were right in front of him, a wide smile plastered over your face. “MC—!” He blurted out, surprised to see you.

“Hello, Idia,” you exclaimed, assuming that it would be best if you explained the meaning behind your visit. “I know you may be busy, and I don’t intend to take much of your time. I just wanted to give you this,” and thus you gifted the blue haired boy a small blue box, alongside a translucent bag of chocolates.

“Huh...? W-why are you giving me this...?” The boy questioned, only to be smacked with a reality check by remembering all the special side quests he completed regarding the love and friendship’s special day. “Oh. OH—”

In the blink of an eye his hair goes from blue to a bright pink, not giving you enough time to comment about it since he shuts the door just as fast, too embarrassed to pronounce a word other than a small: “thank you.”

“Brother! Are you okay? Your heart rate is going extremely fast!” Ortho voiced, not really helping Idia’s situation don’t tell him that, he’ll get sad.

“Don’t worry, Ortho. I’m pretty sure Idia’s okay. He must’ve been taken aback, that’s all.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely fine and we should definitely go to deliver these last presents,” Grim suggested, already making his way back to the mirror chamber.

“Not so fast, Grim. I have yet to give Ortho his gift.” The mentioned raised an eyebrow, certainly not expecting that.

“A gift? For me?” He uttered while moving his head to the side in curiosity.

“Yeah, for you,” you reiterated, handing him a little box—no chocolates this time because, well, he’s a robot—. “I hope you like it. You can place them wherever you want, and they also got little chains in case you want to bring them with you.”

He stares at the keychains, looking at the similar characteristics between him, his brother, Grim and you; and with a bright smiley face, he exclaims: “thank you, MC! I will make sure to take great care of these!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We have to keep going, if you don’t mind.”

“Goodbye, Ortho. And goodbye, Idia! Hope you like your present too!” You voiced, unsure if he heard you or not.

Oh, and indeed he heard you, it’s just that he’s a little too occupied trying to not die from cuteness overload— Never mind, he just short-circuited.

Idia’s peanut butter chocolates match his new videogame.

Taking into account his past, we can safely say that Idia didn’t really have a lot of experience with Valentine’s, aside from the games, that’s for sure. He never gave or received any chocolates nor gifts, and you know what? He was fine with that; just enjoying his games and not worrying about love and romance at least irl, because this man proclaims himself as an expert when it comes to ships in manga and video games. He was fine, and now he isn’t. His mind is flooded with too many questions, like: why on earth would you give him anything? Is it because of social etiquette or because you wanted to? How did you get your hands on this game? Should he take this as a sign to finally confess his undeniable crush on you—? Okay, he may have gone a little too far with that one. But don’t worry! He is going to do it, it’s just that it might take a bit of time. He’s absolutely going to gift you something back, don’t doubt it. But you may want to wait after the short-circuit passes.

VALENTINE’S DELIVERY, SEVENTH AND FINAL STOP: DIASOMNIA

Now, you knew that Diasomnia was going to be a tough one. Firstly, you were sure there was going to be a lot of shouting (Sebek’s courtesy), followed by Lilia, and possibly Malleus’ teasing. Silver was the only one that didn’t really do much apart from being the most normal being out of the four that’s a compliment, Silver. You make MC’s life a bit easier.

“Okay, Grim,” you started, happy upon seeing that this was the last location. “After this, we can go back to Ramshackle and eat the dinner you were so impatient for. Isn’t that exciting?”

No response.

“Well, I know you’re tired, but I have to thank you for accompanying me today. Even if you were a bit rude and odd, it really means a lot that—”

“The Great Grim is going to fight all of you...!” He interrupted, mumbling incoherent things while you looked at his sleeping face, not sure when or how he fell asleep.

“I should have guessed that a whole day of walking may end up in this,” you muttered, carefully lifting him up so he could rest in your shoulders, trying to accommodate him the best you could as you made your way towards the Witch of Thorns’ dorm.

If felt strange having Grim by your side and not hearing him chit-chat with his characteristic tone, after all, it’s not like Grim and silence usually got along unless he was sleeping or reprimanded.

Feeling a bit bored, you started to hum softly, slowly strolling to find the garden, where you thought your friends might be.

It didn’t take long for you to encounter them, and they, likewise, didn’t take long to notice you were there.

Malleus approached you first, a smile spreading across his face upon seeing you. “How delightful it is to see you, Child of Man. What brings you here today?” He asked, unsuspecting of the surprise you’ve prepared for all of them.

“Oh. Don’t tell me the rumors are true,” Lilia voiced, floating behind you to take a peek inside your bag. It seemed like him, unlike the rest of the dorm, was aware of your intentions.

“What rumors...?” You questioned, keeping him from grabbing one of the small boxes sitting at the bottom of the bag.

He blinked in surprise, followed by a giggle after realising that you had no idea what was being said behind your back. “I wouldn’t like to ruin the surprise. It’s something you may want to express yourself, am I right?”

“Master Lilia! What do you mean by that?” Sebek shouted, prompting you to shush him quickly so Grim wouldn’t wake up. “You dare to quiet me down, human—!”

“Sebek,” Silver intervened, noticing the sleeping being on your shoulders, and thus he pointed it for the green haired boy to see.

“I’m sorry for shushing you, Sebek. It’s just that Grim is asleep and I don’t want to wake him up,” you apologized, hoping that your crocodile friend would try to lower his voice at least a little.

“O-okay, human. But—!” He paused briefly, trying to not raise his voice. “I’m not doing it because of your orders.”

You sighed, thankful for his thoughtfulness, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “Thank you, Sebek.”

Malleus coughed as he eyed his guardian’s red face, wanting to continue the original topic. “Say, Child of Man. You were about to tell us the meaning behind your visit.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you replied, cautiously taking the four remaining gifts to give them to the students. “I wanted to give you something as a Valentine’s Day present. So, I hope you like these details,” you stated, sighing after handing out the gifts, glad that this would be the last parade.

“My, my. I didn’t expect to receive a Valentine’s Day gift until a couple more of years,” Lilia muttered, seemingly happy to see his gift.

Silver stood silently for a few seconds, quickly realising that he had to thank you, softly expressing his gratitude over your recent action.

Sebek felt in the obligation to ask the purpose of this unexpected act, but since he wasn’t able didn’t want to express it his usual way, he recurred to mumble a small ‘thank you,’ taking you by surprise.

And the last and most dramatic reaction of all had to be given to Malleus. Just as we’ve seen before, he tends to... Overreact a little when it comes to small details like this one; so, in truly dragon-fae fashion, he kneeled before you, took your hand and prepared to say the words he’s been wanting to say for a long time now.

Lilia, however, had to step in, immediately clarifying how Valentine’s Day is also a day express your love for your friends. Less to say that if Malleus had his dragon ears, they would be flopped down like a puppy.

“Well. It seems that your wonderful visit has brought new moments to reminisce about,” the old fae said, trying his best to ease the situation. “We are very grateful for what you’ve gifted us today.”

“I’m happy to see that you’ve liked them,” you voiced, chuckling a bit after witnessing their reactions. “And, although I can’t really stay for much longer, I enjoyed this moment with you.”

You were about to head out after biding them goodbye, only to be stopped by Malleus, who was still a little gloomy for the news he just received. “Do you really have to go now, Child of Man?”

“Unfortunately, I do. It’s already late and Grim might get mad at me if he finds out that he’s not at Ramshackle when he wakes up,” you calmly explained, softly caressing his cheek as you walked away, promising him that you would have more time to spend together tomorrow.

You better keep that promise, MC. Malleus is already too dejected to suffer another deception.

Malleus’ gelato truffles match his new gargoyle keychain.

Malleus’ knows what Valentine’s is, but his knowledge about it is limited to the romantic part of it. Hence why he is about to pursue you, ready to propose, again, and take you to his castle so that you can live a long and happy life together; until Lilia explained him the other side of the holiday, disappointing the dragon fae. Well, excuse him, Lilia, but how was he supposed to know that humans also celebrate their friendship during Valentine’s. He’s frustrated, but also enchanted in a nutshell, he’s a mess right now. Yes, he’s still quite sad that this wasn’t a confession and that he may have to wait a bit of time before making a move on you, but nonetheless, you just expressed that you care and appreciate him, and that, at least for now, was enough for him.

Lilia’s green tea chocolates match his new bouquet of black and fuchsia roses.

Lilia has witnessed and experienced many Valentine’s days during his life. He probably has enough information to fill an entire encyclopedia about it, maybe including some of his stories as a bonus. Having lived for so long, Lilia finds enjoyment in how humans celebrate their holidays; and Valentine’s wasn’t the exception. He reminisces about his past lovers and confidants, basking in the subtle aroma of his recently acquired bouquet while thinking about all the memories he made along the way. This may sound like something an old man would say, but Lilia truly relishes in the fleeting moments that life graces him with; he most definitely takes delight in spending those moments with you, happy to see that you also enjoy his presence.

Silver’s cashew chocolates match his new deer plushie.

Silver’s pretty much indifferent towards Valentine’s. He doesn’t have time to celebrate these kinds of festivities when he has to make sure his young master isn’t in any danger. But he guesses that once a while won’t hurt... Malleus and Lilia are within his sight, Sebek is right next to him, and he doesn’t have the will to reject your gift. After all, who is he to decline such a selfless act? He gives you a warm smile as his cheeks turn into a slight shade of pink, uttering grateful words until he was too sleepy to continue the conversation. Just as he was slowly falling asleep, he unconsciously hugged his new stuffed plushie, unaware of the future teasing his father would carry out. Well, seeing the bright side of it though: he had an splendid nap and you had another sleeping beauty Silver picture. A win-win situation indeed.

Sebek’s lemon caramel chocolates match his new crocodile and dragon mug.

Sebek wasn’t and still isn’t fond of Valentine’s Day. In fact, he’s not fond of almost any of the holidays that you, mere humans, like to celebrate. However, even if he states that he doesn’t care about your gift and complaints about your display of affection towards his young master, Sebek ends up liking you a little bit more than usual. Don’t be mistaken, human! It’s not because of the cute action you just confer upon him, why would you even think that? He just thinks that a gift like this can be very useful, that’s all! He’s not smitten by your sweet smile, kind and thoughtful self, or the way your eyes shine when you’re happy... Wait, what was he saying? Oh, of course! He’s definitely not smitten by any of those things I just mentioned, so don’t you dare to think that after he gifts you your Valentine’s gift. What? It’s called being polite, you know?

Diasomnia might be the only dorm that doesn’t take down the gifts from the other students. Most likely because they were all a happy and beloved family... And also due to them thinking very highly of their presents. But is something that most people have done at this point, so the first part still stands.

“How come I didn’t know about this...”

“Oh, don’t worry, my prince! For the Prefect most certainly did this with love and effort for all of us!”

“It certainly seems that human put so much care into these...”

“What are you mumbling, Sebek?”

“N-nothing!”

“That’s right. If I gift Child of Man a present deserving of her, I can partake in this celebration with her.”

“What an enlivening idea! This makes the perfect occasion to try out that cookie recipe I got from Jade, kee hee~”

“Father, please don’t.”

INITIAL STOP: RAMSHACKLE

The wood of the door creaking was the only sound that could be heard upon returning to your dorm. Being accustomed to it, you didn’t think of it as you left Grim on the couch, sitting next to him while watching his peaceful face, far away in dreamland.

“Aww, isn’t he the cutest when he isn’t awake?” Brawley commented, appearing out of nowhere as he floated around the little creature.

“So, tell us, MC. How did you Valentine’s journey go?” Conrad asked, anticipating an answer that never came. “MC?”

When the ghosts turned to look at you, all they found was your sleeping form, who couldn’t resist the tiredness after a whole day of walking and searching.

“Poor thing. She must be so exhausted,” Arthur said, dragging a blanket to shield you from the cold weather. “I can’t believe she really took it upon herself to prepare all of those gifts.”

“Right? I haven’t seen anyone so determined to prepare so many boxes and chocolates without expecting something in return,” Brawley added, trying his best to sneak a pillow under your head.

“Well, she may not expect anything in return, but I’m almost completely sure those boys are going to return the favor,” Conrad voiced, placing Grim in a more comfortable spot close to you, careful to not wake him up.

After that, your ghost fellows decided to float around for a bit, talking amongst themselves to guess what the gifts your friends had for you might be, also questioning if they were also thinking of competing not only for your attention, but for your love as well.

THE END~

DON'T REPOST.

EVERY CHARACTER BELONGS TO DISNEY AND YANA TOBOSO, AND I DON'T TAKE CREDIT FOR THEM.

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hms-no-fun · 3 months ago

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Hi! I just read your post about your opinion on "AI" and I really liked it. If it's no bother, what's your opinion on people who use it for studying? Like writing essays, solving problems and stuff like that?

I haven't been a fan of AI from the beginning and I've heard that you shouldn't ask it for anything because then you help it develop. But I don't know how to explain that to friends and classmates or even if it's true anymore. Because I've seen some of the prompts it can come up with and they're not bad and I've heard people say that the summaries AI makes are really good and I just... I dunno. I'm at a loss

Sorry if this is a lot or something you simply don't want to reply to. You made really good points when talking about AI and I really liked it and this has been weighing on me for a while :)

on a base level, i don't really have a strongly articulated opinion on the subject because i don't use AI, and i'm 35 so i'm not in school anymore and i don't have a ton of college-aged friends either. i have little exposure to the people who use AI in this way nor to the people who have to deal with AI being used in this way, so my perspective here is totally hypothetical and unscientific.

what i was getting at in my original AI post was a general macroeconomic point about how all of the supposed efficiency gains of AI are an extension of the tech CEO's dislike of paying and/or giving credit to anyone they deem less skilled or intelligent than them. that it's conspicuous how AI conveniently falls into place after many decades of devaluing and deskilling creative/artistic labor industries. historically, for a lot of artists the most frequently available & highest paying gigs were in advertising. i can't speak to the specifics when it comes to visual art or written copy, but i *can* say that when i worked in the oklahoma film industry, the most coveted jobs were always the commercials. great pay for relatively less work, with none of the complications that often arise working on amateur productions. not to mention they were union gigs, a rare enough thing in a right to work state, so anyone trying to make a career out of film work wanting to bank their union hours to qualify for IATSE membership always had their ears to the ground for an opening. which didn't come often because, as you might expect, anyone who *got* one of those jobs aimed to keep it as long as possible. who could blame em, either? one person i met who managed to get consistent ad work said they could afford to work all of two or three months a year, so they could spend the rest of their time doing low-budget productions and (occasionally) student films.

there was a time when this was the standard for the film industry, even in LA; you expected to work 3 to 5 shows a year (exact number's hard to estimate because production schedules vary wildly between ads, films, and tv shows) for six to eight months if not less, so you'd have your bills well covered through the lean periods and be able to recover from what is an enormously taxing job both physically and emotionally. this was never true for EVERYONE, film work's always been a hustle and making a career of it is often a luck-based crapshoot, but generally that was the model and for a lot of folks it worked. it meant more time to practice their skills on the job, sustainably building expertise and domain knowledge that they could then pass down to future newcomers. anything that removes such opportunities decreases the amount of practice workers get, and any increased demand on their time makes them significantly more likely to burn out of the industry early. lower pay, shorter shoots, busier schedules, these aren't just bad for individual workers but for the entire industry, and that includes the robust and well-funded advertising industry.

well, anyway, this year's coca-cola christmas ad was made with AI. they had maybe one person on quality control using an adobe aftereffects mask to add in the coke branding. this is the ultimate intended use-case for AI. it required the expertise of zero unionized labor, and worst of all the end result is largely indistinguishable from the alternative. you'll often see folks despair at this verisimilitude, particularly when a study comes out that shows (for instance) people can't tell the difference between real poetry and chat gpt generated poetry. i despair as well, but for different reasons. i despair that production of ads is a better source of income and experience for film workers than traditional movies or television. i despair that this technology is fulfilling an age-old promise about the disposability of artistic labor. poetry is not particularly valued by our society, is rarely taught to people beyond a beginner's gloss on meter and rhyme. "my name is sarah zedig and i'm here to say, i'm sick of this AI in a major way" type shit. end a post with the line "i so just wish that it would go away and never come back again!" and then the haiku bot swoops in and says, oh, 5/7/5 you say? that is technically a haiku! and then you put a haiku-making minigame in your crowd-pleasing japanese nationalist open world chanbara simulator, because making a haiku is basically a matter of selecting one from 27 possible phrase combinations. wait, what do you mean the actual rules of haiku are more elastic and subjective than that? that's not what my english teacher said in sixth grade!

AI is able to slip in and surprise us with its ability to mimic human-produced art because we already treat most human-produced art like mechanical surplus of little to no value. ours is a culture of wikipedia-level knowledge, where you have every incentive to learn a lot of facts about something so that you can sufficiently pretend to have actually experienced it. but this is not to say that humans would be better able to tell the difference between human produced and AI produced poetry if they were more educated about poetry! the primary disconnect here is economic. Poets already couldn't make a fucking living making poetry, and now any old schmuck can plug a prompt into chatgpt and say they wrote a sonnet. even though they always had the ability to sit down and write a sonnet!

boosters love to make hay about "deskilling" and "democratizing" and "making accessible" these supposedly gatekept realms of supposedly bourgeois expression, but what they're really saying (whether they know it or not) is that skill and training have no value anymore. and they have been saying this since long before AI as we know it now existed! creative labor is the backbone of so much of our world, and yet it is commonly accepted as a poverty profession. i grew up reading books and watching movies based on books and hearing endless conversation about books and yet when i told my family "i want to be a writer" they said "that's a great way to die homeless." like, this is where the conversation about AI's impact starts. we already have a culture that simultaneously NEEDS the products of artistic labor, yet vilifies and denigrates the workers who perform that labor. folks see a comic panel or a corporate logo or a modern art piece and say "my kid could do that," because they don't perceive the decades of training, practice, networking, and experimentation that resulted in the finished product. these folks do not understand that just because the labor of art is often invisible doesn't mean it isn't work.

i think this entire conversation is backwards. in an ideal world, none of this matters. human labor should not be valued over machine labor because it inherently possesses an aura of human-ness. art made by humans isn't better than AI generated art on qualitative grounds. art is subjective. you're not wrong to find beauty in an AI image if the image is beautiful. to my mind, the value of human artistic labor comes down to the simple fact that the world is better when human beings make art. the world is better when we have the time and freedom to experiment, to play, to practice, to develop and refine our skills to no particular end except whatever arbitrary goal we set for ourselves. the world is better when people collaborate on a film set to solve problems that arise organically out of the conditions of shooting on a live location. what i see AI being used for is removing as many opportunities for human creativity as possible and replacing them with statistical averages of prior human creativity. this passes muster because art is a product that exists to turn a profit. because publicly traded companies have a legal responsibility to their shareholders to take every opportunity to turn a profit regardless of how obviously bad for people those opportunities might be.

that common sense says writing poetry, writing prose, writing anything is primarily about reaching the end of the line, about having written something, IS the problem. i've been going through the many unfinished novels i wrote in high school lately, literally hundreds of thousands of words that i shared with maybe a dozen people and probably never will again. what value do those words have? was writing them a waste of time since i never posted them, never finished them, never turned a profit off them? no! what i've learned going back through those old drafts is that i'm only the writer i am today BECAUSE i put so many hours into writing generic grimdark fantasy stories and bizarrely complicated werewolf mythologies.

you know i used to do open mics? we had a poetry group that met once a month at a local cafe in college. each night we'd start by asking five words from the audience, then inviting everyone to compose a poem using those words in 10 to 15 minutes. whoever wanted to could read their poem, and whoever got the most applause won a free drink from the cafe. then we'd spend the rest of the night having folks sign up to come and read whatever. sometimes you'd get heartfelt poems about personal experiences, sometimes you'd get ambitious soundcloud rappers, sometimes you'd get a frat guy taking the piss, sometimes you'd get a mousy autist just doing their best. i don't know that any of the poetry i wrote back then has particular value today, but i don't really care. the point of it was the experience in that moment. the experience of composing something on the fly, or having something you wrote a couple days ago, then standing up and reading it. the value was in the performance itself, in the momentary synthesis between me and the audience. i found out then that i was pretty good at making people cry, and i could not have had that experience in any other venue. i could not have felt it so viscerally had i just posted it online. and i cannot wrap up that experience and give it to you, because it only existed then.

i think more people would write poetry if they had more hours in a day to spare for frivolities, if there existed more spaces where small groups could organize open mics, if transit made those spaces more widely accessible, if everyone made enough money that they weren't burned the fuck out and not in the mood to go to an open mic tonight, if we saw poetry as a mode of personal reflection which was as much about the experience of having written it as anything else. this is the case for all the arts. right now, the only people who can afford to make a living doing art are already wealthy, because art doesn't pay well. this leads to brain drain and overall lowering quality standards, because the suburban petty bouge middle class largely do not experience the world as it materially exists for the rest of us. i often feel that many tech CEOs want to be remembered the way andy warhol is remembered. they want to be loved and worshipped not just for business acumen but for aesthetic value, they want to get the kind of credit that artists get-- because despite the fact that artists don't get paid shit, they also frequently get told by people "your work changed my life." how is it that a working class person with little to no education can write a story that isn't just liked but celebrated, that hundreds or thousands of people imprint on, that leaves a mark on culture you can't quantify or predict or recreate? this is AI's primary use-case, to "democratize" art in such a way that hacks no longer have to work as hard to pretend to be good at what they do. i mean, hell, i have to imagine every rich person with an autobiography in the works is absolutely THRILLED that they no longer have to pay a ghost writer!

so, circling back around to the meat of your question. as far as telling people not to use AI because "you're just helping to train it," that ship has long since sailed. getting mad at individuals for using AI right now is about as futile as getting mad at individuals for not masking-- yes, obviously they should wear a mask and write their own essays, but to say this is simply a matter of millions of individuals making the same bad but unrelated choice over and over is neoliberal hogwash. people stopped masking because they were told to stop masking by a government in league with corporate interests which had every incentive to break every avenue of solidarity that emerged in 2020. they politicized masks, calling them "the scarlet letter of [the] pandemic". biden himself insisted this was "a pandemic of the unvaccinated", helpfully communicating to the public that if you're vaccinated, you don't need to mask. all those high case numbers and death counts? those only happen to the bad people.

now you have CEOs and politicians and credulous media outlets and droves of grift-hungry influencers hard selling the benefits of AI in everything everywhere all the time. companies have bent over backwards to incorporate AI despite ethics and security worries because they have a fiduciary responsibility to their shareholders, and everyone with money is calling this the next big thing. in short, companies are following the money, because that's what companies do. they, in turn, are telling their customers what tools to use and how. so of course lots of people are using AI for things they probably shouldn't. why wouldn't they? "the high school/college essay" as such has been quantized and stripmined by an education system dominated by test scores over comprehension. it is SUPPOSED to be an exercise in articulating ideas, to teach the student how to argue persuasively. the final work has little to no value, because the point is the process. but when you've got a system that lives and dies by its grades, within which teachers are given increasingly more work to do, less time to do it in, and a much worse paycheck for their trouble, the essay increasingly becomes a simple pass/fail gauntlet to match the expected pace set by the simple, clean, readily gradable multiple choice quiz. in an education system where the stakes for students are higher than they've ever been, within which you are increasingly expected to do more work in less time with lower-quality guidance from your overworked teachers, there is every incentive to get chatgpt to write your essay for you.

do you see what i'm saying? we can argue all day about the shoulds here. of course i think it's better when people write their own essays, do their own research, personally read the assigned readings. but cheating has always been a problem. a lot of these same fears were aired over the rising popularity of cliffs notes in the 90s and 2000s! the real problem here is systemic. it's economic. i would have very little issue with the output of AI if existing conditions were not already so precarious. but then, if the conditions were different, AI as we know it likely would not exist. it emerges today as the last gasp of a tech industry that has been floundering for a reason to exist ever since the smart phone dominated the market. they tried crypto. they tried the metaverse. now they're going all-in on AI because it's a perfect storm of shareholder-friendly buzzwords and the unscientific technomythology that's been sold to laymen by credulous press sycophants for decades. It slots right into this niche where the last of our vestigial respect for "the artist" once existed. it is the ultimate expression of capitalist realism, finally at long last doing away with the notion that the suits at disney could never in their wildest dreams come up with something half as cool as the average queer fanfic writer. now they've got a program that can plagiarize that fanfic (along with a dozen others) for them, laundering the theft through a layer of transformation which perhaps mirrors how the tech industry often exploits open source software to the detriment of the open source community. the catastrophe of AI is that it's the fulfillment of a promise that certainly predates computers at the very least.

so, i don't really know what to tell someone who uses AI for their work. if i was talking to a student, i'd say that relying chatgpt is really gonna screw you over when it comes time take the SAT or ACT, and you have to write an essay from scratch by hand in a monitored environment-- but like, i also think the ACT and SAT and probably all the other standardized tests shouldn't exist? or at the very least ought to be severely devalued, since prep for those tests often sabotages the integrity of actual classroom education. although, i guess at this point the only way forward for education (that isn't getting on both knees and deep-throating big tech) is more real-time in-class monitored essay writing, which honestly might be better for all parties anyway. of course that does nothing to address research essays you can't write in a single class session. to someone who uses AI for research, i'd probably say the same thing as i would to someone who uses wikipedia: it's a fine enough place to start, but don't cite it. click through links, find sources, make sure what you're reading is real, don't rely on someone else's generalization. know that chatgpt is likely not pulling information from a discrete database of individual files that it compartmentalizes the way you might expect, but rather is a statistical average of a broad dataset about which it cannot have an opinion or interpretation. sometimes it will link you to real information, but just as often it will invent information from whole cloth. honestly, the more i talk it out, the more i realize all this advice is basically identical to the advice adults were giving me in the early 2000s.

which really does cement for me that the crisis AI is causing in education isn't new and did not come from nowhere. before chatgpt, students were hiring freelancers on fiverr. i already mentioned cliffs notes. i never used any of these in college, but i'll also freely admit that i rarely did all my assigned reading. i was the "always raises her hand" bitch, and every once in a while i'd get other students who were always dead silent in class asking me how i found the time to get the reading done. i'd tell them, i don't. i read the beginning, i read the ending, and then i skim the middle. whenever a word or phrase jumps out at me, i make a note of it. that way, when the professor asks a question in class, i have exactly enough specific pieces of information at hand to give the impression of having done the reading. and then i told them that i learned how to do this from the very same professor that was teaching that class. the thing is, it's not like i learned nothing from this process. i retained quite a lot of information from those readings! this is, broadly, a skill that emerges from years of writing and reading essays. but then you take a step back and remember that for most college students (who are not pursuing any kind of arts degree), this skillset is relevant to an astonishingly minimal proportion of their overall course load. college as it exists right now is treated as a jobs training program, within which "the essay" is a relic of an outdated institution that highly valued a generalist liberal education where today absolute specialization seems more the norm. so AI comes in as the coup de gras to that old institution. artists like myself may not have the constitution for the kind of work that colleges now exist to funnel you into, but those folks who've never put a day's thought into the work of making art can now have a computer generate something at least as good at a glance as basically anything i could make. as far as the market is concerned, that's all that matters. the contents of an artwork, what it means to its creator, the historic currents it emerges out of, these are all technicalities that the broad public has been well trained not to give a shit about most of the time. what matters is the commodity and the economic activity it exists to generate.

but i think at the end of the day, folks largely want to pay for art made by human beings. that it's so hard for a human being to make a living creating and selling art is a question far older than AI, and whose answer hasn't changed. pay workers more. drastically lower rents. build more affordable housing. make healthcare free. make education free. massively expand public transit. it is simply impossible to overstate how much these things alone would change the conversation about AI, because it would change the conversation about everything. SO MUCH of the dominance of capital in our lives comes down to our reliance on cars for transit (time to get a loan and pay for insurance), our reliance on jobs for health insurance (can't quit for moral reasons if it's paying for your insulin), etc etc etc. many of AI's uses are borne out of economic precarity and a ruling class desperate to vacuum up every loose penny they can find. all those billionaires running around making awful choices for the rest of us? they stole those billions. that is where our security went. that is why everything is falling apart, because the only option remaining to *every* institutional element of society is to go all-in on the profit motive. tax these motherfuckers and re-institute public arts funding. hey, did you know the us government used to give out grants to artists? did you know we used to have public broadcast networks where you could make programs that were shown to your local community? why the hell aren't there public youtube clones? why aren't there public transit apps? why aren't we CONSTANTLY talking about nationalizing these abusive fucking industries that are falling over themselves to integrate AI because their entire modus operandi is increasing profits regardless of product quality?

these are the questions i ask myself when i think about solutions to the AI problem. tech needs to be regulated, the monopolies need breaking up, but that's not enough. AI is a symptom of a much deeper illness whose treatment requires systemic solutions. and while i'm frustrated when i see people rely on AI for their work, or otherwise denigrate artists who feel AI has devalued their field, on some level i can't blame them. they are only doing what they've been told to do. all of which merely strengthens my belief in the necessity of an equitable socialist future (itself barely step zero in the long path towards a communist future, and even that would only be a few steps on the even longer path to a properly anarchist future). improve the material conditions and you weaken the dominance of capitalist realism, however minutely. and while there are plenty of reasons to despair at the likelihood of such a future given a second trump presidency, i always try to remember that socialist policies are very popular and a *lot* of that popularity emerged during the first trump administration. the only wrong answer here is to assume that losing an election is the same thing as losing a war, that our inability to put the genie back in its bottle means we can't see our own wishes granted.

i dunno if i answered your question but i sure did say a lot of stuff, didn't i?

#sarahposts #ai #ai art #chatgpt #llm #genai #capitalism #unions #labor #workers rights #capitalist realism #longpost #sarahAIposts

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archangeldyke-all · 7 months ago

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For the arranged marriage au I thought it was so funny how readers mom was regretting setting her up with Sevika. Could we see more of that? Like it could be the morning after the last fic you wrote of them and they can barely get any of their responsibilities taken care of bc they’re all over each other and readers mother and sevs father has to keep reminding them 😭

That was just one thought I had so I hope that’s enough to help you out and get ideas flowing!

I LOVE THEM adl;fja;slkdj

men and minors dni

"you are in so much trouble, young lady."

you cringe in your mother's arms, her stern voice still the same after all this time.

sevika's taken you home for your third anniversary. as much as you love zaun, there's no place like home, and you've been dying to show sevika all over your kingdom since you moved to zaun.

you pull away from your hug with your mom to blink up at her. "hello to you too, mom. good to see you after all this time...?" you prompt. she rolls her eyes and pinches your cheek.

"yes, yes, you look amazing, i feel so old, i've missed you dearly. now tell me why the king of zaun has been writing me, begging me to get you under control?" she asks, her pinch on your cheek flying up to your ear.

you cringe and squirm. "mom!" you whine. "he pushes sev around too much, whaddya expect?" you manage to duck out of her pinch, and run into your dad's arms before she can grab you again.

he and sevika are laughing at the sight of the queen disciplining her daughter, and he kisses your throbbing earlobe when you hug him. "hello, dear." he greets. "it's so good to have you back. how long are you staying?"

"six months." sevika replies for you.

your mother groans at her answer.

you only end up staying for three.

about a month into your stay, you sneak sevika out of the palace walls to visit the hot springs you used to frequent as a rebellious teenager.

it takes a few nips of the liquor in the flask you'd brought along to convince her-- but you manage to get sevika to strip down naked with you and go for a swim.

it's magical, swimming and laughing and playing with your wife in the warm water, the moon your only witness.

"so this is what you did for fun growing up?" sevika asks when she's got you in her arms, your arms around her shoulders, your legs around her hips. she holds you easily in the water-- though she doesn't struggle out of the water with this either.

"this, and a whole lotta drinking games." you joke. sevika snorts.

"am i the first girl you ever brought here?" she asks.

you grin, and sevika ducks her head in embarrassment. "are you jealous baby?" you ask.

"'m a fucking princess. you're my wife. 'm not jealous." she mumbles.

you cackle, then swoop in to kiss the frown off her lips. "you're the first girl i ever brought here." you promise. her pout vanishes and she smiles.

"you're just saying that to make me feel better." she accuses. you laugh and nod along, and she groans.

"what the fuck! you brought other women here?!" she whines. your laughs are so loud, a few birds asleep in the trees overhead wake up and fly away. "who are they? i'll kill 'em." she demands.

you kiss your wife. "sev, darling, i was fifteen. we'd stick our feet in and pass a bottle-- i'd be lucky if i got a kiss." you say. she's still pouting, but it's lessening as you speak.

"so... they didn't see you naked?" she asks, her eyes ducking down to take a quick peek at your tits as she speaks. you burst into another round of laughter.

"no, they didn't. they didn't have their hands on my ass like this either." you say, gesturing to the way she's holding you. sevika's pout breaks into a cocky smile as she squeezes your asscheeks, and you giggle.

"fuckin' idiots. i'd've been all over you babe, i promise." she mumbles as she starts to press kisses down your throat. you snort.

"baby-- i've seen the royal portraits from when you were fifteen." you tease. she groans, biting your throat to keep you from speaking. you just tug her hair and continue. "i think you'd've been way too distracted by the stables and horses to give a fuck about skinny dipping."

sevika bites your shoulder and you yelp, and then she glares up at you. "you're never gonna let that go, are you?" she groans.

you giggle and shake your head no.

sevika was obsessed with horses in her adolescence, to the point where she demanded that she be painted alongside all her horses (both real and imaginary) for her fifteenth portrait. it's fucking adorable-- one of your favorite paintings of her in all of zaun. the childlike whimsy in her eyes, the excited grin on her lips, the ridiculous riding uniform that she was quickly outgrowing in the midst of puberty-- it's perfect. you've asked for a minature version to be painted so you can keep it in a locket.

sevika hates it. to distract you from your fond, adoring laughter, she pushes you against a stone, and shoves her tongue down your throat.

it's a pretty good distraction.

you moan, scratching sevika's shoulders in a weak attempt to pull her even closer to you.

just as her hand starts to trail up your thigh toward your cunt, a scandalized gasp rings out, followed by a clatter.

you and sevika jump apart, and then a moment later, sevika jumps in front of your naked body, protecting your naked body from view of your intruder.

only-- it's not an intruder.

it's holy elder reginald, and all his religious gear.

"oh my-- ladies!" he squeaks. you and sevika both cringe and quickly jump out of the water to begin dressing yourselves as reginald turns his back, but continues to shout. "it's the first full moon of spring! it's a holy day! these are holy waters! you are desecrating a landmark sacred to our peo--"

"sorry reggie!" you giggle, pulling your underwear back on and grabbing sevika's wrist. "i-i forgot about the moon magic stuff, zaun's all about the sun!"

this pisses the old man off even more, and you shrink in on yourself as he spins around to gawk at you. "the moon mag-- princess!" he scolds.

behind you, sevika tugs on your grasp. you giggle, then let her pull you back toward the dirt path you'd come in on, both of you sprinting away from the screaming old man, cackling as you run through the forest and back toward your palace.

when you get back to your room, both of you are delirious with laughter and embarrassment, laughing against one another hysterically as you try to kiss.

in the morning, your mother nearly rips your ear off your head with all the pinching she does as she scolds you. it's worth it for the way sevika blushes each time holy elder reginald attends a meeting with her, though.

two months into your visit, sevika almost causes an uprising a small fishing village when the two of you visit.

she doesn't mean to, it's just a cultural miscommunication, but you watched in horror as your wife is offered a precious, sacred scale from the great fish of your nation-- and she pops it in her mouth and starts chewing.

you gasp, choke, and then squeal. "sev, no!"

but, it's too late. she swallowed it. the ancient token of appreciation, acceptance, and leadership-- meant to be worn like a badge of honor-- right down the hatch.

"what, was there a sauce to dip it in or something?" she asks.

you had to put yourself between your wife and the mob of angry old fishermen, waving your hands and promising your people that your wife doesn't know the custom-- that most gifts in zaun are edible-- that, really, if you get to know her, she's very nice.

(then you have to rush her back home to the medic, because her stomach starts acting up and she starts shitting her pants. she spends the rest of the week in the royal infirmary.)

and then, the final straw-- three months into your visit back home, you and sevika attend a ball.

it's meant to be something lowkey and smiple-- there are a few foreign dignitaries visiting, and now that they have no children to raise, your parents are always looking for a reason to have a dance.

a casual affair-- just your family and the nobles, a few merchants, some townspeople who won tickets for a night at the palace in a lottery-- something easy and fun to take place in the courtyard on a lovely spring evening.

but then, he shows up.

sir trent. you grew up with the asshole-- his parents are invaluable consultants to your parents, but he's a worthless dickhead. constantly questioning your parents decisions, acting as if he could rule a country with ease despite the fact that he hasn't worked a day in his life, manipulating and demeaning everyone he meets in an attempt to boost his own ego.

you manage to avoid him most the night, you and sevika dancing and eating and drinking in your own little corner by the rose bushes, wrapped up in each other's eyes-- uncaring of the world around you.

but then he swaggers over, a smirk on his lips as he approaches you. "princess!" he greets.

you and sevika slow to a sway and you nod politely. "sir trent, good to see you."

"'s been a while, huh?" he asks. you nod, then turn back to sevika, assuming the conversation is over. "who's your lady friend?" he asks.

you stop in your tracks, then turn to face him fully, letting go of sevika's hips. "my wife?" you ask.

"oh, is that so?" he asks. you nod, not understanding his line of questioning. "so your parents finally relented to all your..." he waves his hand in your general direction. "stuff."

"my stuff?"

"your bullshit."

"excuse me--" sevika tries to cut in. you hold a hand up, and she stops, her chest just barely brushing your fingers.

"my bullshit?"

"how do the two of you expect to produce an heir?" he asks. "it's a disgrace to the entire royal bloodline."

"a bloodline you are not a part of." you remind him.

he scoffs, and takes a step back, his face turning red in anger. "fuck you."

"you fuckin' wish!" you laugh. trent shivers, and then his voice squeaks as he screams.

"i don't wish, princess, but if you ever need a sperm donor, i'd be willing to bend that wife of yours ov--"

you aren't sure what's happened until your knuckles start stinging.

trent's flat on his back, knocked out cold, his nose bloody. all the party guests have turned to face you, and the music's stopped.

you blink down at your hand, your knuckles bloody, and then you giggle.

oh. you think. i've always wanted to do that.

"...babe?" sevika asks.

you turn around, and sevika breaks into a grin the moment your eyes meet. "are you okay?" you ask, worried about the disgusting things he'd said to her. sevika cackles, and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss.

you vaguely register the conducter counting the band off, and the music starting again. a few hoots and cheers ring out around the courtyard, and you even hear your dad's loud, proud laugh.

when sevika's hand travels down to grab your ass, your mother's eerily loud throat-clear rings out. you both jump away guiltily, and turn to face the queen as she approaches you.

"i'm sorry mom, he w--"

"don't worry, dear, sir trent's always been my least favorite of the nobles." she whispers, kissing your cheek, and reaching out to hold sevika's hand. she sighs, then rolls her eyes. "that being said, i am kicking you two out of my kingdom."

you blink. "what?"

"i ask that you return to zaun before next week-- or i will have you forcibly deported." she says. you blink again.

"what!?"

"dear, if i let you stay any longer, the two of you will cause a fucking war." she says. "i love you. i've missed you. i am so happy you and sevika are happy and in love-- but i simply cannot deal with your mayhem anymore. your ban will be lifted next year, when you will be allowed to visit again for one month. that's it."

your mother turns on her heels and marches away, and you watch her go, shocked.

under your feet, trent starts to groan and blink awake.

beside you, your wife bursts into laughter.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re

@raphaellearp

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

195 notes · View notes

ficnation · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 4: Bon Appétit

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, 18+, SMUT A/n: I'm really putting off the inevitable here sksksksk. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3 Btw this is my first time writing explicit smut (unedited)

This is also another late piece to @the-slumberparty Bingo Card event (prompt: proposal) - > Events Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

When Will comes home that night after promising you he’ll only be gone for a few hours, he’s doing anything in his power not to look you in the eyes. He kept his word, coming back exactly three hours and twenty-six minutes later. You stare at him, intrigued. You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, but your mind screams at you that it can’t be anything good—it’s right, like always.

“I resumed my therapy with Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he informs you after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He still doesn’t look at you, as he takes off his jacket and boots.

“You did what?” You blink at him in confusion—utterly dumbfounded. The meaning of his words doesn’t even register in your brain.

“I’m going to keep on seeing Hannibal,” Will repeats in the same monotonous voice.

It hits you like a train, and your stomach churns at the thought of them sitting across from each other, talking about emotions and Will’s life. Your expression turns to one of disapproval as the man expected.

“After everything he’s done, after everything he put you through, why would you do that?”

Will doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell he’s struggling with his words. “There are things I need to learn about myself,” he says finally. “About what it’s like to be me.”

You stare at him, burning invisible holes in his head, trying to decipher what is truly happening here. The guilt that emanates from his person, the fact that he still can’t meet your gaze—it’s more than suspicious. The realization hits you even harder than the fact he wants to be anywhere near Hannibal Lecter.

“Why are you lying to me?” you ask, voice on the verge of breaking. You hate yourself for ever thinking that he trusts you completely after all those years apart. The tears gathering in your eyes are more angry than sorrowful.

For a moment, Will goes silent. The silence is thick, full of tension as the two of you remain in your positions—you watching him, and him with his back turned to you.

Then, he closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against a headache. He finally speaks, but only after turning slowly to face you. You immediately notice the pained expression on his face, the guilt that drips from his very skin.

“I have to keep seeing him.”

You go to protest again, but the sound of your voice cracks, and no words emerge. Will doesn’t wish to ever hear this noise from you again. It feels criminal—being the one who caused it. His heart breaks in a way it never did before—it stings like someone delivered it one thousand cuts.

You both remain silent for what feels like an eternity. Will doesn’t look away from you, and your eyes are locked on him, on that misery and pain staring right at you. No one moves, no one blinks, no one probably even breathes. Everything is still, except for your heart which aches even worse than it did before. The silence gets so thick you can almost feel it—touch it. For the life of you, you don’t want to be the one to break it.

You want to speak, beg, convince him to stop these mind games, to give you an explanation you could understand. But you choose to keep your mouth shut, slumping further into the cushions of the armchair.

Will’s eyes don’t leave you. They remain fixed on you as if willing you to speak, to tell him something that would make all of this suddenly go away. Anything.

He wants you to read his mind, and understand his pleas, but you can’t— and even if you could, you wouldn’t. You don’t do anything, don’t even move a muscle and after a few moments of waiting, Will finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want him to do this to anyone else,” he says. His words are soft and quiet, but they carry a weight that you feel in your chest.

“Yet you didn’t start with that. You chose to lie.”

Will sighs. He looks exhausted as if you’ve been here asking him questions for hours, even though it’s been twenty minutes at most.

“I didn’t want you to stop me. There, I said it,” he says. “It was hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done. Can you just cut me some slack over here?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know what to think or what to say about this whole situation. It seems absurd, and you have to remind yourself that you might’ve paused your story with Will Graham, but for him time has passed, things have changed.

You’re not proud of the words that leave you next. God, you wish you could just catch them in the air before they have a chance to reach his ears and put them back in your mouth.

“Change your fucking tone, Will.”

You’re shocked with your own words, but Will doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, not like most people would. He’s still staring at you, but you notice the slightest hint of amusement in his expression as if this new side of you intrigued him rather than annoyed him.

“You don’t like me speaking to you like that, my dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes no attempts to sound serious—just enough to make you laugh, but his words carry weight. He’s genuinely curious.

Will Graham just called you “my dear” and your whole face warms up at this term of endearment as you observe him fall to one knee in front of your person.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, confused, butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest.

Will takes his time to reply, his eyes scanning you and your reactions. He seems to enjoy the sight of you flustered, barely keeping up with what’s happening right in front of your face. His heart skips a beat more than twice in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m proposing.”

The words seem so absurd that you half expect him to break the tension with a quick joke, but he doesn’t. His gaze is glued to you, his words as serious as they can be. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. Your mind is frozen.

“What the fuck, Will?”

Will grins at that and shakes his head as if he’d expected your reaction to be no different. He keeps his stance, one knee on the floor, as he stares at you affectionately—with so much love you’re surprised he doesn’t explode from it. The man is enjoying your confusion and the fact that he managed to pull it out of you. He’s not ashamed to admit it, either.

“That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for,” he says quietly and in a matter of time, his hand is on your thigh, tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “You were always going to say no for the first time.”

You blink at him, trying to coax out words from within you, but you don’t find any. That only makes you even more confused, and your expression turns to a frown. Is he really… asking you to marry him?

“I know, I’m quite the romantic.” He pauses, trying to stifle his chuckle. “Do you want me to ask you the usual way?”

“Will, are you serious?” you ask, your voice so gentle the words barely sound like they’re yours. Will only nods his head. “I don’t want you to ask at all. I want us to get married as soon as possible.”

He reaches down to grab your hands in his. “I never believed in marriage. I’m not sure if I do now either,” he admits awkwardly, playing with your fingers. “But I really want to hear people call you Mrs. Graham.”

Your heart jumps as he speaks as if you’d been waiting for him to admit those words for years. The words sink in slowly and your eyes become distant, as if you’d been taken back in time. A warm feeling spreads across your chest like you just swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one ginormous gulp.

“You know I can’t say no.” Your words are quiet and soft. He pulls you down onto his lap, his hands still around your fingers as he brings them to his chest. “Can I call you mine too?”

“Always,” Will replies, his voice low and quiet, but full of love and emotion. “It’s been you all along.”

A soft smile rests on your face as you look down at him. Your head is right above his, but you decide to close the tiny distance between you by leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. You feel your heart race as you do so.

“Did you come up with this to distract me?” Your voice is playful, but the air around you is thick and humid.

Will leans forward and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, hugging you tight. Your fingers play with his curls, his head back on your chest. The whole weight of him hangs onto you like all the sins in the world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, even though he seems serious.

You can feel his body shift, and suddenly Will presses you firmly against the growing hardness inside his jeans. The whimper that pushes past your lips as you feel it through the thin layer of your pajama pants is downright desperate. You both can’t hide the fact that your breaths are becoming more irregular, muscles tensing under each other’s hands.

“I like being distracted like this,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against his temple.

A low growl comes from the man’s chest. You’re close enough to the source of the sound to feel the vibration against your body. He presses his face to your neck, taking in the scent of your skin like he’s oxygen-deprived.

“Should I distract you too, Will?” you ask him quietly, tugging at his tousled hair.

“You’ve done enough, dear. I’m already distracted.” His voice is soft, and his words catch in his throat. Will doesn’t seem to have a single rational thought going through his head. It’s like all he can process is his need for you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was a spell cast on him. “I want you.” His hand moves to your hip, and he presses into you harder, your breath catching in your throat. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him of anything his soul could ever want or need? You don’t wait for more encouragement as your fingers start working on hastily unbuttoning his shirt. They trace the smooth lines of his chest, the scars that mark his skin, and every little detail of him—every part of his history that he once saw as a defect. It’s not. It’s who he is, who he’s always been—his past is a part of what made him the Will you know and love.

Your fingers slowly make their way down to his belt and unclasp it too in one go. You graze over his hardness on accident, already feeling its heat through the thin layer. You let out a whimper and your whole brain starts to short-circuit.

“Slowly.” Will’s voice is hoarse and raw, his fingers digging deeply into the skin of your hip. “I want to see you.”

The man doesn’t waste any time in waiting for your reaction as his hand moves up to your face. His touch is gentle as it pushes back your hair, his fingertips rubbing against the skin behind your ear before they start pursuing the shape of your neck—every muscle and tendon.

“Slowly,” he repeats, and you can’t help but groan.

Nevertheless, you obey, letting your hands explore every surface of his flesh again like he’s the perfect puzzle that you need to solve. His own mirror yours, sliding below the thin layer of your t-shirt, grazing over your navel, and pushing upwards.

Every move you make leaves its mark, causing his body to tremble even more. His breath becomes so uneven, you think he might fall apart at any moment. The mere sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes, like that,” he mumbles, and his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers these words. His hand moves again and starts to tug at your shirt.

You help him remove it in one go, left in only your plaid pajama bottoms. Will’s touch is familiar, one you could never forget—not like the dozen strangers through the past few years, you never even remembered their faces come tomorrow morning. But his touch sets you ablaze—burns and soothes at the same time, it’s unforgettable.

Will reaches up to pull your head against his so that you’re staring straight at one another. His touch is gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that you can’t mistake. His lips slowly approach yours with such an intense need that you can read it in his gaze. Even though he doesn’t say it, you feel that this kiss is more than just desire—it’s a need to be as close to you as possible, to never let you go again. His tongue delves inside your mouth, and you sigh into it.

The feeling of your skin pressed against his leaves Will desperate, his mind so overwhelmed and in a haze, he can’t even form the words to describe the sensation. His hand keeps moving as if your flesh were an addiction. The sound that leaves from his throat is something so close to a purr—he’s almost embarrassed.

You feel his body tensing, his muscles flexing against yours, and your skin feels hot and all too sensitive. He’s taking advantage of this moment to touch you anywhere he can reach. His fingers leave no inch of your skin unexplored as he slowly begins to lower your pajama bottoms.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The sound of your voice draws Will’s eyes closed as he inhales deeply.

Will’s fingers glide down toward your legs, and he looks as if all his dreams are coming true at once. You see his eyes flicker open, and he looks at you with such intensity, such concentration, that it’s hard to breathe as you’re pulled along by an invisible force. He finally lets go of your chin so that he can drag your pajamas down further until they’re thrown across the room.

You take his hands in yours, placing them over your breasts. And it’s only when his teeth drag across your neck, from just above your collarbone down to the crook of your shoulder, that he loses it completely.

There’s no being slow or gentle when he pushes you away, standing up and pulling you to your feet. You take hurried steps back as he nudges you toward the bed. Soon enough, your calves hit the mattress and you fall back onto the blue duvet. You don’t even have a chance to take a breath, Will is hovering over you, elbows on each side of your head.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, looking deep into your eyes—so deep you’re afraid he can see the broken soul behind them.

You help him push his jeans and boxers down the length of his legs. The second they’re no longer an obstacle, Will’s fingers delve between your thighs, circling your clit teasingly with the gentlest of touches. Your lips part in a gasp, hands falling onto the covers to clench them in your fists.

“Will, please,” you plead between whimpers. He was the only one who could ever bring you to the point of begging, and you hope he knows it somewhere deep within.

The man faces you with glassy eyes, swiping the tip of his tongue over his bottom lips. He doesn’t need you to say anything more, he just nods feverishly and lets your fingers guide him inside. The sensation of your heat gripping him tightly makes him groan, lips falling agape. You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back, and pull him even closer.

“Will,” you moan his name against his lips.

It spurs him on, makes him even more eager to please you. He draws back almost completely, then buries himself inside you again in one smooth motion. Your thighs tremble visibly, and it almost makes him smile. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, fingers tugging on his curls.

Will rocks into you deep and steady, one of his hands digging into the meat of your thigh with so much force it hurts—but goddamn, you love this kind of pain. And he makes it feel even more heavenly when his thumb begins to trace circles over your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to take you over the edge—hard and fast—turning you into a mindless, hot, whimpering mess. You mumble his name over and over again as your heat pulses around his length, making him come just a few moments after you. He claims your mouth with his, making you taste your name on his lips. God, does it taste heavenly.

Night came quicker than you realized, covering the sky with bright stars and a full moon. Despite it, it’s not pitch black outside. The shimmering snow reflects the shining lights, fighting off the darkness well enough. It doesn’t make you feel any less threatened, even though it should.

You’re wrapped only in the blue duvet that covered the bed, as you lie on your side, facing Will, who’s already asleep. His bare thigh is right against yours, and the heat of his skin is almost impossible to resist. You let your eyes wander across his body, his physique—he looks like a sculpture, a masterpiece of flesh and bone.

Your body still aches from his touch, and you feel like you’re a puddle of emotions with the sole mission of holding love, affection, and desire for him. You’re about as far away from being “fine” as possible. You didn’t even get a chance to tell him you’ll be working together from now on. He doesn’t know he’s allowed back in BAU, and you wonder if you should leave him unknowing for as long as possible. It’s not your greatest idea, but the idea of him breaking beyond repair terrifies you.

You try to calm your heart as it races and skips a beat every time his body shifts—the smallest movement seems like it could wake him up. But as you lie there in the darkness, his hand reaches out and finds its rightful place on your thigh again, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The sensation makes you almost jump out of your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you awake?” he asks with half-closed eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply softly, wanting to touch him back, but not sure if you should.

“I figured,” he murmurs. “You didn’t sleep much yesterday either.”

You sigh sadly, you didn’t think he’d noticed. His hand moves up your thigh, almost instinctively, until it touches you just below your hip. It stops there, and your eyelashes flutter at its warmth against your skin.

“You can touch me.” Will’s voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your fingers slip under the duvet, so the fabric doesn’t block your touch, and you begin to trace the outline of his leg with the tips of your fingers. Will’s eyes finally open, and he looks almost nervous at the intimate touch—until you find the spot where he’s ticklish. He lets out an adorable whimper, so naturally, you laugh and keep going.

“No, no, please stop,” Will moans, trying to fight back his chuckles, squirming as he tries to get away from your touch. The whole time he’s half-smiling, his fingers digging into the duvet for stability. He tries to grab your hands, but it only makes you laugh harder.

You find another ticklish spot on the side of his torso and continue to tease him. Eventually, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you watch Will scoot back, out of your reach. Your sour mood from before is gone in an instant.

Will moves up so that he’s sitting up against the wall, practically on the edge of the bed, and he looks almost offended by your reaction. Your gaze shifts, so you can get a fuller view of him.

“I’m not as ticklish as you think,” he says, his tone serious, though you can still hear a tremble in his voice. “If you wanted to see me squirm,” he adds, “you could’ve found a different method.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you immediately pull the sheets up to cover the bottom part of your face, trying to hide your flustered reaction from his eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he says, his voice just a whisper, almost as if he was afraid that anything above a murmur could wake the dogs sleeping by the fireplace. “So adorable.”

Will’s hand rests on your head, his fingers playing with the strands of hair that cover your ears. You can feel him studying you—how your nose twitches and your eyes almost close as you wait for his next words. Something about it feels intimate as if he’s taking in every detail of your expression one by one. It’s been a while since he’s done that, you didn’t even realize how much you missed it.

“You can pull it down, you know,” he says playfully, his hand still in your hair. “This must be suffocating.”

“I know,” you say quietly, as you pull the sheets down from your face.

Will’s fingers interlace with yours, and you can feel his thumb circling your wrist.

“And yes, it is a bit suffocating.” You pull the sheets down to your collarbones, and a chill runs through your body as the cold air touches your arms. “Maybe you can warm me up.”

Will smiles—a small, sweet smile, with a bit of mischief thrown in. “Maybe I can,” his tone is playful as he pulls you close, your cheek finding a home on his chest, right above his heart.

After a few long minutes of silence and listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, you turn to face him, resting your chin above his pec.

“We’re back on the team, you know?” you mumble almost mindlessly.

Will looks down at you, his expression gentle as he caresses your hair.

“I know.”

His gaze trails down your face and lingers on your lips for a brief moment before it shifts again. There are so many things Will wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it—he fears it would ruin these quiet, peaceful moments between you two.

You don’t question how he already knows that, choosing instead to voice your other thoughts—ones that’ve been on your mind almost the whole day. “What did Alana want from you?”

Will’s hand pauses against your face when you bring up her name, and for a moment he seems speechless, which is rare a thing for him.

“I…” He trails off but then speaks again as if he’s found the courage to say the words. “Alana wants me to stay away from Hannibal,” he says quietly, his fingers moving on your cheeks, your brows, your chin, as if his hand isn’t allowed to stay still for a second without touching the flesh it can. “She’s sleeping with him.”

“Why does she want you to stay away?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

You don’t even blink at his confession, there’s no fear in your gaze—no ounce of surprise. There was a time in your life when this revelation would’ve shocked you, broken you in half, but after your father’s death, when you’re faced with it, it’s… easy to handle. Will expected this kind of indifference, he knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t judge nor be afraid.

“How?”

Will lets your question hang in the air for a long minute before he speaks. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Not by my hand—not like that,” he starts. “Hannibal has a lot of… a lot of hold over me,” he pauses again, “he made me want to do it.” It’s probably the most vulnerable, the most genuine explanation Will has given anyone. He’s speaking to you from the heart and in pure honesty. “An opportunity fell on my lap to send someone after him, so I took it.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment—it makes sense to you. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

A hint of a smile appears on Will’s face. He moves his fingers to the nape of your neck and to caress the lines of your ear—it’s something he always used to do when he was thinking and you were nearby. “Alana’s very upset with me.”

Will’s other hand slides over your thigh, his fingers teasing the skin, almost as if he was trying to test it, like a cat with a piece of string. He’s still thinking when his hand starts to move upwards, closer to your hip.

“Don’t take it to heart,” you advise him, leaving a soothing peck on his jaw. It was the best you could do.

“I’m trying.” He laughs in a low rumble, his hand moving between your legs and your whole body tenses. “I’m trying,” he says again.

The touch is so soft and gentle—almost teasing, yet your body seems to be craving it. It makes him nervous, but also excited, and when he closes his eyes his head just falls back to rest against the wall, his teeth showing as he breathes in deeply.

“Would you have done this if I…” his words trail off into silence as the man doesn’t seem certain about how to finish his sentence. He looks at you, his face revealing all the questions that he doesn’t dare to ask.

You grasp his jaw between your hands, encouraging him to speak his mind, but being unconditionally patient at the same time. He tries to say something again, then changes his mind. It’s as if he’s playing a constant game with you, trying to reach into your mind without opening his mouth like most people do.

“If you…”

“If I was still the same,” he mumbles out finally.

“Will, you are still the same person. Perhaps a little more broken than before, but it’s still you.”

Will stays silent and still for a minute with his eyes closed, his hand still between your legs. The tips of his fingers keep barely touching you, almost a caress, although a bit harsher than before. His lids flutter open, so you can see his face as it’s lit by the moonlight.

“There’s something I’d like you to promise,” he says cautiously as if every word is carefully thought out before he speaks it aloud. “Promise me that you’ll keep trusting in me... even if you don’t understand.”

Will’s hand moves up from between your legs so that he can touch your waist and hold you in place. The fingers of his other hand stroke your face down to the side of your neck, and you can feel how your heart starts to beat faster and faster with each touch.

“I will always trust you, Will. Just never lie to me again, have a little faith in me too.”

Will lets his eyes fall down to your lips again, and he can’t help but bite his own in response. As if he was trying to hold himself together but the urge to kiss you was almost too strong, the way his gaze kept shifting.

When his lips touch yours—it’s a long, slow kiss, deep and gentle at the same time. He holds you in place, your hips pressed against his as if he doesn’t want you to move, even a centimeter. And you don’t dream of being anywhere else but here—by his side.

“I love you, Will.”

#eat your heart out #smut #mdni #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannigram #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #will graham

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metaliczz · 8 months ago

Text

Charles Leclerc imagine

In which Charles gets jealous of how other men act towards you.

I haven't been active for the past month but I'm working on it. Things got very bad but I'm working my way through it. I've been thinking about new prompts for my writing. I might also start a book about Charles x reader. I've got a couple ideas in my mind. Anyways, enjoy :)

During the past seven days, you have been going out more because of the lack of presence of Charles. He had received tons of calls asking him to interview him, big brands wanted him for advertisements and even his own ice cream company needed some adjustments. Charles kept apologizing to you about how he wouldn't be able to be there for you as much as he used to. However, you said it was okay knowing that it hurt you inside. You hid your emotions to not make him worried and cancel all of those opportunities that had made his way to him.

You knew Charles would be back in about two days but you didn't stop going out. Almost every day you had been going to parties and events with your group of friends. As much as you hated being away from Charles, you had to admit that having fun with friends and attending events that always had a twist of actions to it was something you always liked. You liked the unpredictable and the wildness of it all.

"(Y/N), where are we going now?" Your friend asked, scrolling on an app that located nearby parties.

"Let's go wherever it's most crowded." You answered, getting ready.

"Awesome." She responded, looking at the information of the party with the most people there is.

A few knocks were heard at your front door and you quickly went downstairs to open it. As you expected, the rest of your friend group was there. You yelled of excitement and so did they all. You let them in and somehow, music started playing from your speaker.

"So, ladies, where are we going next huh?" One of your friends said.

"There's this party a couple minutes away and apparently there's gonna be a shit ton of people. I think around six hundred or something."

"SIX HUNDRED?! Girl we better run to that party as soon as possible. I need to get drunk and meet hot men."

You laughed and put your stuff away now that you were ready. You and your friends headed out to the party.

"This is AMAZING!" You exclaimed as you poured yourself another drink.

The music was loud and booming through your ears. There was a dance floor, which you took the opportunity to bust some moves. Your friends and some other men hyped you up as you kept laughing and drinking.

Once you sat back down at a table, a man came up to you. You looked at him and waited for him to speak.

"Hi." He said.

"Hey?" You answered.

"You have amazing moves, man. I haven't seen anyone like you before." He said as he sat down in front of you.

"Thanks! It's definitely the alcohol that's getting me like this." You replied as you started to laugh uncontrollably again.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"(Y/N), you?"

"Peter."

"Cool."

"Wanna get out of here?" Peter asked, waiting for you to agree.

You didn't say anything in return. A weird feeling covered your entire body. You didn't know what it was.

"Excuse me." You finally said, getting up.

You made your way to the bathroom which, luckily, was empty. You looked at yourself in the mirror and turned the cold water on. You put some cold water on the back of your neck and some on your face.

"(Y/N)! Come out!" One of your friends practically yelled.

"Okay!" You opened the door.

Your friend didn't even have time to tell you what was going on before you saw him. Charles was there, yelling at the man that had approached you a few minutes ago. You were so confused. He was gone for business purposes and now there he was.

"Charles! What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. I cancelled an appointment because I wanted to be with you."

"How did you find me? I didn't tell you I was here."

"Your location was on." He murmured.

"What the hell is going on here?" The other man, Peter, asked.

"You talked to my girlfriend, that's what's going on here." Charles answered, his voice loud and sharp.

"Okay, now. Let's get out of here." You said and grabbed Charles' arm, pulling him away.

"You're too drunk (Y/N). Let me take care of you." Charles said, his voice softening. He picked you up and took you to his car. He carefully put you in it and drove you to his place.

When you got to his place, Charles took your heels off for you and placed you in his bed. He changed you into his clothes and took the rest of your makeup off. A few hours later, you got more sober.

"Charles..."

"It's okay chérie." (darling)

"I barely remember anything of what happened."

"There was this guy that approached you."

"Right."

"I don't like how other men look at you. I hate it. You're so beautiful." Charles said, getting next to you in his bed and pulling you closer to him.

Your head was in his chest. His hand on the back of your head and the other one around your waist. You wrapped your arms around his back, it being too big for your arms to wrap around fully around it.

Charles kept giving you small kisses on your head and on your face. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling. His kisses trailed down to your neck and then back up to your face again. He played with your hair as he kept telling you how much he loved you and how he was sorry he wasn't there for you this week. He said he was sorry for letting that other man approach you at the party. He told you he was sorry about everything, then made sure to kiss you multiple times again. Charles was obsessed with you. He always needed you by his side. You were his reason to keep going and never give up on life.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #cute #f1 #f1 blurb #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #fandom #charles leclerc smut #x yn #your name #romantic #romance #f1 fic #fiction #fictive

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bodybeyondstories · 3 months ago

Note

story prompt: A tailor has the power to enchant clothes to change the wearers body and does so when clients have unreasonable asks. like a guy with a flat butt ask for pants that flatter his rear so the tailor inflates his butt out of proportion…that kind of thing

My first thought with this was what if there was some sort of less than ethical business model based on forming a runaway positive feedback loop where someone had to keep coming back to have clothes altered and then ended up altered in some way, which would be fun to write eventually. Here I riffed on some classic careful-what-you-wish-for ass expansion.

1313 words

_____________

"You might have to adjust the seat a little, I've been hitting leg day pretty hard." Danny glanced down at me with an expectant smirk as I ran the measuring tape across his backside.

"Whatever you say, Cake Boss," I said, pretending the number wasn't exactly what it always was. "I might need to run and get a few more yards of fabric for this dump truck."

"Big butts are in style and I need to show off these gains." He swung his hips back toward the mirror to check himself out, eyes focusing expectantly on an unremarkable backside.

Are the gains in the room with us now? I thought, chuckling out loud.

Danny and I were good friends, and as such, he occasionally took advantage of the very generous friends and family discount for my tailoring services. This time, he wanted to get his suit refitted for the upcoming commitment ceremony of our mutual friends and favorite throuple, Jean, Gene, and Jerome, who were officially, begrudgingly, tying the three way knot. He had been through my shop no less than six times in the past several months, begging for an adjustment of this or that pair of trousers in anticipation of whatever new workout routine he had jumped into. He was obsessed with his ass, specifically--tragically--its undeniable flatness. I was a damn good tailor, but I could only do so much. News I had to break to him on a regular basis.

"Can't you like, work your magic or something?" he asked, winking down at me.

I thought for a long moment and relented, feet taking me toward the back of the shop. "I can try."

I reached behind my desk and pulled out a well worn notebook, decorated by decades of page folding, sticky noting, coffee staining, and annotating. It was one of many strange, sentimental pieces of inheritance I received from my mother, a practitioner of the craft who disappeared with her coven years ago. I was left with half memories of their gatherings, what little training I had paid attention to growing up, and of course, this notebook, my own annotations slowly forming a cross-generational palimpsest.

Occasionally, especially with my more tedious clients, I'll let my hobby cross into the tailoring business, enchanting the fabric with whatever magical push the wearing needs to feel their best self.

I pulled out a container of ink--hand made from ingredients foraged sustainably under the light of a full moon--and drew out what I hoped was the right mix of sigils for illusion and manifestation, sprinkled with a little bit of chaos, to give Danny the booty of his dreams. I stitched the small slip of paper into the waistband of his pants and handed them back to try on.

He slipped each leg in and pulled them up his toned quads, gasping as he stopped suddenly at the top of his hamstrings. What usually slipped on with minimal effort was now blocked by a perky bubble butt perched behind him.

"Nice!" he exclaimed, giving his newly hefty ass a jiggle. "I knew you could do it."

---

I rolled into the ceremony just as it was starting and posted up in one of the empty rows towards the back. As I passed the gaggle of bridesmates, gentlethems, attendants and henchmen (they all got to pick their own terms), Danny gave me a wink and a thumbs up, adjusting his waistline as the procession began.

As they walked down the aisle, I got a better look at my handiwork, and apparently so did everyone else. When he had left my shop his ass had looked delectably round and perky, but the pair of cheeks fighting for space as he strutted towards the front were on another level. They looked big. Really big.

Maybe it was the light? I tried to convince myself with a twinge of worry. I kept my gaze as professional as possible as he stood at the front with the rest of the attendants with his shoulders squared and hands clasped firmly in front of him. As the ceremony progressed, he seemed increasingly uncomfortable, squirming in place as he shifted from one foot to the other, the tails of his suit jacket riding up over his meaty buns.

Those cheeks were definitely bigger than they were during the fitting. In fact, they were bigger than they were twenty minutes ago. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and small winces of discomfort confirmed what I--and likely others--had picked up on. His ass was inflating imperceptibly but undeniably.

Something must have gone wrong with the spell. Or maybe something went too right? I don't know. I hoped I could intervene before things got out of hand, but time was quickly running out on that plan. The attendant behind him took a step back as his ass slowly ballooned from his otherwise slim frame, straining the fabric of his pants to their limit.

Even a magically enhanced pair of trousers can only take so much. When Jean, Gene, and Jerome were two thirds of the way through the sharing of vows, the seat of Danny's pants finally gave way, revealing his now basketball sized buns spilling into the open air clad in a pair of plaid bikini briefs.

A shockwave of gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd. "Ooo girl," "Need his leg routine," "The whole bakery..." could be heard among the general whispers of surprise and politely restrained chuckles. Danny, face a flush of embarrassment, tried to hold what remained of the seat of his pants together as he slunk away, the attendant behind him quickly taking his place before the soon to be betrothed could notice the commotion or his wildly jiggling buns disappearing out of sight.

I found him behind the reception tent, clutching my handbag full of emergency repair materials for just this situation. But I quickly came to realize that some heavy duty thread and patches wouldn't be enough.

"Dude, it won't stop!" he exclaimed, trying and failing to cover the globes of his ass. "What do we do?!"

"Okay, um," I said, grasping wildly for solutions, "I have my notebook, I can try and figure something out on the fly. Just take your pants off and the growth should stop."

"...I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't!" he snapped, turning to show me the waistband stuck just below his hips, unbuttoned and stretched to the limit yet still woefully incapable of making it over his massive--and still slowly expanding--posterior.

"Okay, Plan B," I said, reaching into my bag. I brandished a seam ripper as I turned him around and traced the waistband of his pants until I found where I had installed the sigil. "Wow," I muttered, marveling at a pair of globular, gravity defying glutes that were nothing short of a work of art.

"What's up?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just...it's a lot..."

"Yeah I think we've all figured that out. Can we address this crisis while I still have any hope of wearing normal clothes?"

"Right." I snapped back into focus, searching along the seams for my signature stitch. "Found it!" I beamed, slicing through with one deft cut and yanking the sigil from the fabric.

"Thank fuck," he whispered. "Can you stitch this back up before the reception?"

"Yeah, I should have everything here, just let me--"

I was cut off by the unmistakable soft staccato of seams tearing. With the spell broken, and the pants returned to their mundane state, the overstressed fabric no longer stood a chance against the melons ballooning from Danny's lower back. Seams split one after the other as what was left of his pants fluttered apart, revealing every extensive curve of his beyond bodacious butt.

"Okay," I said. "I might have some spandex in the car."

#male tf #butt growth #ass expansion #prompt #ask #do some pants end up splitting?#you better fuckin believe it

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dirtyslag96 · 10 months ago

Text

Idiots in love-James Maguire

Pairing: James Maguire/fem!reader

Rating: PG-16

Words: 1,331 words

Warnings: Fluff, Lying, Curse words, use of Y/N, love interests being idiots in love and oblivious to eachothers love for the other, not proof read

Synopsis: You notice James subtly trying to get your attention and you're not sure why, so you try to find out as you perhaps started developing feelings for the Brit. you're sure of one thing, and that no matter how hard you had tried to lie, he will find out.

a/n: based on prompt #1018 from this list (“Shut up, I’m trying to confess my love to you.”) ". requested by @themallonbisexualmess , also I would appreciate some tips since I'm still new to writing fics, also dialogue between the five will be characterised by the colour, Y/N, Orla, Erin, James, Michelle, Clare

The first day you met James you considered him quite odd, not only because he was English but also he was attending an all girls school and was somehow Michelle Mallon's cousin.

All six of you were sat at Erin and Orla's house after school playing board games when suddenly the home telephone rings.

"would someone go get that its making me deaf for Christ's sake", said Erin.

"Gerry make yourself useful would ya", announced Joe, clearly annoyed by Erin's father.

Gerry looked confused but nevertheless walked over to answer, "Hello?, Yeah she's right here", a couple of seconds later, "I'll let her know"

"Y/N, your parents want you back home in 10 minutes"

"Oh, isn't it a bit early? did they tell you why?", you were confused since it was still 9 o'clock and your parents usually have you curfew by 12.

"No, would you like a ride home?", you never understood why Joe hated Erin's dad so much considering he was the most thoughtful and caring one of all your parents.

"For fuck's sake Y/N did you do something?", Michelle alway commented on everything happening.

"Yeah its a bit weird"

"James, how many times have I told you we do not care"

Seeing James' dissapointed face made you even sadder you were leaving early, though you never understood why your mood also often depended on his. Perhaps you had feelings for him? no, you wouldn't believe it even if you did.

"I'll be on my way then, see you tomorrow", involuntarily you felt yourself looking at James. "Thank you Gerry I would appreciate it if you got me a ride home"

"Bye Y/N!", all of them shouted.

"Finally being useful for once", you heard Joe snicker as you left out the door.

The next day, you had told Clare about it, she said that you definitely have some feelings for him, since you trusted Clare's judgement you've started noticing that James mostly starts conversations directly to you. Clare also had pointed out that when the Ukrainian girl showed up hitting on James, that you had been more closed off and easily exasperated than usual.

The six of you were suspended since Michelle and James had broken the statue "The Child of Prague", while arguing so you all had agreed to meet up at Erin's place for the week. Your mix of emotions towards James had led you to unintentionally start avoiding him, surprisingly Michelle and Clare had been subtly trying push you two together. You speculated that Clare must've told Michelle or that they had also felt a drift between you and James.

Orla pulled out a board game that had the six of you pair up into three teams of two, to decide who would be paired together you all wrote your names at placed it in a random jar that Erin found in the kitchen.

"Orla and...", Clare!", Erin said as she was the one who pulled out the names.

"Interesting..", muttered Orla as Clare took in a loud sigh.

"Y/N and..", "James!", was the universe really fucking with you? you look at him, seeing his happy face made you feel things you never expected to feel for James, then you attempted to avert his gaze but soon enough you looked up to his disappointed and baffled face to why you were trying to avoid him.

Michelle noticed the tension between you two so she broke the deafening silence, "So that leaves me n' you Erin, this is rank".

"Start without me I don't feel well I feel like throwing up, I'll be up in the bathroom", in truth you wanted to be as far away from James as you can so you practically dash upstairs to Erin's toilet. The rest of the five looked quite baffled since nothing seemed wrong with you but you have been acting rather weird these past few days.

You heard a pair of footsteps coming up the stairs and you assumed someone had come up looking for you, you heard a knock on the door, you were praying it wasn't him. But then again you heard knocking again and a voice, James' voice "Y/N are you okay in there?".

You had two options either lie and say you were sick or...

"Y/N!", his voice yet again heard, interrupts your train of thoughts, so you slowly walk over to the bathroom door and open it.

"oh.. hey you said you weren't feeling well so I came up here to check on you but you seem fine right now", right now you couldn't have felt any better since he came up here concerned, the way his hair was ruffled yet tidy, the way his accent affected his words, and his voice.

You remained quiet for a long time, "uh-i guess I didnt need to throw up after all", you said as you tried to push past him to get out of the small bathroom that could have suffocated both of you with the amount of tension in the air.

To your surprise he shifted quickly, blocking you and closing the door acting like a shield. "what-"

"no, I don't get it you've been avoiding me! why? did I do something wrong for fuck's sake Michelle even noticed! she asked if I annoyed you but I would never do it on purpose just please tell what is going on!", his outburst surprised since usually he was quiet and self preserved.

"there's nothing wrong James I don't know where you're getting that idea from"

slowly he stepped forward before he spoke, "you are lying, I can tell-"

"I-, what? this is ridiculous James let me out of here!"

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the rest of the group followed James upstairs and are now listening to your conversation through the door.

"No! not until you tell me what's wrong, have I upset you, , I notice everything about you don't you get it Y/N- ?", his face nearly made you crumble, you felt bad for irritating him as much as you are right know but you are not confessing why you have been avoiding him.

"for crying out loud, no James you haven't upset me in any way shape or form, this is stupid-", you were both cutting each other off, he was not letting you lie, while you were trying not to let him catch on to your feelings.

"Would you shut up, I have been trying to confess my emotions of love to you all week, and you have been simply ignoring that do you know how hurt I felt thinking I had upset you or something!”

You were in genuine shock and you were sure you heard a few gasps from outside the door.

"Do you actually feel that way James? because if so then so do I.."

Like magnets, you both came forward pressing your lips together, you felt him smile. Next thing you know the rest of the girls opened the door and saw both of you, they yelled and talked over eachother at the same time

"OH FINALLY!", exclaimed Clare,

"The form of human art always so interesting", Orla muttered as always,

"Congrats?!", Erin was quite unsure of what to say since she found two of her best friends kissing in her bathroom.

"FINALLY! you two took a long time figuring each other's feelings I was tortured by James talking about you all the time, and Clare the poor girl had to endure you talking about James!", you assumed Michelle would hate the idea of one other bestfriends and her cousin being together.

"What the fuck!", you both yelled while slamming the bathroom door closed and hearing giggles not the other end, you and James looked at each other and started laughing.

"You two get back out here I'm still not a hundred percent on the pair of you, but just because I approve doesn't mean you can start fucking"

"Yeah please not inside of my bathroom either!"

fin.

#x reader #fluff #james maguire/reader #james maguire #derry girls #James Maguire fluff #michelle mallon #erin quinn #orla mccool #clare devlin #y/n #request #love #netflix

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sweetcocopowder · 10 months ago

Note

Hello would it be ok to have a destiel fanfic with prompts "Just like we promised" and "I've missed your touch" i love ur work <3

Prompt 1 | Destiel

Synopsis: Dean has been out on a hunt for over a month and hasn't called Cas at all. He's still getting use to this whole fucking an angel thing.

Word Count: 2.9K

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Warnings: Angst. Sappy. Smutty.

Notes: It's more than okay to want this. This was a pleasure to write and I hope you enjoy what i created! Enjoy!

The pacing became a constant thing on the fourth week. On the fifth, the nail biting had started. A bad habit he’s picked up from Sam out of all people, a nasty human habit. But the satisfaction behind it to relieve stress almost calms Cas’s nerves. He had paced from the main foyer to the kitchen to Dean’s room. Dean’s room is one of the main places that Castiel had resided.

When the sixth week came around, Cas’s nails were all chewed off and he had began picking at the skin around them. Dean was meant to call an entire week ago. No SMS either. No even a single prayer. Complete radio silence.

Sam had given Castiel Charlie’s number in case he got bored. Dean had made a comment about Charlie’s Angels. Something Cas didn’t understand until he had looked it up on his own phone later that day. But Sam had insisted yet Castiel declined saying he would be perfectly fine, for angel’s cannot feel human depths of boredom, just passing time.

One thousand and eight hours and six minutes to be exact. So, the angel isn’t bored per say, just very, deathly worried about Dean. And Sam.

The fourth day of the sixth week, the chunk and click of the bunker door snaps Castiel out of his trance in the main foyer. He stands up from where he sits at the table as laughter and voices burst into the bunker. By God is it good to hear their voices but at the same time it brings out so many bad emotions that vibrate his being and make him grind his teeth.

Sam is first to walk down the stairs, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a grin upon his face. When he spots the angel, his smile faulters. He tries his best to play it off but Cas sees the uncertainty.

“Oh, Castiel!” Sam says more surprised than anything, “I didn’t expect you to still be here!” He speaks as if the conversation they had over a month ago never happened. Which only -what’s that word Dean uses- pisses him off even more.

“I’ve been here this entire time,” Cas grumbles.

Which is below an angel of the lord like himself but the frustration flickering around inside of him is something that he hasn’t felt in a good while. Probably since apocalypse days.

“Cas!”

All eyes go to the older brother making his way down the stairs. Unlike Sam, Dean isn’t unscathed. His lip is busted, and his entire right eye is blackened. His eyebrow is split, and three gauze strips hold it together.

As soon as Dean comes down the last set of stairs, Cas is already across the room pushing past Sam to press two fingers to his forehead. The hunter straightens up at the sudden wellness that comes over him. His bruising disappears and fades into yellow and the cuts and scrapes heal without a scar. He goes to thank the angel but all he sees is a very frustrated one in front of him.

“You were suppose to contact me,” Castiel speaks firmly. Like angel of the lord firm. “But I received none of the sort.”

Sam goes deathly quiet behind them. He places his duffle bag of guns and knives on the table which make a louder noise than he originally intended. As if the sound is cutting through the thick tension in the room.

Dean sucks in air through teeth as he tries to avoid eye contact with the angel. But it doesn’t matter where he looks because Cas is only a few inches from him. So those deep blue eyes is all he sees.

“The hunt got very busy, Cas you know how it gets,” Dean argues poorly as he shrugs his shoulders. “We didn’t have time.”

“We had plenty of time,” Sam comments from the table.

Castiel slowly turns his attention towards Sam with a frown. All while Dean looks to his brother with a look of betrayal mixed with disgust. Sam swallows thickly and picks up his duffle bag.

“I’ll go put these away in the stash,” Sam grins sheepishly as he scoots himself across the room.

Blue returns back to green who looks more like a hurt child than anything. And all that anger and frustration is slow to wash away as Cas brings a hand to Dean’s cheek. The hunter flinches away slightly at first but stays in the warm touch of the angel.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

The angel lets out a deep sigh that has his shoulders drooping. Oh Dean.

“I’m…” The hunter clears his throat, readjusting his tone to something more manlier. “I’m still very new to this. To us.”

Cas holds Dean’s face in both his hands, almost engulfing his face but the hunter stays so still. Why still keep up this façade that doesn’t work on the angel? He’s seen him break and cry and become soft so many times. Why still keep up daddy’s good lil soldier in front of him?

A soft kiss is planted on Dean’s forehead over his once black eye. Then, like all the other times Cas has kissed Dean, he kisses the hunter gently and warmly. The heat that the angel radiates is like a furnace yet so inviting.

Dean grabs onto Castiel’s trench coat as he leans forward, deepening the kiss a little. In this moment, Cas can put his own irritation aside for this. He holds Dean, taste the hint of jerky on his mouth from the trip here. It isn’t the most pleasant of tastes, but Dean has kissed him with worst. Much worse.

Calloused hands make their way under Cas’s coat to his waist. This, this is something the angel has missed. Even if it has been a month and two weeks. Too long for his own good.

Unlike Cas, Dean pulls away to inhale a breath of air. The hunter smiles something wicked and Cas’s eyes slightly widen. Dean’s fingers loop into Cas’s belt and flips the buckle open a little too swiftly and a little too eagerly. A soft grip latches onto his wrist, stopping him in his movements. Dean raises a brow at the angel.

“I don’t think Sam will be too impressed if he catches us out here,” Castiel points out sternly, “Like last time.”

Dean barks out a fit of laughter, the memory coming to mind of Sam’s horrified face at the sight of the two. Dean splayed out on the table with the angel over him, his blue eyes as wide as saucepans. Both stark ass naked with the angel’s white butt out on full display.

“Why not?” Dean chuckles out.

Cas can’t help but roll his eyes. With his grip still on Dean’s wrist he begins backing up slowly across the foyer, dragging Dean along.

“You worry too much,” Dean grins.

“I don’t think I worry enough,” Cas bites back playfully.

Dean stops the angel and draws him into for another deep kiss. One that has him gripping the back of Cas’s hair and looping his fingers back into his belt. Dean pulls away but only mere millimetres, not wanting to stay away for too long.

Those green eyes lock onto the angel and Cas won’t lie, he’s missed those emeralds. He runs a thumb over Dean’s freckled cheek and smiles softly when he sees that everything is the same. No more bruises or cuts. Dean follows the notion with a side eye, almost wanting to pull away but staying still and stiffens under the touch.

It takes both of them a good while to get back to Dean’s room. Having to push the hunter there rather than drag him along since he kept stopping Cas. He isn’t vocal about it but he can tell that the hunter can’t keep his hands off of Cas.

Clothes come off a little too easily and Cas can’t help but frown when he spots more cuts and bruises on Dean’s frame. With soft touches, Cas heals them without a second thought. Dean shivers under the touch, his eyes tracking every movement. With a warm glow, Cas heals a deep purple bruise on Dean’s chest that has the hunter breathing a little easier. But with that he pushes Dean back onto the bed. The springs creak under his weight and he disrupts the perfectly made blankets. Cas’s work.

Dean tries to sit up on the bed but is pushed down again when Cas straddles his lap. He runs his hands over Dean’s body once more, making sure that he hasn’t missed any nicks and cuts. He could heal Dean in one go, but where’s the fun in that?

“I’ve…” Dean hesitates, adverting his gaze downwards to the angel’s hands. “I’ve missed your touch.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums at that with a smile.

“I wish I had called,” Dean continues. “Or sent a text. But I’m scared alright. As stupid as that sounds.”

The angel’s smile falls at that. To respond to that, he clasps the hunter’s face in his hands and kisses him softly unlike before. He moves his hips down on Dean as well, making the hunter squirm under his weight. Maybe he can forgive Dean after all.

In between the kisses, the angel mumbles out, “It’s not stupid at all.”

The result of watching Dean’s face go beet red is a reward in it’s own. Cas kisses him again, humming into his mouth with satisfaction. Such a human thing to do. How much he’s changed since being around Dean. He’s changed him so much. Does Dean realize just how much he’s done for the angel? Or is he blind to that fact? Maybe he might have to ask him one day. But not now.

Not when he feels Dean’s grip tighten on his hips, wanting him to grind down harder into him. The friction is something that the hunter craves at this moment. He grows hard and his dick rubs in between the angel’s cheeks. Precum leaks from Dean’s dick, making the glide easier.

Cas sits up slowly and as if out of nowhere, he holds Dean’s bottle of lube in hand. Dean’s stares at it bug eyed for a moment but doesn’t question it because he knows he left that in the bottom draw of his dresser. Where it normally stays. Either Cas miraculously brought the bottle to his hand or it was always on the bed and he just didn’t see it. Either either, both make sense for the angel.

“Let me,” Dean says as he takes the bottle from him.

Lathering his fingers up generously, Dean a little too eagerly brings his hand around Cas’s ass and inserts two fingers. The angel grunts at the sudden penetration, his eyes fluttering shut. With Dean’s other hand as he sets a quick pace to open up Cas, he kneads his thumb into the angel’s hips. Holding on as if he’s going to fly away with those wings of his.

Cas towers over Dean, scrunching up the blankets into his fists next to the hunter’s head. More lube is added and then a third finger is fitted right to the next others. Cas’s breathing becomes heavy, every nerve in his body buzzing and every inch of his grace humming. He can feel everything a little too well for his own good. The stretch of the three fingers, the way his hard cock rubs up against Dean’s, the way that he’s been wanting to feel Dean’s touch once more. Too much.

Deeming the angel ready, Dean brings his lubed fingers to slick his own dick up. He exhales shakily, holding himself together by a thread. The entire hunt, the Angel of Thursday was on his mind yet he was too coward to send a simple prayer. Next time. Next time we won’t be so stupid.

Cas exhales shakily, opening his eyes to meet a lustful green graze. The angel looks into those eyes fondly with a smile coming upon his reddened lips. He kisses Dean again, this time deepening it and grinding down on the hunter again. Dean grunts under him and digs that thumb into his hip a little more.

Dean guides the head of his dick to Cas’s ass, rubbing himself between his cheeks a few times. He pushes the tip of his dick in, humming in the kiss at the warmth he feels. He pushes in a little deeper and breaks the kiss, his face scrunching up into something needy. Cas continues lining Dean’s exposed neck though with small kisses, sucking and biting lightly. Dean groans as he grabs onto the angel’s hips with both hands to help guide him down.

Cas winces but moans something whiny into the hunter’s skin. He still smells like the hunt. Gun powder, cheap pharmacy cologne and musk. Dean grunts with every push. He fucks into Cas eagerly, but the angel isn’t going to stop him. He’s enjoying this too much. He’s missed Dean too much to let this pass. His body buzzes and constricts with pleasure that he can’t help the noises that comes his mouth. He can feel himself shaking in the hunter’s hold, his grace vibrating within.

Dean pushes Cas down onto him until he’s flush against his hips. The angel groans and breathes heavily as Dean only gives him a few seconds of adjustment before he begins a quick pace again. Each time he thrusts into Cas, he brings the angel down just as hard that gets a satisfying grunt from him.

The hunter sits up suddenly, still holding onto Cas so that they’re flush against each other. With each movement, Cas’s dick rubs up against their stomachs. The angel holds onto him as he lets the hunter fucks out everything from the hunt. Dean groans deep within his throat as he keeps moving at a constant pace, thrusting into Cas on his lap. It’s more of an awkward bob at this point, both being too desperate to do much more. But both are satisfied right now.

But Dean wants more. Suddenly, he flips and throws Cas onto the bed with little effort. He grabs onto the back of the angel’s knees and pushes his legs up so that he’s almost folded in half. He lines himself up again, this time slipping in easier than the last.

The new angle has Cas shivering and grunting with each thrust into him. He digs his fingernails into Dean’s shoulder, unable to gain control of the delicious noises coming from his throat.

Through shaky pants, Dean is able to grumble out a deep, “I’ve missed you.”

Another shiver runs down Cas’s back, earning a whimper like sound from him. The hunter’s cock passes by that sweet bundle of nerves inside of Cas that has him grunting with each movement. Cas wraps his legs around Dean, holding him close as the hunter’s thrust become short and shallow. Dean comes down for a sloppy kiss, mostly broken by breaths of shaky inhales.

“I’ve-“ Dean pecks Cas on the mouth, cutting him off. “missed you-“ another kiss, “…too.”

Dean brings a hand down to wrap about the angel’s leaking cock, flicking a thumb over his tip with every stroke. Cas arches his back the best he can in the position he’s in and startles out a cry. By God, he can feel himself getting close. His body buzzes and feels like tv static with just a simple touch. He doesn’t want this to be over already, but with Dean abusing that sweet part inside of him he can’t hold on at all.

Cas chokes out a strangled cry as his whole body and grace feels like it’s going to explode. He releases hot strips into Dean’s hand as he digs his bitten nails deeper into the hunter’s shoulders. He heals the bruising before it even comes about, even in his stare of high. Dean keeps fucking through his orgasm, making it ten times more intense.

“Dean,” Cas grits out.

With a few couple of more hard thrusts, Dean drives his cock deeper into Cas as he reaches his own orgasm. Dean stiffens up, unmoving as he cums hot and deep within the angel. Who would have thought. Fucking an angel of the lord.

Cas shivers at the new sensation of the warmth inside of him. He grits his teeth, holding Dean in place. He doesn’t think he can handle the hunter moving at this given moment. Both stay still for a good few minutes, a panting and sweaty mess. Cas can’t help but shake faintly, his breathing ragged and uneven. He can feel his grace is all over the place and he tries his best to collect himself.

But it’s very hard when Dean lands on top of the angel with an audible, “Oof,” slipping out of the angel in the process. Cas places a hand on his back and gives him a light pat on the shoulder. But Dean doesn’t move and inch, his face flat against the nape of his neck.

“I’m coming with you next time,” Cas grumbles out.

Whatever Dean says next, it’s lost into a mumble and jumble of words in the angel’s neck. This earns a short chuff from the angel, knowing full well that the hunter can’t stop him in doing so. What he says goes. But right now, he’s fully content in laying in for a few minutes. He’s fine in letting time pass by when it’s with Dean Winchester.

Have an amazing day/night ;)

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gallaghersgal · 6 months ago

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congrats on 1.5k!!! ♥️♥️♥️

i am here to request a blurb 🫡 i adore your writing and can't wait to see what you come up with

lip + "this is a one time thing" + "if you called just to get off on my voice, i'm hanging up" from the smut list ✨️✨️

hiiii pookie!! thank youuu <33 nsfw 18+. phone sex, desperate lip, kinda sub!lip, long distance, lil bit of dirty talk, fem!reader

"this is a one time thing" + "if you called just to get off on my voice, i'm hanging up" from these subtle smut prompts. part of my 1,500 follower celebration.

you aren't expecting a call from your boyfriend at three in the morning, while you're finally settling down after a night at the club. it was the respite you needed from your soulless corporate internship, you and the other girls had gone out for a few drinks after work which ended with you wasted in business casual and contemplating a change of career field.

you sigh, rubbing your eyes and pick up the phone. "babe? 's like, sooo late," you complain. there's rustling on the other end, followed by a muffled groan. your eyes flutter closed and you mumble, "if you called just to get off on my voice, i'm hanging up."

"f-fuck, don' hang up, come on."

you giggle at the pathetic lilt in his voice, "aw, you miss me that much, hm?" a sigh escapes your lips as you roll over onto your side, "it's cute, really. i miss you too lip."

"yeah baby, know you do," he grunts, and you overhear the obscene sound of his hand fisting his cock. a content hum leaves you, waiting for him to speak again. "miss that pretty pussy. wish y'were here, fuckin' hand's not the same. not half as good."

"poor thing," you murmur in response. "this is a one time thing, yeah? 'm tired, don't feel like doin' much myself."

"shit- no, baby, i can h-hang up..."

you yawn, stretching your legs and getting more comfortable. "it's okay. i like it when you're all desperate for me. totally hot. what d'ya want me to talk about?" you know how much he loves the sound of your voice, the soft way it danced around each syllable was enough to conjure the image of you in his mind, subsequently making him weak in the knees.

there's a choked out grunt on the other end, followed by the barest hint of a whine, "doesn't matter, 'm close."

"oh, good boy," you praise. on the other end of the line you can hear his strokes starting to get messier, he must have you on speaker. "wish i could fly you out here jus' to fuck me like i deserve. six weeks is too long, i think i'm being re-virginized. know you'd be stretching me out so good if you were here, wouldn't you?"

"i would, baby. i'd fill that tight fuckin' cunt until y're screamin'," he grunts out. "fuck- fuck! shiiit, s'good." his voice trails off into a few broken groans, your name spilling from his lips.

after a minute or so of silence, taking in the sound of his labored breathing, you speak again. "good t'know i can still make you cum like that from halfway across the country." lip laughs at that, sighing after, and your shoulders sink deeper into the mattress. "okay, 've got t'be up early. goodnight baby, i'll talk to you-"

"no-" he says quickly, and you can hear the embarrassment in his voice as he continues, "no, uh, d'ya wanna just keep talking? 'til we fall asleep?"

your lips tilt up into a tired smile and you reply around a yawn, "yeah, i'd love to."

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher imagine #❀ mutuals: l4l #maggie’s musings [blurbs]#maggie's 1.5k #maggie's 1.5k: reqs

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 years ago

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Hi! I've spent hours reading your Steddie stuff when I honestly should have been sleeping because work and adulting. Gotta be some of my favorite writing! You have requests/prompts open? I have 2! If you like them :) 1. The Soulmate idea of people having a moving animal tattoo representing their Soulmate. Steve has hyperactive bat who loves to drape itself around his neck quite possessively. Eddie with a retriever pup or something that likes to curl up over his heart. 2. Always a sweetheart Steve? No King Steve era thing. He bugs Eddie to learn about D&D to understand his kids better qnd our poor metal gremlin melts :) I'm Soft Boi, so sorry for no angst.

I'm posting the 1st one here, but on the second one, I am gonna just give a rec instead. Last Man Standing by @griefabyss69 (GriefAbyss on AO3) is kind of this request but taking it to filth level 😈 But anyways, this idea is so fucking cool my dudes. I love a good soulmate AU, and when it's something super unique like this, I lose my shit. I definitely think someone could make a slow burn with this idea and if anyone does, please let me know! - Mickala ❤️

---------------------------------------------------------

He used to hate it.

A bat was such a menacing and disgusting creature.

Anyone who saw it would give him a look that was equal parts apologetic and concerned.

But when Steve started getting left alone at home, when he only had surface level friends, when he cried himself to sleep because the silence wasn’t enough to drown out the negative thoughts, the bat wrapped itself around his neck, and he didn’t feel so alone.

He’d started sleeping with his hand on his shoulder just to feel closer to his soulmate.

Hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t be disappointed that he was theirs.

————-

Eddie convinced himself for his entire childhood that the golden retriever tattoo that ran up and down his arms every day was some sympathy soulmate tattoo.

There was no way his soulmate was someone this hyper.

And then Wayne explained there was usually a story behind the tattoo, something more than just the personality or energy of a person.

At night, the retriever would pace across his chest, eventually settling right over his heart.

He wondered what his tattoo representation was.

He hoped it was a bat.

————-

“Dude, it’s not a big deal. Just show us!” Tommy yelled to Steve from the pool.

Steve had managed to hide it from his friends for so long.

He wasn’t ashamed necessarily, but he definitely didn’t need Tommy and Carol or any of the rest of the basketball team to see it.

The tattoo often stayed hidden pretty well during the day, usually hid on his thigh or stomach. He got away with always wearing shirts for practice and skipped post-practice showers with excuses that he had a study group to get to.

But his pool was a problem, especially now that he was at an age where everyone wanted to come over to swim when his parents weren’t around, which was often.

He tried to make excuses, said he was just worried about the sun, worried about a creepy neighbor watching.

It only worked a couple of times.

Now it was night, so no sun.

The neighbor was on vacation.

And everyone expected him to strip down and get into the pool.

So he did.

Everyone stared in silence as the bat flew from his stomach to his back and settled on his shoulder.

It seemed like it wanted to be seen, but still wasn’t sure how it wanted to be perceived.

Steve could relate.

No one commented on it, probably too afraid that one wrong word would get them kicked out of the pool permanently.

When he went to bed that night, the bat took its place around his neck, his hand rested in its place against his shoulder, and he sighed.

“I hope you’re being seen,” he whispered into his empty room.

——————-

The golden retriever was completely still for more than eight hours the same night Starcourt exploded.

Eddie tried not to panic for the first few hours, knew it could be any number of reasons the tattoo wasn’t moving.

But after hour six, he called Wayne at work, worry carrying over the line as fireworks boomed in the background.

“It’s not moving. It- you said when it stopped it meant- they can’t be, though.”

“Eds, take a few slow breaths, son. C’mon now, you’d have known if he-”

“But what if mine’s broken? What if the connection isn’t right?” Eddie tried taking breaths, but it wasn’t working.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it was that his soulmate was gone.

By the time Wayne made it home from work, the retriever had moved from his forearm to its usual place over his heart, and Eddie was fast asleep on the couch, his hand resting on top of it.

—--------------------

Being dragged into more freaky Upside Down shit was not on Steve’s to-do list. Then again, it never really was.

He wouldn’t have even bothered coming with Dustin and Max if not for the fact that Dustin was terrified something had happened to his new best friend Eddie.

He tried to hide his terrible mood, but knew he was failing.

He woke up this morning to his bat already on his leg, seemingly asleep, though it was normally still around his neck or on his shoulder when he woke up.

It hadn’t moved all morning, and he was a little worried about what that might mean.

He was also getting more worried by the day that he’d never meet his soulmate.

He knew it was dramatic, but most people he went to school with had met theirs by now, their tattoos now permanently placed in matching spots on their bodies.

“Dustin, this is so stupid,” he reiterated for the hundredth time as they walked up to the boathouse door.

He kept thinking it to himself as they poked around looking for Eddie, as he was being held against the wall with a broken bottle to his neck by Eddie, as he felt a flutter in his stomach at the way Eddie was watching him as they told him about the Upside Down.

He didn’t take the time over the next couple of days to pay much attention to his tattoo, didn’t really consider the fact that what little time he slept, he was so out of it he didn’t even notice whether the bat was on his neck or not.

Didn’t think about it until a moment in the RV alone with Eddie, when something in his brain told him to check on the bat.

“Sorry, just. Can you wait one second?” Steve interrupted Eddie’s thought as kindly as he could.

“Uh, yeah?” Eddie responded, confused.

He slipped to the back, not bothering to close the curtain that separated it from the rest of the RV.

He lifted his shirt in hopes of seeing it, but it wasn’t there.

He groaned and unbuttoned his jeans, rushing to just check and see if the bat had moved at all.

He shoved his jeans down and frowned.

It was in the same place still.

On his inner thigh on his right leg.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, or what he thought was under his breath.

“Everything okay?” Eddie’s voice was much closer than he expected, making him jump and rush to pull his pants back up. “Shit, was that your tattoo?”

“Yeah. It hasn’t moved in a while.”

“Neither has mine.” Eddie moved in closer. “Actually, mine’s on my thigh too. Kinda makes it hard to check.”

“Which thigh?” Steve couldn’t help asking.

“Right.”

“What is it?”

“Golden retriever. Can’t really imagine who it would be,” he admitted.

Steve’s first and only pet had been a puppy. A golden retriever named Daisy.

She was his entire world for almost a year until she chewed on one of his dad’s expensive watches and ended up being given to a man who worked with him.

He cried for days after that, didn’t talk to his dad for weeks, not that that was difficult to do since he was gone more often than not.

He vowed that he would get another one the moment he was an adult.

That didn’t quite work out.

But his nannies all used to call him a retriever, his energy contagious in the best way, his playful demeanor a relief. As he grew up, it got dulled by his parents, expectations, society, but he knew inside, all of that was still there.

“What’s yours?” Eddie asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“A bat.”

Eddie tilted his head and looked at him, eyes squinting to take him in.

“A bat?”

“Yeah. He’s a playful guy, but kinda shy it seems like,” Steve’s smile was fond until it was sad. “At least until he stopped moving.”

“When did he stop moving?” Eddie ignored the fact that it was a he for now.

“I guess I noticed it the day we found you in the boathouse.”

They both stared at each other for a moment, possibly coming to similar conclusions.

“What about yours?” Steve asked quietly, though something told Eddie he already knew the answer.

“The day you found me in the boathouse.”

“I-”

“How-”

“Dingus, we gotta go!” Robin was suddenly yelling as the RV door slammed open.

They could figure this out later.

They would have to.

—-----------------------

As Steve sat by Eddie’s bedside in the hospital, he thought about how often the bat tattoo had been the only comfort he had, the only thing that kept him from being completely alone.

He thought about how Eddie had always done his best to include the people who didn’t belong anywhere else, how he’d put on a show to protect himself, but hated being seen.

Wayne watched him from the other side of the bed, silently judging him, probably trying to figure out how to kick him out.

But he couldn’t.

He felt the pull now.

Now that he’d been around Eddie, somewhat gotten to know him, how he was fearless when it came to the gremlins, was willing to give up his own life if it meant getting Dustin to safety, he could feel the tug on his heart.

It was inconvenient since they didn’t know when or really even if Eddie would wake up.

So he waited.

He waited for Wayne to kick him out. He waited for doctors and nurses to have answers. He waited for Eddie to wake up.

He waited to know if he’d be able to have his soulmate or not.

—-------------------

Eddie’s first word when he woke up was Steve’s name.

Steve let out an uncontrollable sob, curling down so his head rested in the sheets of the bed.

Wayne’s hand was on his back, his voice trying to speak to him and Eddie at the same time.

They’d gotten closer over the last few days, Wayne’s calm presence enough to keep Steve from completely losing his mind with worry.

But the pain meds in the IV drip seemed to catch back up to Eddie within minutes and he was asleep again.

“He woke up though. Your boy woke up,” Wayne said to him, holding his hand.

“Yeah. He did.”

—-------------------

When Eddie left the hospital, Steve insisted on pushing his wheelchair to Wayne’s truck himself.

The nurse agreed with little argument; The hospital was incredibly understaffed and overrun with patients from the “earthquake” and she had a million better things to do.

The walk down was mostly quiet, but not awkward.

“I think some of my tattoo is missing,” Eddie finally said, barely more than a whisper.

“From the bats?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Doesn’t change anything.”

“No?” he asked, voice full of hope.

“Not a thing for me.”

—------------------------

They dated.

It was unconventional in every way.

Steve had never pictured himself with a man, but now he couldn’t picture himself with anyone but Eddie.

Eddie had to explain that they couldn’t just go out and hold hands like any of Steve’s other dates, they had to be careful.

It wasn’t always easy; Steve got frustrated and Eddie got insecure.

But they always ended their nights with soft kisses, with whispered words of comfort and promises.

They fell in love like that, the tattoos only the beginning of something that no one could have expected.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #request #soulmate au

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blackberrysummerblog · 26 days ago

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Hi all! I’m just out here being three weeks late with my 2024 Writing Round-Up, and thank you so much to @monbons, @forabeatofadrum, @confused-bi-queer, @rimeswithpurple, @nausikaaa, @prettygoododds, @ileadacharmedlife, @artsyunderstudy, @best--dress, @j-nipper-95, @roomwithanopenfire, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @imagineacoolusername, @mooncello, and @thewholelemon for tagging me! I hope I didn’t miss anyone, and thank you as well to everyone who’s been tagging me for Six Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday this month. Without getting too much into it, I am BURNT. OUT, and it’s making me retreat from even the things I enjoy the most, like writing and catching up on everyone’s beautiful fandom works.

But, I’m determined to make this round-up post, even if it takes me a couple of days to put together. There’s a lot here! Almost all of it was from COC, which I was hellbent on finishing this year, and did! Here’s the list, in chronological order, of all published writing for 2024:

The Field Trap, 1/2 (5272, M) This has been sitting unfinished for a bit, but I do anticipate it being completed. I discovered a real love for Watford-era fics toward the end of the past year, but it probably all began for me two years ago when I wrote Field Trip of Dreams, the prequel to Field Trap. At any rate, I haven’t forgotten the fic, and Field Trap may end up with an E rating in the second chapter.

Time Will Lie Down and Be Still (26,201, M) This is the fic I’m most proud of this year. It’s the result of my COBB collab with @rimeswithpurple, and it’s been such an inspiration to work with Arianna! I highly recommend the experience :D This fic has 3/5 chapters published so far, and I’m getting there with the 4th. I’ll share that Arianna finished the art for Chapter 4 the other day and it is STUNNING, so I need to get my part done! For anyone who doesn’t know, the fic is a retelling of the movie Practical Magic (I’ve never been able to get very far in the book, for whatever reason, so I wouldn’t count on the fic lining up with it). This one is close to my heart for many reasons, but I’ve especially enjoyed building Dev’s character and his relationship with Baz.

Absolutely everything else I published was for COC, and I’ll put it below a cut due to length. Thanks to everyone who read my work this year! As always, the output of this fandom is just incredible, and I’ve enjoyed being able to take it in as well as contribute a little myself. Happy New Year, everyone!

Something Old (1146, T) Simon finds something unexpected while clearing out space in the wardrobe.

Chosen (880, G) Agatha and Simon have just begun dating and Philippa attempts to engage her in a little friendly roommate squee. Agatha isn’t quite so sure.

I Hate You, Never Leave Me (2339, M) Simon and Baz have found a new and better way to settle their differences, by getting each other off all over campus. Will it evolve into anything more, however? (I love this one, honestly. Might have to someday write a more extensive version)

Greek (1565, T) Simon has to keep a very close eye on Baz in Greek class, for reasons.

Let Me See You (1205, T) Simon is the one to find Baz draining a deer in the forest instead of Agatha. His reaction is not what either of them was expecting.

Truth or Dare (2608, T) Does what it says on the tin—the gang play a game of Truth or Dare, and the dares reveal a little more truth than anyone expected. (Definitely not a groundbreaking take on the prompt, but I never really tire of reading truth or dare fics, and hoped readers would feel the same :P)

Gently, Gently (668, M) Simon and Baz spend the morning in bed, skiving off class and not regretting it at all. (I came to realize that an embarrassing number of fics I write either start out with the boys waking up in bed or that is the entire premise of the fic. “Waking up” is a weird fetish to have, but OK me, I guess)

Looking for Knives, Looking for You (1181, T) Baz reflects on all the wounds he and Simon have given each other over the years. (Despite the vicious sounding title and depressing summary, this one was meant to be sort of cute and sweet)

Hold You Safe (1015, G) At the start of Eighth Year, Dev and Niall’s relationship is still very new as they get some bad news from home.

Dinner (Guess Who’s Coming) (3525, T) It’s half term, and Baz’s parents want to take him to dinner. They invite him to bring a friend, but unfortunately for Malcolm, he pisses Baz off first, and Baz decides his guest will be Simon—the Mage’s heir, his family’s mortal enemy, and Baz’s undying secret crush. (As with nearly all my COC offerings this year, this fic was knocked out during my lunch break the day of, and it shows. It really could have stood to be longer and more developed, so maybe I’ll revisit it one day, since I did like the premise)

Stay with Me (878, T) It’s Eighth Year and Simon gets home late and injured from a mission. Baz arrives at a resolution. (I was a little baffled to get a comment about the Mage already being dead, since this fic takes place during the school year and makes mention of a very much alive Mage in multiple places. It was more of a statement than a criticism though, I think.)

A Charmed Life (1449, E) Baz and Simon have an utterly normal morning getting frisky in bed. (Again. Huh.)

A Horse Named Jane (736, T) Simon has that song stuck in his head again. The one Baz can’t stand. They work out a (sort of) compromise.

Sour and Sweet (3060, G) It’s Baz’s birthday and Agatha has just given Simon his walking papers. Oh no :P However, the breakup does little to lift Baz’s spirits. (This one has two chapters and filled two prompts, sour and sweet, natch. Chapter two’s summary is: Simon decides he needs to make something sweet for Baz’s birthday, even though he’s two days late and doesn’t know how to bake. Well, he’s got magic at his disposal, so things are sure to turn out just fine. :P)

Punk (828, T) Baz is making Simon join him for lunch with Fiona again, but Simon figures he’ll debut a new look & attitude. Will they actually make it to the restaurant? (I really enjoyed writing this one. Simon being frustrated with Fiona’s behavior and still being silly with Baz about it was just a happy place for me)

Surprise (733, M) Simon and Baz are engaging in one of their classic Mummers’ House tiffs. What will happen? :P (I did write a little surprise into this one, but it was very much in keeping with some of my favorite themes)

Cast in Fire (791, G) Simon comes to Watford and learns about how his roommate will be chosen.

Fluff and Nonsense (1627, T) The prompt is ‘fluff’ and did I once again take the opportunity to write a light-on-plot secret relationship fic about Watford-era Simon and Baz being cozy and silly in bed? Yeah, I might have. Simon is going home with Baz over the Christmas break. Not a lot going on here, they’re just really comfy and in love.

Pieces of Me (1557, M) Baz has been having nightmares. Simon comforts him and encourages him to open up.

The World Was Open (956, T) Agatha and Niamh attend Simon and Baz’s wedding, and Agatha overhears another guest making a snide remark.

Find Me (2374, M) Eighth year at Watford was unremarkable, and Simon and Baz last saw each other when they graduated. Seven months later, Dev and Niall drag a pining and protesting Baz out to a club for a night of drinking and dancing, but there’s a familiar face behind the bar. Simon Snow is serving drinks, and worse, he’s flirting with a Baz lookalike. What will happen :P (This was yet another fic that could have been developed a little more, but I was still happy with the result overall)

Warm Spell (1795, M) Goatherd Simon has been almost-encountering a beautiful stranger for several weeks now, but one hot summer day, they finally meet.

Lost and Found (575, G) The boys go shopping together and Baz temporarily loses Simon, but it’s all pretty plot-free :P

Truce (1101, M) Simon pesters Baz while he’s trying to study, and needs to learn a lesson. Will they be able to call a truce? (This one was where the trouble began—I changed my settings to allow comments from unregistered users, because I like to fuck around and find out, I suppose. And find out I did! Luckily, the rude comment I received took aim at some writing element that didn’t even make sense for this particular fic, and I quickly realized it was a bot. Not long after, I started getting comments on other fics as well, all very nonspecific to the fandom, characters, and genre. I’m so sorry because I know it upset a few readers who were very kind to clap back and reassure me, and I changed my settings back so that it wouldn’t happen again.)

Savour (1189, T) Simon has been away on one of his missions for the Mage, and Baz has been awaiting his return by leaving out plates of food in their room every night. (Bot’s review: “the worst fic in the fandom”. It’s not even the worst fic in my own oeuvre, so joke’s on you, guy XD)

We Were Always Together (2239, T) During cotillion class, Simon is forced to dance with Baz. The horror! (I flipping loved writing this. Full on had a blast and Would Write Again)

Let It Snow (925, M) It’s almost time for Christmas break at Watford, and it may not turn out as the boys planned. However, thanks to a spell gone wrong (or very right) it may yet work out for the best :P

Always (551, G) It’s Christmas Eve and Baz has just finished putting the kids to bed. Simon is putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree.

Something New (990, T) Simon and Baz have a little tiff near the end of eighth year, but it’s not fated to last long. I’ve written a lot of secret!relationship Watford era fics for COC this year, some that could go together and some that were in separate universes. It’s been so much fun to write about the boys sneaking around, but this is…something new. :P (In which I was very pleased with myself for how I wrapped things up in accordance with the prompt. I really, really enjoyed COC this year :D)

Thanks for reading! I’m sure most everyone has already made their own round-up posts, but consider these no-pressure tags and hellos: @valeffelees @stardustasincocaine @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @c0nsumemy5oul @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @tender-ministrations @basiltonbutliketheherb @ghostpepperworld @larkral @letraspal @cows4247 @fiend-for-culture @palimpsessed @hushed-chorus @shrekgogurt @raenestee @cutestkilla @drowninginships @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @beastmonstertitan @ic3-que3n @supercutedinosaurs @stitchy-queerista @alexalexinii @asocialpessimist @shutup-andletme-go @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @wellbelesbian @bookishbroadwayandblind @orange-peony @papierhaikuphoto @martsonmars

#snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #year in review #coc 2024 #carry on countdown #carry on countdown 2024 #cobb #Cobb 2024 #carry on big bang #wow I’m even tagging these late #my brain has been mush lately #eep #72327 words in 2024 #40854 for COC alone #31473 words of other writing

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sebastianswallows · 2 years ago

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Beautiful memories — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, just a lot of angst (eventually there will be fluff and smut, but in later chapters)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— A/N: This fic is for a prompt by @pugsnotdrugs92, and I was also asked to write a similar fic by at least one anon.

Sadly, since she gave me that prompt, Pugs has deleted her blog. I have just learned this tonight and I am... pretty damn upset, I'll say that (not at her of course 💗, but at what caused it).

I will just say that if you get hate from anyone, block them, block indiscriminately until you have peace. I hope that Pugs (and anyone who deleted their blog as part of this mess) will make an account on this hellsite again one day <3

Anyway! On with the fic. Hope you enjoy it, my dears 🌺

Nobody had any idea who turned Sebastian in. It came so unexpectedly that they almost didn’t believe it when he happened. After all, it had been two years since Solomon’s death, and everyone in Feldcroft believed he died in his sleep.

“I know it isn’t me,” she said tearfully to Ominis one day, “and I know it isn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t Anne either,” said Ominis with a shake of his head.

“Are you sure? She still isn’t speaking to Sebastian.”

“She protected him this whole time, why would she report him to the ministry now? She might not forgive Sebastian, but she wouldn’t do this to him…”

Their suspicions fell on Leander, or the goblins, or any number of rivals Sebastian had made, but none of their suspects were likely to even know the truth about what happened that day in the catacomb. It therefore stood to reason that someone had overheard them speaking about it at some point, but that did little to narrow it down — for all they knew, one of the portraits had heard them and reported it to the Headmaster.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who told the Aurors about it. The trio rushed through their N.E.W.T.S. half-heartedly, with Sebastian unsurprisingly scoring lower than he ever had, and in their spare time they spoke of nothing but the upcoming trial.

They’d even arranged for a solicitor for Sebastian, and visited him via floo in London, but he only spoke to his client in private. And every time Sebastian walked out of the wizard’s office, he looked more discouraged than the last.

The trial took place during summer, right after their 7th year ended. Both she and Ominis attended it every day. Imelda came sometimes as well, and Poppy, and Lucan — even Garreth attended on two occasions. He’d never liked Sebastian much, but he seemed to put aside his feelings throughout all of this.

“They don’t mean to send him there, do they?” he whispered as they sat outside the courtroom one sweltering afternoon.

“Where else?” said Imelda. “They closed all the other wizarding prisons centuries ago.”

“But he’s supposed to have done it while he was still a student…”

“What d’you expect? That they’ll give him detention for murder?”

“No, but…”

“You don’t think he really did it, do you, Imelda?” asked Poppy, leaning over Garreth.

“He didn’t,” said Ominis without even glancing their way.

“That’s right,” she said from beside Ominis. “Sebastian’s done nothing wrong.”

The trial went badly almost from the start. The judge was a grey old wizard in a funny wig, and there was no jury to speak of. He seemed to treat the death of a former Auror, even one of such ill repute as Solomon, quite seriously. The Prosecution leaned into that every chance they got.

Anne was called to give testimony in the first week, and she confessed under oath what she had found when she reached the catacombs, which was enough to shock the court. Sebastian’s friends took courage from the fact that she had not actually seen what killed Solomon, but it was only a matter of the judge drawing a line between a quick succession of events.

Ominis was called to the stand as well, but lied shamelessly. Even the threat of Veritaserum from the Prosecution didn’t sway him. He knew none of them would dare submit a Gaunt to that — a rare occasion of his family name amounting to something. However, him being Sebastian’s oldest friend cast doubt upon his entire deposition…

And then, she was called to give testimony as well. Unlike Ominis, she was not sure she could afford to lie, but nothing could get her to betray Sebastian.

All that she could remember was that Solomon attacked the both of them, and both she and Sebastian felt quite threatened by him, and then somehow, between the flying curses and roving Inferi, Uncle Solomon fell dead. But that happened, after all, more than two years ago, Your Honour, and it was in a dark and gloomy cave — and oh, what were they doing there? Objection. Relevance?

Ominis and the others congratulated her on well she held her own, but deep down, she felt like she had let her best friend down — her statement didn’t put the blame on Sebastian, but neither did it exonerate him.

By the time the trial was approaching the end, their former classmates had stopped coming, and only she and Ominis were left.

“He looks so —”

“I know,” said Ominis, not wanting to hear her describe him. This was on the last day, and the judge would give the verdict.

Guilty. Six months in Azkaban.

The courtroom reverberated with murmurs from the crowd — some in approval, others in outrage.

It was a horrible sentence to hear, but it was not as bad as their worst fears — people were often given life imprisonment for the Unforgivables. Fortunately, in Sebastian’s case, there was not enough conclusive evidence either way. Still, if they were to appeal, it would take longer than six months to even have a new judge assigned to the case, so they were left with no choice but to accept it.

As the Aurors led Sebastian away, she and Ominis stood together and called out useless encouragements to their friend, telling him to have courage, to be strong, have faith that he would soon be free, but he went with the guards without looking back at them…

Most of their former classmates were shocked but seemed to think the six-month sentence would pass quickly. They knew Azkaban was pretty horrible and could remember a few things from their DADA class, but none of them was truly educated on the nature of Dementors. Ominis was. He’d been in their presence when he and his father went to visit an uncle of his who’d been sentenced for murdering a muggle. He claimed it was the worst experience he’d ever had in his life — worse than Crucio, in its own way. He still remembered how the despair lingered inside him for days.

And as time passed, she became aware of something lingering within herself as well…

By the fourth month, she had to use concealment charms around her waist when she went out in public. Ominis figured it out on his own — it was probably that echolocation spell he used to get around. He’d merely been suspicious at first, but by the fifth month…

“Can anyone else see?!”

“No, and they won’t if you just stop —”

“But this could ruin your reputation!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

“I can’t believe you! How c—”

“Ominis, shut up,” she hissed.

“But you —”

“It’s Sebastian’s!”

“… Oh. I suppose that makes it better, then.”

From then on, Ominis supported her and helped her in any way he could — which admittedly wasn’t much, as he was still getting used to living on his own after being freed from his family’s clutches. And either way, the first few months were gentle enough on her that she could cope well enough on her own. The only help she needed was preparing her small flat to host two people — and eventually three — which meant some creative furniture transfiguration to fit everything in too small a space.

Christmas arrived in the meanwhile, then the New Year. They had tried writing to him every month by then, but the authorities kept sending their letters back — none were allowed for fear of concealed enchantments, they said, and no visitations were allowed either for lower-class prisoners. It broke her heart to know him all alone throughout those rotten months and all through the holidays. Neither she nor Ominis found it in them to celebrate anything that year…

Sebastian was released in February. They wouldn’t be allowed on the island of Azkaban, but they could see him at the Ministry, where he would be transported before he was officially freed.

She and Ominis got there at sunrise, and waited for hours.

Sebastian’s assigned solicitor couldn’t be there, as he had another case, but he sent a house elf to sign the release form in his name. Anne hadn’t come either, but that was hardly a surprise…

The two of them sat alone in a busy hallway, watching witches and wizards pass through — some going in, some going out — until finally, late in the afternoon, the Auror at the front desk told them that inmate Sallow would be arriving within minutes.

“Here, here, they said this will be the exit,” she said, pulling on Ominis’ sleeve.

Two large wooden doors lay open out of which a long dark hallway extended like a neck, and on either side were doors being shut and open of ministry workers travelling through. There was constantly a small crowd of people darkening that space even further.

“I think that’s him,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes when she spotted a dark ruffled head of hair.

“Alright, stay calm,” said Ominis, taking her hand to settle her. Since he’d realised that she was pregnant, he was instinctively more protective.

“Oh, it is! It is him!” she said with tears in her happy voice.

Sebastian was led out of one of those side doors — dressed in a grey and black prisoner’s uniform, his hands and feet chained, terribly thin and tired and bent at the back, and looking as if he hadn’t slept for days…

“Sebastian!” she called out, waving to him with the hand that wasn’t in Ominis’ grasp. “Over here!”

He looked up slowly, as if doubting that he’d heard his name called. His eyes searched blearily through the crowd ahead, not really focusing anywhere, but then they fell on her. She grinned brightly when she caught his gaze.

“Y-you came?” he said, looking at the two of them like they were a dream come true.

“Of course,” she said.

“Surely you didn’t expect anything else,” grinned Ominis.

“I… I need to go somewhere, they’re taking me to… to…” He didn’t have time to explain before Aurors led him around the corner and to another room, for processing.

“We’ll be here,” she called out after him, “we’ll wait for you!”

“How does he look?” whispered Ominis. “He sounded quite weak.”

“He looks… the way he sounded,” she said, “but he’ll be alright… He has to be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Sebastian stepped back outside. He was now dressed the way he was when they arrested him: a faded green sweater and black trousers with worn old leather shoes. The clothes hung on his lanky frame, his face was all angles and shadows, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a wash in the whole six months. He was, of course, without his wand as well — they’d broken that after his sentencing.

But there was a still little light still left in his eyes, and it shone when he saw his friends again. He called out her name and Ominis’, and walked toward them with feeble brisk steps.

“I can’t believe it,” he grinned weakly, his steps growing bolder the closer he got to his friends. “I never thought —”

But then he noticed their joined hands, and her swollen stomach, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He only caught the sight for a second before she let go of Ominis and rushed to embrace him.

“Seb,” she cried out as she jumped into his arms. She clung to his neck like a lifeline. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve… missed you too,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

She buried her face in his neck while Sebastian’s eyes fell to Ominis — who embraced him too from the other side in an uncharacteristic display of affection, before he stood back timidly.

“How… erm, how are you?” he asked with a nervous smile, feeling more happy than he cared to admit, and relieved to have his friend back in one piece.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian. Gently, he dropped the girl from his arms and slowly pulled away.

“Of course,” she said, wiping her tears and stepping back, but keeping his hand clasped in hers. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say anything. We just came to take you home. It’s alright now… You’re free, you’re finally back. We’ve missed you so much…”

“Home?” said Sebastian, looking between her and Ominis coolly. “Whose home is that?”

“Well… whichever one you want,” she said. “Yours or mine or…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to see Feldcroft again,” said Sebastian. “But I wouldn’t want to… impose on either of you.”

“What?” frowned Ominis. “Don’t be stup— I mean, don’t worry about that, Sebastian.”

“Oh, is there something to worry about?” he asked.

“Well —”

“We don’t need to discuss that —”

“— here.”

“— now.”

“… I see.”

“Don’t concern yourself with anything,” she smiled, stepping up to him again and embracing him loosely. “Let’s leave this horrible place first…”

They made their way out of the ministry building and through the cold London streets toward Diagon Alley, and his friends talked to him excitedly about the things that had happened: what their former classmates were doing, what they knew about Anne, even the latest Quidditch matches.

They probably felt less cheerful than they seemed, but their enthusiasm was overflowing as they prattled on about all the normal things people their age should care about, almost as if nothing bad had happened at all. They laughed, and smiled, and rubbed his back, and all the while there was in Sebastian’s gait much of the same imprisoned and defeated look as there had been when he was led out of the courtroom at his sentencing.

“We wrote to you while you were there,” she said as they approached the Leaky Cauldron.

“But the damned guards never delivered them,” said Ominis.

Sebastian listened in silence, and they tacitly agreed it was because of what he had been through. He would open up to both of them in time, they were certain…

They decided to have lunch at the Cauldron since neither of them had eaten anything since morning — and they didn’t even wish to think of the food in Azkaban. They ordered sausages and eggs and mashed potatoes and a great big serving of pickled pumpkin.

Sebastian ate the least out of the three of them — and what he didn’t finish, she devoured. Ominis hid his chuckle behind a cough, while Sebastian could barely look at her. If she noticed it, she didn’t say. She just kept smiling and laughing along with Ominis…

More than ever in Azkaban, he wished he could dig a hole for himself through which to disappear. The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded, the smell of food made his stomach turn, and every scrape of a chair was like a scratch across his brain. Even sitting down was uncomfortable, his muscles too thin and his back too weak to hold him. He moved uncomfortably from one position to another, and let his friends prattle on to fill the emptiness between them.

After almost an hour, they decided to leave, and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“I’m seeing someone at the ministry next Wednesday about a position,” said Ominis as they walked toward the fireplace. “But I can stop by afterwards if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Do you have enough chocolate at home? I can bring some more.”

“Shelves full of it,” she laughed. “But more is always a good idea. I suspect we’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll bid you two goodbye for now, then,” said Ominis as he waved them off, blissfully oblivious to what was going through Sebastian’s mind.

“Goodbye,” she said with a tearful smile, letting go of Sebastian for a brief while to hug their friend once more.

“I’ll let you know before I arrive on Wednesday.”

“Not to worry, Ominis. We’ll be alright… Everything will be alright now.”

“I hope so…”

“And good luck with your interview!”

“Thank you… Although I’m not sure I want it.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” said Sebastian tiredly. “For… everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “I’m glad to have you back. We both are. Just focus on getting well again…”

Sebastian nodded, not feeling that any of their kind words were true. He disappeared in the green flames with her, wishing for once to not appear on the other end.

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