#idk what they are doing I just wanted to draw a tiny tug tug

[perelka-l]

tug tug

idk why tracksuit I just didn't want to make him wear usual stuff (and there is a crop top version so)

[the-s1lly-corner]

Gunk and Glitter (Sun x Reader)

"Admin didn't you just write this for iteard-" SHOOSH I love this prompt sm OOOUGH

That being said I don't think I'll write a moon or eclipse version for this, at least not for a while- idk we'll see!

Plot: You help Sun clean his hands up after a particularly messy day

Notes: Reader is gn and human, they work as an assistant/handler for the DCA, non established relationship but he's got a huge crush on you word count: 2k

CWs: none

Typically Sun liked keeping things… as neat as possible in the daycare… whether it be cleaning as he tended to the children or turning the clean up itself into a game for them. However… there were days where things were going to get messy whether he wanted them to be or not. 

Today had ended up being one of those days, and it was rather… bad…

The children had wanted to paint- and Sun… that poor sweet animatronic, wanted to pull out everything. Glitter, glue, googly eyes… glitter glue. Everything, he even took out the stickers!

You were lucky to avoid a lot of the mess- the carnage as you had called it under your breath to Sun as he walked off to hand the last child in the Daycare to their parent. 

Sun raises his arm up high in a wide wave as he watches the pair walk away from the Daycare and to the exit of the Pizzaplex. Once they’re far enough away he tugs the massive doors of the Daycare shut and spins on his heel. Now that he was away from the children his rays shrank into his head out of discomfort as his hands locked together and picked at the mess stuck between the creases of his fingers. 

Even you were crawling on the inside at the thought, at least you had skin to stop things from getting in between your joints and bones… you couldn’t imagine what it felt like to have muck stuck deep in there. 

“Are you having regrets?” You called out, trying to keep your tone light as you reached across the plastic tables scattered across the Daycare to gather up the various drawings left behind… you weren’t sure where Sun wanted him… surely collecting them together would make his job easier. 

His rays spun about two rotations before halting and clicking into place.

A glue covered hand stiffly waves you off as he chuckles. “Oh course not Friend!” and he’s already skipping towards you- past you, actually, as he walks to a cabinet that’s too high up for a child to reach even with a stepping stool. He opens it, and takes out a bottle.

“What’s that?” 

He darts towards you so you can get a look at the Fazbear branded bottle… Hand sanitizer… 

“I use it to get sticky residue off after days like this!” Sun explains. His faceplate lowers to look at your arms. His neck snaps straight up and he nearly snatches the pile of drawings out of your arms and rifles through each piece… The slow rotation of his rays stutters for a moment each time he needs to carefully pull his fingers off of the paper. 

“I’ll hang these up once I’m cleaned up!” Sun decides out loud. He walks to one of the plastic seats by a table and makes himself comfortable in an effortless display that he has more balance than you- you always seemed to fall out of the tiny chairs. 

Sun puts the drawings to the sides as you follow him.

“You have… a little something right here,” You point to your own cheek and watch as Sun mimics you with his own face. “Glitter glue I think,” 

“Oh!” 

You take a spot in the seat next to him and try to fit your legs comfortably under the table… you fail, and instead keep your legs folded against your chest. 

“You’ve got something too!” Sun suddenly exclaims as his hand approaches you- stopping in midair before continuing with the motion. He carefully pushes the tips of his fingers that were spared from the mess close to your ear.

“I don’t have something in my hair do I?” 

Sun quickly whips his hand back and waves a small cloth in the air.

“No! You just had a little something I needed!” Sun chuckled.

“How do you keep doing that? You and Moon do that every other week…” 

Sun pauses and thinks for a moment, bottle of hand sanitizer in his hand as he taps his fingers along the outside. 

“Magicians never tell!”

You pout, and pull your legs closer as your nose scrunches from the smell of the sanitizer. It was scented, but the stench of the alcohol still cut through it and made itself known… dyed blue with raspberries to mix in with Freddy’s color scheme… actually you were almost surprised they didn’t try to make it pizza scented. With how committed they were with making everything Fazbear themed…

You’re pulled out of your thoughts as Sun’s soft frustrated grunts break the near silence… The cloth he had seemingly pulled out of nowhere was clinging to the glue on his hands- it was leaving some fuzz in patches, too. 

Once more you find yourself cringing at the idea of what that must feel like, and in a moment of compassion- or perhaps pity- you reach your mostly nonsticky hands towards the cloth and take it from the animatronics hands.

“Here… It won’t stick to me as bad, I didn’t really participate in your activities today,” You quickly snagged the sanitizer and put a few drops onto the cloth… would it be better to put it on his hands outright? 

The animatronic turns his faceplate towards you, but he doesn’t try to fight you on this. “If we’re lucky I won’t need to pick through the…. Bits between your fingers with something….” You pull his offered hand closer, and he busies the other with trying to pick the stickers off of his body. 

You push the cloth into the back of his hand and begin scrubbing. It takes a little force, but eventually the once white cloth begins to pick up the colors of the glue and the resistance dies down with each movement. You pause for a moment… “This won’t ruin your paint, right? Are… you guys painted or is it just…” 

You didn’t know what you were talking about but Sun understood. He nearly rips one of the stickers in half as he jumps to reassure you.

“No no- and thank goodness! I don’t like going down to maintenance… even if it’s just for a paint touch up!” 

You can practically hear him sticking out his tongue in his voice. 

“I’ve done this looooooooooads of times before, and there hasn’t been any problem yet!” Sun finishes pulling the sticker off and puts it with the others he managed to get off… there was still some residue of the glue left behind where they once were… scattered everywhere- his faceplate, his arms, and torso. Not one part of him seemed to be spared. You swear you saw one stuck somewhere on one of his rays but they keep rotating too fast for you to get a good look. 

“If you say so,” You continue on with your work and finish with the back of his hand… you flip it over, and grab the hand with your other to keep it in place. You were too preoccupied keeping it in place to notice him jolting at your touch. 

“Palms aren’t too bad…” You mutter under your breath and move to his fingers. You shift your hand once more and wrap it around his- slipping the tips of your fingers between the gaps of his own to spread them enough to get the cloth through them. 

“I didn’t even know you could use hand sanitizer to get rid of glue and stuff… I always used rubbing alcohol…” 

“It’s easier to keep on hand than rubbing alcohol, and the kids prefer the smell of them… they like collecting the different characters on the bottles!” 

You pause… Of course the company would capitalize where they could, they probably had a design for each character, or at the very least they had one for each of the glamrocks.

“Are there any for you and Moon? I wouldn’t mind having one of those on hand… are they all scented with their own thing? I bet they made your oranges… or maybe lemons? What would Moon’s be? Blueberries?” 

Sun’s fingers twitch.

“Lavender.” He says shortly.

You wrap the cloth around one of his fingers and work along it with your hand to relieve it of the glue- making sure to use the nail of your thumb to clean through the creases of each joint. 

“I guess that makes sense… naptime and all…”

Sun perks back up, “Mhm! The kids don’t like the scent as much, but I think it’s quite nice!” 

You pause.

“But you can’t smell? You don’t…” You trail off as Sun begins to laugh. 

“No but I can imagine… I bet you smell nice,” He teased. 

“Nah I smell like straight ass actually,” You grin as you wipe the last of his fingers clean and release him from your grasp.

“Language!” He hisses. 

You only chuckle softly to yourself as you reach a finger towards the edges of one of his popped out rays and gently push it back to its standard position, or rather, Sun had put it back for you and let you feel like you were able to do something to him. 

At least now you were able to see that you were wrong in thinking that there was a sticker slapped onto one of them.

The rest of his rays follow and sink back into his faceplate. 

“Give me your other hand, I’ll knock that one out real quick for you!” You make a grabby hand for it, and without further scolding he lets you have at him. 

“This one’s not as bad, so it won’t take as long hopefully…” You mumble and get right to work. 

You were right. 

It didn’t take long at all in order to finish cleaning up his hand… if anything you needed to apply more force behind your scrubbing in order to get the thicker areas off but in the end you were successful in scrubbing his hands clean. 

You look at the cloth… once white it was now stained and smudged with pinks and blues and greens and every other color a five year old could get their hands on when humored by an overly excited animatronic. 

And glitter… can’t forget the glitter now forever imbedded into the fabric. Cursed to remain until the last dying sun. 

You pass it to Sun as you’re not quite sure what to do with it now. Did he want it back? Did he have another or was this his only option? 

“Here,” You press it into his shiny hands- except he pushes it back to you.

His rays rotate slowly. 

“Can you… get my face, too? I can’t see it, and you clean faster than I can- it’s lights off soon after all! I don’t want to keep you waiting from clocking out, and…” He trails off sheepishly as a quiet giggle resonates from his voicebox.

You blink. 

“Oh!” 

“I think I can knock that out real quick… just the face? You don’t need any help? No stickers on your back?” You asked. Sun swivels his head backwards and angles the plate downwards. His arms struggle backwards only to be stopped by the sockets. 

They built him to be able to turn his head around in a full 360 degrees, but they don’t make his arms flexible enough to be able to reach and fold enough to pick anything off of his back efficiently… 

“I’ll get that, too… Moon wouldn’t mind if I pull my phone out for light, right?” 

Sun goes quiet for a long moment.

You’re about to repeat yourself before he finally speaks.

“He wouldn’t but only if you play some of your songs for him, he likes them,” Sun hummed and scooted away from the table so you can comfortably walk around him to get what you need done. 

“Alright,” You grunt as you push yourself up to your feet- palms pressed to your knees- and shuffle towards the animatronic. “I’ll try to make this quick so neither of you get held back on… whatever it is you do when I’m not around,” You mutter as your fingers hook the bottom of Sun’s faceplate and angle it towards you. He leans right into the movement easily, letting you fully take the reins. 

His plate felt warmer than you had expected, but you made no comment on it as you focused on keeping your hand steady so it didn’t slip across his face. It remained like this until the lights of the Daycare shut off…

[blueberrybeomgyu]

hihi berry :333 i have finally come to tell u about my maso sub taesan thoughts 🤫

im thinking overstimulating him until it hurts, but not only just through multiple orgasms but also stimulating him in different ways all at once. keeping a vibrator stuck to his leaky aching cock while you sit on his thighs, running your sharp nails down his skin hard enough to draw blood, maybe clamping his nipples and pulling at them. pinching his tummy and his thighs, yanking at his hair — when his head is pulled back like that you slap him till his cheeks are red and he’s drooling under you, skin tingling.

i think hed be a little bratty, a little mouthy just to get you to hurt him more. wants your slaps and degrading words to be genuine instead of you just doing it because he likes it. tie him up with rope instead of handcuffs so its rougher on his skin so he can’t squirm too much, and maybe shove a gag in his mouth or tape it shut, loves the feeling of you ripping the tape off <3

get one of those mini floggers even (the tiny whips that are stringy, idk how to explain them) and drag it across his skin before striking him with it, around his collarbones, nipples, stomach, his cock, and his thighs. he lovesss when you use it on his cock, it just hurts so good and he cant control the way his body jerks every time the leather makes contact with his most sensitive parts. pinch his thighs and coo at him while he just looks so pathetic under you, he camt do anything but take everything you do to him but he wouldn’t have it any other way !!

okay i got carried away… but im very serious ab this topic so i hope u fw it heavy <33 - 🥝🩷

MY KIWI GIRL 😣😣😣😣 u know wtf im talking about!!! let me think about how to make this masterpiece any better (impossible) small text cause there's a lot to say

taesan lovesloveslovesss when it feels like there's too much to focus on, he can't be too in his head about anything and will finally have a clear mind where he can just focus on you and how you make him feel.

he's already so sensitive cause of the vibrator, and he's trying to tune in on that feeling to calm down a little, but then you run your nails over his tummy or tug on the nipple clamps and there's too much calling for his attention, it feels like there's something happening on every area of his body and it's so overwhelming, when you slap his cheek he's shuddering through a sob and another orgasm, helpless to hold back his pitiful noises, he'll sound so whiny and pathetic in a way that has him humiliated when the scene is over

thinking of taesan and vibrators always makes me think of bunny's taesan a-z, vibrators on him are the best way to overstimulate him, i think he lasts pretty long typically but with vibrators, it's like he can barely think before he's cumming and he loves that, he also loves that you keep pulling orgasms out of him despite him begging you to stop, the lack of control is a little frustrating and that only makes it better for him -- that no matter what he says, he's powerless in this situation

he lovess being slapped and when you introduce floggers he's so turned on by the idea, he's a little impatient as you trail the flogger across his skin, he just wants to get on with it, but the built up tension only makes it better when you actually strike him with it, blindfold him and he has no idea where or when you're going to strike him next, trying so hard to tell where you are based on your condescending words

i love bratty taesan, he's not necessarily a mean boy but he'll say things like is that all? this is nothing, even when he's so sensitive and spent, he's finding a way to mouth off bc if he can form words it's not enough, he needs to feel so ruined and helpless that he can barely think, can barely defend himself when you insult him

i think sensory deprivation is a big yes for taesan, and overstimulating the senses he does have, make him wear noise canceling headphones, plug his mouth, blindfold him, and it's all the better when you press a vibrator to his tip and jerk him off, he has no idea what he sounds like so he can't hold back his muffled whines, he's hyper focused on the scent of your perfume clung to the sheets, and his fists are clenching and unclenching around nothing where they're bound by the ropes, can't use his hands to clean up the spit dribbling down his chin, he's so beautiful like that

i think he's mostly a whimperer/panter and his voice can get all soft and breathy, wincing when you peel the tape off of his mouth to ask him what he's so noisy for, and by the time you finally sink down on his cock, he can barely do anything but look up at you with shiny eyes, nodding along when you call him a slut or acknowledge that he'll let you do anything to him as long as he gets to bleed for you

[morroodle]

Towards the end of day 4 of top surgery recovery and figured I'd share how it's going. Idk if this can help anyone else but its at least going to help me. Prepare for out of order chaos

The pain isn't too bad! Like yea it hurts but I got used to it and I can take pain meds to help

Getting out of bed is a pain in the ass though. Going from laying down to sitting up is HARD (it's definitely not because I have no abs)

Speaking of pain: the drains. They don't hurt by themselves but when I shift wrong and they tug? Not fun. Not sure how to explain it but pinching isn't inaccurate

Drain fluid. Does not smell good. It's not a very strong smell and you get used to it pretty fast but it's still not fun

I also. Do not smell good. God I can't wait to shower

My mom spilled the drain fluid on me. Twice. Ew.

It's fuckn ITCHY. Always just below where I can reach through the bandages. I am going to kill someone.

Other itches are annoying too. They may not be covered by bandages but with such limited mobility it's annoying. I got a back scratcher but those don't help much when you can barely move your arms

I've probably been moving more than I'm supposed to

Love it when I move wrong and suddenly there's pain and a very suspicious warm feeling and I can't check to see what's wrong because of the bandages

Bendy straw my beloved <333 the $20 ninjago cup I got from legoland is finally making itself worth it

The first day I was incredibly nauseous. I could barely sit up for a few minutes, much less stand. Made eating dinner... not easy.

Day 2 I was feeling great! Even touched some grass!

Day 3 morning: nearly threw up when changing my shirt. I didn't but oh god it was not fun. I've never been nauseous like that before, I was hot inside but my skin was cold and my mom said the color very literally drained from my face. Made me stuck in a chair for like 20 minutes until I could stomach going back to bed.

I'm fine now (probably)

I've been enjoying being taken care of. I'm lucky enough to have a very good support system and I appreciate it. I also appreciate always getting my pic of food >:D

God I want a hug. I'm gonna get so squished once I'm healed and I fully accept my fate

Mentioning again my hatred for the drains. I was very scared of them going into this, I didn't like the idea of having tubes both in and out of my body. I don't really care about that now, I don't see it and I've gotten used to it, but god they are so annoying

I'm not nearly as tired as I was expecting! Sure I'm a bit sleeper than normal but it's really not that bad.

I'm bored

I wanna draw ;-; I havent had motivation or ideas for weeks but the moment it becomes inconvenient? Release the floodgates!

I haven't actually noticed the lack of boobs much yet. Maybe it's because they're still bandaged and I can't see or maybe it's because I live in my mastectomy pillow but I haven't really had a rush of emotions yet

It's kinda weird. I was expecting to feel so much but everything so far just feels so... normal? It's not normal but I've gotten used to it. Its like I'm waiting for my emotions to catch up

That being said there is one thing I've noticed and definitely felt things about. I had a pretty big chest and there used to be quite a dip between them and now there's just... nothing. It's flat. I'm sure this is just a fraction of what I'll feel when I get the bandages off for the first time but this tiny bit that I can see and feel right now is... wow. It's weird. God I can't wait for the rest of it

That's all I can think of for now, I'll keep yall updated on how things go from here and hopefully this can help someone! I know most of this has been complaining but I am not trying to discourage anyone from this, I've just only experienced the bad parts so far. I'm sure I'll make a similar post listing all the positives once I get there but for now things aren't very fun

[charnelhouse]

would u ever write something about a jealous red fox??

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Bathroom Sex. Anal. IDK if this would even work without an insane amount of prep, but we don't need to follow the rules!

It turns him on.

It really fucking does because it’s very unlike her to lose her cool.

In the past, most women stayed away from him, offering him a wide berth because of his demeanor and the threat locked in his energy. He never minded it. He preferred to be alone because relationships were complicated. Sex, if anything, was transactional for him, especially when he was younger, wilder, and less careful.

Until Red, of course.

Everything was what it was until Red as if she was some natural disaster or global interference that irreparably changed the course of his future.

But even lovely, immovable Red Fox could still be very fuckin' human.

The new nurse, Lindsey, has latched onto him. A wasp shoving her stinger into his flesh and refusing to leave. Simon watches Red regard the woman with a palpable coldness. Her feline eyes are narrowed as she follows Lindsey’s movements. She touches his arm and then his chest and Simon doesn’t flinch or jerk away because a tiny part of him wants to see what Red will do.

She’s the one usually lusted after. She’s the one who has to pry wandering hands off of her skin. 

“It’s because you’re beautiful.”

“It’s because men are men, Riley.”

Simon is desperate to know what it would feel like to be possessed. He wants to be wanted in a way that burns because his desire for Red is an actual ailment. A physical wound that weeps and pulses hour after hour. It’s disgusting. It’s wonderful.  

There’s no doubt that his stock has risen now that Red has claimed him. 

Because surely why would a girl like her desire a man like him? There must be something and the honeyed mystery draws in the flies.

Lindsey sighs before sliding her palm over the tattoos that blanket his forearm. The crosses. The skull. “Where’d you get-”

“Excuse me.”

It’s Red, her voice unflinchingly cool, her expression flat and barren as an ice-frosted tundra. Simon blinks down at her and though she can’t see it, his lips tug into an amused smile. 

“Have you met Lindsey?” he asks softly. 

Red lifts her chin, squinting at him like she’s suddenly onto his game. “Yeah,” she says slowly, gifting Lindsey a brief glance. “She’s great.”

“Well - I was just admiring -” Lindsey begins before Red snatches his wrist and tugs him away. 

“Have to talk to you,” she mutters and he chuckles, dark and warm and he’s already hard. 

She drags him past Soap and Price, who frown. She drags him past the other women who have begun to study him with newfound interest. 

She hauls his ass straight into the narrow, ugly bathroom of the pub. The paint is chipped and the sink is dirty. The lights are green-yellow, illuminating the warped wooden floor. 

The second he shuts the door, she shoves his mask above his nose, wraps her little hands around his neck and forces him down to her mouth. 

He groans, a rough, broken noise swelling at the center of his chest. He grabs her hips, pushing her back against the wall. He kisses her like he’s dying, their tongues stroking each other at their own rhythm. He’s never fucked anyone like he fucks Red. They work in sync, they understand what the other needs or wants by their body language, the noises dripping from their mouth because it is one mouth now…a single pulsing part and your pain is mine just like your pleasure.

“Jealous?” he whispers against her lips.

She growls, slipping her fingers underneath the back of his mask to fist his hair. “Yes,” she admits as he flicks the button on her jeans. “Yes - I’m fucking jealous.”

He laughs again and she scowls until he rucks her panties to the side to touch her cunt.

“As if there would be anyone else for me,” he rasps, petting at her folds before ducking his head to root his nose against the perfumed skin of her throat that throbs with her heartbeat.

She’s soaking wet, hot as an oven and it makes him grunt. He’s incapable of anything else. Just primal noises forced out of him by his attraction to her and her arousal. 

She grabs his shoulders, lashes fluttering as he sinks a finger into her. Her pants are binding her knees together. She has nowhere to go, but fall prey to his exploration. He thrusts deep, turning his hand to place his thumb on her clit. He adds a second and she moans.

“I want you to do something,” she murmurs as he drives his fingers to the knuckle before drawing them out lazily. Her slick pussy makes a noise with every pump and it’s got him nearly bursting in his own pants. 

“Yeah?” he says, pressing his cheek to hers, nibbling her earlobe before capturing her lower lip between his teeth and biting her for fun. 

“Christ,” she gasps and he takes his opening, shoving his tongue into her pretty mouth to silence her again.

“No! No - you’re distracting me,” she protests and he pauses, easing back to look down at her. 

“Is it too much?” He’s suddenly worried that he’s overdone it. He’s so much bigger than her and he doesn’t always register his own strength when he’s enveloped by the smell of her, the feel of her walls clenching around his fingers. 

She swallows before smoothing her hair. “I want you to fuck my ass right here,” she says plainly.

“Come again?”

They’d done it that morning. He’d been stretching her for days, getting her ready with his tongue and his fingers and too much lube. 

“I want to be full of you,” she murmurs as she lifts herself up and places a tender kiss on his chin, his jaw and then his mouth.

He’s, quite frankly, blindsided.

“I don’t think we can just do it, duchess,” he replies. “We don’t have anything to make it easy.” It’s like he’s running around the process, unable to outright say that his cock is too thick for her and they only could with lube and plugs and patience. 

“It’s fine,” she replies. “I’m still ready for you.” She digs her nails into his shoulders. “I can take it. Just use your spit.”

Fuckin’ hell.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He’s swollen, pulsing with a desire that is nearly blinding him, eradicating all sense. They could at least try and if it gets to be too much, they can stop. 

He squares his shoulders as he unzips himself. “Turn around then, darling.”

She grins and does as he says, sticking her ass out and arching her back. He grazes his palm down her spine, enjoying the texture of her tight t-shirt before he hits the bare skin of her lower back and then the crease of her arse. “Spread yourself for me,” he orders and she wordlessly reaches back to grip her cheeks. 

He makes a feral sort of noise at the sight of her hole. It’s still raw from earlier and he touches it, his thumb snagging on the rim. She shivers. 

“You want me to spit on it?” he asks roughly. 

It’s dirty. It’s very fucking dirty to be doing this in a public toilet with her beautiful face glued to the chipped wall. Her pants around her knees as she opens her ass for him. 

“Please,” she husks and he collects the saliva in his mouth before spitting. She jerks and he clamps one hand on her hip to restrain her. With his other hand, he sucks his fingers into his mouth before swiping them through the spit he’s left on her hole and then burying them inside her.

It must be a lot because she yelps, her palm smacking against the plaster. He stops for a moment, but she wiggles against him - demanding - impatient. 

“You’ll take what I give you,” he warns because sometimes she really doesn’t understand how he could hurt her or rip her in two. He’d probably never fuck her again if he caused a serious injury.

He must be careful and composed as he can be with preparation.

He works his fingers into her, screwing them deep. He adds a third and he truly believes the spit won’t be enough, but she’s hot to the touch, begging for it. When he removes his fingers, he grips his cock and rocks it forward, gliding it through the mess of her sex from behind. She’s soaked and he coats his length in it, hoping it’ll make the whole ordeal somewhat easier. 

“Please,” she whines and he spanks her for it. The harsh crack of skin on skin echoing throughout the tiny space, smacking against the walls and bouncing back to them.

Finally, he grips the head of his cock and begins to force it into the tight, slick opening. It takes a bit, pushing and pressing until it finally gives way and once it pops inside, she releases a deep, watery breath.

��Fuck,” she hisses, muscles clamping down around him, ready to spit him out. “Fucking fuck.”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“If you stop, I’ll murder you.”

He drives further. He gives her inch after careful inch. “Breathe with me,” he says as he holds her waist. She’s fragile, tender and stunning and he may crack open at the image of him defiling her asshole in a dark, dingy pub lavatory. 

When he finally buries himself to the hilt, she’s pulsing, throbbing with fever. She’s choking on words and he thinks he hears:

Ruin me. Simon. Simon. Fucking take me. 

He does as she asks. It’s not a fast screw with short, rapid snaps. No, it’s a lazy dance of sorts. He claims her in long, deliberate strokes. He pulls back three inches before giving her two. He stares down at where they’re joined, the place where her ass is sucking him dry, demanding more of him. 

He leans forward, wrapping an arm around her tits to pull her back against his chest. He drags his jaw along her cheek, he licks her throat. “Why this?” he murmurs.

Perhaps, it’s the filthiness of it or perhaps it’s the fact that they’re going to leave this room with his come dripping out of her ass and bruises on her thighs. Lindsey is long forgotten, a mere catalyst to their union - their obsession with each other because that’s what it is in the simplest of terms. He is enthralled, spellbound, ensnared. 

“Because you’re mine,” she breathes before he delivers another sharp thrust that makes her whimper. “Because I wanted to give you this,” she continues, though her words are bounding against each other, galloping into incoherence. 

“You’re doin’ brilliantly,” he teases as he pushes deeper into the restricting circle of her flesh. Her hands come up to squeeze his forearm, her nails biting into his tattoos.

He does not tell her how those simple statements have broken him open. He feels like a ripe piece of fruit that’s exploded on the sidewalk. He wants to burst with too much pulp and juice. 

Because you’re mine.

And Simon Riley has never been anyone’s before and how lovely it feels.

[chuuyrr]

hi po! pede po bang pa request ng baby! Fushiguro x bsd na nag ka crush sa port mafia? kayo na po bahala kung sino and pede nyo naman din hindi gawin yung request (´∀`)

scarlet witch! baby fushiguro! reader has a crush on akutagawa

jujutsu kaisen x reader x bungou stray dogs

masterlist of the series

╰➤ CW(s): possible bungou stray dogs spoilers, themes of fluff, soft(?) akutagawa

╰➤ PAIRING(s): platonic! bungou stray dogs x reader

hello yes i opened requests as of 06/09/22 :D thank you so much for requesting bb!! i couldn't decide which port mafia scarlet fushiguro bb reader will have a crush on, so im doing akutagawa ryunosuke because he's so pretty, and so is gin (insert bi panic) and i might do a separate one for chuuya because im biased but idk yet, anyway enjoy ♡

apart from the armed detective agency, you spent time in the port mafia base too, mostly because chuuya was there. it started when you came back to their world and ended up straight to where chuuya was because you missed him. he panicked at first because the port mafia isn't a place for children. two, he doesn't know how mori and the other members will react.

but that was until you ended up running straight to elise, and she ended up liking you a lot. so as to not upset elise-chan, mori, and the rest of the mafia, they treat you nicely, but also because they want to get on your good side since they discovered you were a special gifted person who has great aim and wits, and you could be a valuable asset to them.

you haven't really met the black lizards since you were often at chuuya's office or at mori's office because elise, your playmate, was there. so, while you were at mori's office, coloring and doodling on paper together with elise while chuuya and mori were discussing mafia business, the door opened to reveal a young man with choppy black hair with side bangs that reach his chin and turn white at the tips and sharp gray eyes dressed in a long black coat and white dress shirt with layered ruffles on the chest.

"[name]-chan? [name]-chan?" elise noticed you had stopped drawing and was staring at the boy, who had just entered the office, with wide eyes. "what's wrong?"

"nothing!" you quickly responded to her and returned to your drawing, smiling at elise, who was perplexed.

but you kept sneaking glances at him as he bowed to chuuya and mori, and that's how your small crush on the rashomon ability user blossomed, and it wasn't long before chuuya and the rest of the port mafia discovered it.

"oi, [name]-chan! why are you ignoring me?" chuuya pretended to pout as he furrowed his brows at you, who had her attention else where. the two of you were playing cards together somewhere in the port mafia base since it was his break. "i thought i was your favorite and not dazai."

"i'm not ignoring you." you responded without even batting an eye.

"yes, you are! who are you staring at anyways?" chuuya huffed and narrowed his eyes, feeling a little jealous.

"pretty boy!" you pointed your index finger at the boy in the long black coat who was conversing with the girl in the ponytail who had her face hidden.

"pretty what?!" chuuya's eyes widened in surprise as he dropped the cards in his hands.

"him!" you cried out again, a smile on your face, as you tugged on chuuya's sleeve.

chuuya screamed, "AKUTAGAWA?!"

you nodded vigorously before leaping from your seat and sprinting towards him, causing the black-haired boy to take a step back when you placed yourself in front of him. you extended your hand, pointing at him, with a determined expression and a smile on your face.

"i like you!" you exclaimed.

as his sister and the rest of the mafioso in the room paused from whatever they were doing, akutagawa shifted his gaze to you and pointed at himself, perplexed. "me?"

"yes, and i'm gonna marry you too!" with that, you ran right into him, wrapping your tiny arms around his legs and rubbing your cheek against his stomach.

his normally sharp and devoid gray eyes widened as a faint blush of pink spread across his cheekbones. gin, on the other hand, couldn't help but laugh quietly behind her mask as the other mafiosos in the room stared at you as if you were insane. you couldn't really blame them. because of all the people you had to choose from, it had to be the merciless and blunt mafioso over someone sweeter like chuuya.

"o-oi! what the hell are you saying?!" akutagawa stammered out, attempting to distance himself from you.

"i said i like you and i will marry you!" you repeated, and this time, his face burned beet red instead of pink.

"stop spouting nonsense kid! you are not marrying me!" akutagawa grabbed you with rashomon, a black tendril wrapped around your body that yanked you upwards in the air, away from him.

"yes i am! it's not nonsense! it's love!" you giggled as you traced a heart in the air with your now red glowing index fingers.

"shut up! s-stop that!" he scowled at you before gently handing you into chuuya's arms and storming away, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"jesus christ, kid. why did it have to be him? dazai and the agency is going to freak out." chuuya shook his head and mumbled, as you waved your hand at akutagawa as he walked away.

and, true to chuuya's words, dazai and the armed detective agency freaked out when they discovered your crush on a port mafia member, specifically the scariest and meanest mafioso. our poor detectives truly believed that someone with a special ability or some sort of black magic was behind all of this.

"you like akutagawa ryunosuke?! why?"

atsushi was in so much disbelief.

what do you see in that guy that they don't..?

"mhm! he's a pretty boy and his ability is super cool. everything about him is just dreamy!" you expressed, throwing your arms in the air before clasping your hands together. "and i already made up my mind that i'm gonna marry him!"

dazai instantly became a splitting image of your dad, gojo satoru. "no, no, no. you're not marrying anyone little missy! not on my watch, ya' hear?" he placed his hands on his hip, peering down at you.

"but why?" an adorable pout contorted on your face at that instant.

"because you're too young and you should only marry the person you really love!" dazai argued, puffing his cheeks.

"then i'll marry him when i get older!" you bit back. "i love him already!"

"why not.. i don't know.. someone like.. chuuya-kun? actually, no. nevermind that. he's a terrible choice, [name]-chan." dazai scratched his head, grimacing a bit when he mentioned his old partner.

"i don't like chuuya-nii!" you stuck your tongue out, folding your arms.

"ah, thank goodness! i'm glad you agree!" dazai draped the back of his hand on his forehead as leaned back dramatically, faking a tear.

"i'm still marrying him! you can't stop me!" you persisted, running towards the door to head to your "one true love".

dazai gasped, immediately getting up from the couch to chase after you as you left. "no you will not! get back here, [name]-chan! no marrying!"

"and dazai calls me a 'mother-hen'." kunikida drew out a sigh, shaking his head as atsushi sweatdropped.

[i-like-sparkly-things]

No matter what

A Halstead!Sister (9 years old)

He didn't deserve this. Your brother had helped thousands of people. And saved hundreds of lives.

He didn't deserve to die.

Requested : Yes! by @liampayne88 'Can you please do a halstead sister one where she has a nightmare and she wants to sleep with them'

Warnings : graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, blood , guns, nightmares, fear, death. reality in general is scary.

Note : and once again I'm so sorry this took so long idk why but the ending got a little sad. I've been working on how my stories flow from scene to scene and I'm improving alot yay!! thank yall so much for all your support 😭

MASTERLIST

*****

Tally marks and nail clippings lined the edges of the basement. The window at the far corner allowed some light into the room, just enough to see him twitch and shiver.

You could hear the wind howling, cars racing past. The city was bustling, unaware of what was going on.

The red smears on the grey wall guided your eyes to the fragile body. The cardboard boxes and metal shelves making him look vulnerable, like a deer caught in headlights.

There lay abandoned, bruised and battered in a pool of blood, your brother.

Jay lifted his head, allowing you to see his watery red eyes. For the first time in your life, you saw fear in your brother's eyes— pure, crisp and burning fear.

He had cuts littered all over his face, blood seeping out of the broken skin. You watched how it mixed with sweat as it made it's way down his cheek.

His arms were tied to the wall, the hard rope tugging at his skin, drawing blood .

You jolted hearing footsteps behind you, as a large shadow came into view.

The man was as tall as the ceiling, towering over you.

His muscles bulged from his arms, shoulders squared with confidence.

Half of his face was burned , the dead skin masking his wicked smile.

Your breath hitched as he took out his gun, aiming it at Jay. The world came to a stand still, your body going into flight mode.

You ran towards Jay, throwing your arms around his neck, "NO!!PLEASE DONT HURT HIM!!PLEASE!!" you wailed, as you sat beside your brother, trying your best to shield him from the gunman.

"Oh, I'm sorry—" he mocked, inching his way towards you,"—I'm afraid your brother has run out of time" he clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disaproval.

You paled at his words. The air around you came to a halt, as his finger moved to the trigger. Your grip on Jay tightened.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, as you tucked your head into the crook of Jay's neck, firmly shutting your eyes.

You were helpless. You had no one to call and no way of saving Jay .

You had one job to do— to keep Jay safe— and you failed.

He didn't deserve this. Your brother had helped thousands of people. And saved hundreds of lives.

He didn't deserve to die.

You didn't know what happened first. You screamt, your tiny body pushing all the air out of your lungs, as the sound of the gunshot bounced off the walls.

The loud bang sent tremors through your bones and in an instant, you felt someone's strong arms around you, manhandling you away from jay.

No, no, no... you had to try to save your brother. What—what if he dies? What if he doesn't make it?god, this is all your fault.

You left out a strangled cry, trying to free yourself from the tight hold. You kicked and punched with whatever energy you had left.

"Y/n!! Y/n!!—" Oh god , he knew your name. How did he know your name? He would come and find you."—Hey , hey, it's okay ..... it's okay , y/n—" Will ? What was he doing here? Was he in trouble too? "—wake up.... Hey , open your eyes for me" Will said, sitting on your bed.

His voice was calm and soothing. You felt your heart rate slow down, letting your body take deeper breaths.

You slowly opened your eyes, shaking your head,"Jay —Will —Jay's hurt—" You sobbed, as you wrapped your arms around Will's neck "—I— I couldn't do anything"

"Hey , it's okay. Jay's okay , y/n. he's fine" Will sighed.

Today was Jay's first day back to work. Almost a week ago he had gotten shot while chasing a suspect. He took one to the shoulder and had lost a lot of blood by the time he came to Med.

The image of him stopping you from running into the OR, was vividly ingrained into his mind. He remembered holding you close and rubbing your back in the doctor's lounge, as you cried to yourself. The two of you spent the night at the hospital, waiting for Jay to wake up.

And just yesterday, Jay had been cleared for desk duty.

"Jay's stuck at work but he'll be home soon alright?" he said, pulling away from your grip.

You knew Will was just trying to comfort you.

You knew that Jay was strong. He was one of the strongest people you knew.

But you couldn't shake off the weird feeling you had. Fear lurked in the shadows. A silent voice at the back of your mind.

"What if he gets hurt again?" you asked, voice shaking with dread. '' what if—''

"Hey ,hey—" Will quickly interrupted, not wanting you to finish your thoughts "—Jay's gonna be okay. He's always going to come back home to us y/n, always.

No matter what happens at work, he's still our Jay. He's still our brother. He's always gonna come back to watch movies with us. He's gonna help you pick costumes for Halloween and braid your hair and tuck you in bed. And he'll come back to us okay? No matter what."

Jay did promise that he'd always come back, and as far as you could remember —Jay never broke his promises.

You slowly nodded and wiped your tears away. You felt a little guilty as you realized that Will was just in his sweatpants.

"Did I wake you up?"

"It's all right."

"You wanna tell me about the dream you had?" He asked after a minute.

"Maybe ....... but can I sleep with you? Just until Jay comes back?"

You didn't want to be alone. You knew that once you closed your eyes, the man would be back, and just like last time you wouldn't be able to save Jay.

"Sure, come on." Will said, as he held out his hand for you to take.

"Jay won't get hurt, right?" you asked, doubt still clouding your mind.

" What did I tell you? No matter what happens, he'll come home."

" Yea ... it's just that Jay doesn't really like hospitals

and I think he's kinda scared of shots"

Will laughed as the two of you entered his bedroom. He would never get used to Jay being so afraid of needles.

He patted the bed and you climbed up tucking yourself under the covers. Will join you after putting a shirt on and switching off the lights.

You snuggled into him resting your head on his chest.

" Are you okay?" Will asked quietly, noting the firm grip you had on his shirt.

"He — he had a gun" You frowned, recalling the horrifying nightmare "He was —he was going to kill Jay" Your breath hitched, the scene still fresh in your mind, like it was yesterday.

You could feel Jay shiver beneath your touch. He was struggling to keep his eyes open.

You were drenched in silence except for his ragged breaths. It was like you could feel the pain he was in.

You flinched hearing a lock turn. Your eyes snapped open, fear overriding your thoughts.

" Hey , hey, it's okay—" Will soothed "—it's just Jay. He's back. He's home"

A huge wave of relief washed over you "Come on, I wanna see him!" you exclaimed, crawling over Will only to step on him in the place between his legs, eliciting a groan from him.

You jumped off the bed heading towards the living room and Will followed you after trying to breathe through the pain "Y/n!!"

Jay closed the door but immediately turned around hearing your footsteps.

His wounds were slowly healing, his left arm was still in a sling and his ribs needed to be wrapped every other day. And after Will's relentless begging, he'd even agreed to therapy with Doctor Charles. All in all he was trying to put his injury behind him.

"Jay!!" you cried as you lept into his arms. He picked you up by only using his right arm, grunting when he put pressure on his ribs.

You rested your head against his shoulder, hugging him tighter . Jay hissed, the muscles in his shoulder were still sore after the surgery.

You immediately pulled back," Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you"

" It's okay kiddo, it's okay" he assured, making use of the breathing exercises he was thought during his army days.

" What are you doing up so late anyway?" he asked, looking at Will.

" She had a nightmare"

Jay sighed. He was almost expecting this.

You were so worried at the hospital, never leaving his side. Will had to drag you out of the room when it was time to eat.

He remembered how you sat next to him on the bed, tracing his bruises and cuts on his cheeks, with your fingertips.

No matter how much Will reassured you that he was fine, you insisted on staying in the hospital.

He could sense that even at your age, you were smart enough to figure out that his job was dangerous.

"I'm here, okay? I'm right here. and you know what.... you can sleep with me tonight. That sound good ?"

You nodded, wanting to stay close to him to make sure he was safe.

Soon , you were waiting in Jay's bed, under his weighted blanket.

Will had wrapped his ribs and cleaned some of his smaller cuts. He helped Jay maneuver into a new shirt while he placed the sling back into its original position and insisted that he get a morphine shot to ease his pain.

Jay stumbled into the room, slowly laying beside you, adjusting himself into a comfortable position.

"C'mere " he said, opening his arm as you shifted next to him, being careful to not hurt him.

A few minutes of silence passed before Jay spoke up.

"I'll be okay, y/n. I'll get better"

You looked at him skeptically, "and then you'll go back to work" You accused. You couldn't imagine what life would be like if Jay died. You didn't want to live in a world where you only had one brother. "and then you'll get hurt again"

The thought of going back to the hospital drove you crazy. You hated the plain white walls and the smell of bleach. You couldn't stand the noises of all those machines you never understood the purpose of.

But the worst of them all was the image of your brother lying on the gurney . You could barely recognize him with all the cuts and bruises and blood he had on his face.

That wasn't your Jay. No , it couldn't be. The real Jay was strong. Was alive. Not laying in a hospital bed, bandaged up and covered in bruises.

No , what you were looking at was the shell of the great man your brother was. The real Jay didn't have so many tubes sticking out of him. He didn't have so many wires plunged into his arms.

" I don't like your job. Do you really have to work?" you looked at him with pleading eyes but some part of you already knew the answer "I don't know what you're doing all day..... and— and I don't know if you're safe!" you tried to argue.

And now more than ever, you never believed he would be safe. He could be in danger with a gun pointed at him..... and you would never know. You would be blissfully unaware of your brother's body hitting the ground.

You would be your happy self. Writing your notes or playing at school.

And you would never know. That shadow of doubt and fear lurked beneath you, threatening to devour you. It was very possible, that one day when you came from school Jay would be gone.

"Hey, hey, look at me." his voice was quiet but stern "you've met Hailey. and Adam and Kevin. and Kim and Vanessa. They all love you, you know that right?" you nodded not understanding how they were connected to Jay being safe "They know that I need to come back home. They know that you will be waiting for me, so they'll keep me safe out there. They'll have my back"

You loved Jay's friends. Hailey and Kim and Vanessa had girl's nights and sometimes they would let you join. And Adam and Kevin were basically your brothers.

You remembered how none of them left Med when Jay was shot and how they sat together in the waiting room until Jay came out of surgery.

But one question lingered on your mind "Then why didn't they keep you safe from getting shot?"

Your words were like a punch to the gut to Jay. He stiffened recalling Hailey's questioning look she threw his way when he walked out of their active crime scene. He remembered her voice calls asking him where he was, and the pang of guilt he felt in his stomach when he lied to her.

"That wasn't their fault y/n. I made a mistake" that almost took me away from you went unsaid, "I didn't tell them I was in danger.........but I should have. I know that now. And what does Will say about making mistakes?"

" That making mistakes are okay, but you have to learn from them?" you recited what your brother had thought you.

" Exactly . I made a mistake and I learned from it. So from now onwards I'll tell my team everything, and they will have my back "

It was like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. Maybe it was okay that you weren't always there with Jay. His friends would protect him.

"And you know my team....... they're like my second family. That means they're your family too. So they have your back aswell" he smiled, as he tickled you lightly, making you laugh.

" Yeah , I guess so"

" But you know a lot of people don't have families or friends to keep them safe. That's why I go to work and do my job. I keep people safe. And even if they're strangers, my duty is to keep them safe"

Your eyes widened in realization as you understood the true meaning of his job, looking at him with what could only be described as pure admiration.

" Just like Will and I , the whole of intelligence will keep you safe"

"Really ? All of intelligence?" you asked, surprised.

"Yes , really!" he laughed "I'll be safe y/n. We both are going to be safe 'cause we have a lot of people looking out for us"

He tucked you in closer to him, as you curled into a ball. His arm engulfed you in its warmth and safety, almost like a bubble from your thoughts.

Will was right. Jay was your brother and no matter what happens, he would always come back home to you. You were almost asleep when you felt Jay press a kiss to your head. "I love you" he said but his voice cracked.

Unlike you, Jay knew the truth. There were only so many promises he could keep, and there were only so many lies he could tell you. And lying to you just about this one thing— so that you wouldn't worry so much—was okay.

His job being dangerous was an understatement. Jay knew that he was a simple pawn, in the grand scheme of the universe.

He knew that one day, he would have to think about his mortality, but today was not that day. Not when his little sister was lying next to him, scared of a nightmare which was actually a glimpse into reality. No . today was not the day to think about the inevitable— the simple fact that one morning, he would walk out those doors and never return.

He held you a little tighter, a little closer.

******

Thank you so much for reading!! Please let me know what you think and like/reblog!! And you can read more of my fics here!! :)

Taglist : @girlandthemoon @herecomesthewriterwitch  @backuphalsteadsister21 @meyocoko   @alkadri-layal ​ @let-me-luve-you ​

[adorerdraco]

Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell 

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard. 

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you. 

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you. 

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,” she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture. 

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms. 

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table. 

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion. 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all. 

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time. 

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully. 

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes. 

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs. 

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

[notnctu]

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details -  hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical 

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances. 

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.” 

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression. 

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander. 

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room. 

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head. 

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

READ NEXT PART

[subspencer]

okay hear me out: spencer telling you that he that he misses sucking dick, so you go and get the strap with the biggest dick that you have and you say to him 'I want you on your knees and see how well you suck my dick'

wc: 0.6k. cw: fem!reader, fingering (f receiving), idk if it's dick sucking if it's fake??? idk, but spencer reid has DSL's and that's a fact.

-

Her heart seized for a second when he said it; it was the one thing she couldn't give him. Not exactly. What the fuck are you supposed do when your boyfriend tells you he misses sucking dick, and you don't have one?

"You know you don't have to worry about it, right?" he asked in concern, reading the thoughts behind her face. "It's not as if I'm not satisfied, or anything –"

She didn't listen to him as she got off the couch and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving him there to just hope he didn't upset her. It started off as a romantic night – a fancy dinner date at home, sharing a bottle of wine on the couch, stealing kisses and touches between conversation. He should've known the danger awaiting when the conversation turned into what sexual fantasies they have.

He got up to follow in after her, when she promptly returned to the living room. In her hands was a vibrating toy and a harness. Spencer's eyes went wide. He's never seen that before – he had no idea she had one.

"Is that what I think it is?"

She nodded. "Get on your knees."

Spencer raised a brow, smile playing on his lips as she slipped off her velvety red dress in favor of putting on the leather harness.

"I said get on your knees," she repeated firmly, stalking up to him. He slowly sank to the floor, hands in his lap as he awaited instruction. Running a finger through his hair, she caressed him softly before tugging at his strands, forcing his face closer to the plastic toy in front of him. "I wanna see how well you suck my dick."

Spencer smiled, lips brushing against the toy, as he looked up at her. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. Look at those lips," she smirked, dragging a thumb across his perfectly pink and plump bottom lip, circling up to trace over his cupid's bow. "I bet they'd look good wrapped around something."

Spencer deviously parted his lips, just enough that her thumb slipped right inside, and suctioned around it. Releasing the digit slowly, he put one hand on her hip and the other on the toy as he poised it to his mouth.

"What're you gonna do with this after?" he smiled coyly, leaving a little kitten lick to the underside, at what would be the base.

"If you're good, I might fuck you after."

He let out a low whine, dragging the flat of his tongue from base to tip. Drawing the tip into his mouth, he wrapped those pouty lips around it and sank down, effortlessly taking the whole thing at once.

Slowly he came all the way back, releasing with a soft pop. He looked up to her for approval, a thin trail of spit between his lips and the toy. Capturing her lips between her teeth, she laced a hand through his hair and encouraged him to keep going.

As he took it back in his mouth, he moved one hand between her legs. Deftly pushing aside her panties, he ran his fingers through her slit, teasing a few times in rhythm with his head bobbing up and down.

She gasped as he slipped one finger inside, pushing it in and out just as slowly as he took in that toy. Her fingers wound tighter in his hair, pushing him down on it a little faster; his hands worked faster, too. Each move, he matched. He brought his thumb to her clit, working tiny circles, and it wasn't long until he had her falling apart around his hand, fluttering and throbbing.

He was definitely getting fucked after that.

[we-love-imagines]

please bless us with a one shot or headcannons of rohan where he's like cold and distant from his crush (because, duh, the great rohan kishibe doesnt have "crushes") but heaven's door just keeps on manifesting on its own whenever his crush is around and is all smiles and is very kind and sweet towards his crush and even refuses to leave their side 😭😭😭 that little stand is just so adorable 😭😭😭😭

This is so cute!!!! I loved this ask!!! I think it’s because I adored the ova, but I’ve been in such a Rohan mood lately. I have so many drafts that are just Rohan stories, idk why. 

Also! I made some Jotaro Dating Hcs a few days ago that didn’t get posted to the tags. If that interests you at all, check it out!

Well, without further ado...

Heaven’s Door is a Cute Little Stinker Hcs

~We all know Rohan has a very prickly personality. While he’s polite and professional, he isn’t one to extend too much kindness to others, even his good friends. It’s not that he’s rude or mean (well, he is purposely mean to Josuke, but that’s besides the point), he’s just a little too self-absorbed for his own good.

~Despite the fact that the mangaka has had feelings for you for awhile now, he still acts like his brazen self around you. In all honesty, these feelings confuse him a little; he’s never thought this way about anyone before. He tries, of course, to deny his affections. He gives himself every excuse not to pursue you: He’s too busy for a relationship, you’re too friendly with Josuke for his tastes, he was too good for these feelings.

~Heaven’s Door, the literal embodiment of his soul, didn’t understand why his user was doing this. He knew, deep down, that Rohan adored you, so the fact that the mangaka could be so sassy towards you confuses the little Stand. So, in order to help his user, Heaven’s Door would sneakily manifest itself when Rohan looked away, making itself known to you.

~Rohan was a curious soul, and that trait definitely came out in his Stand. Heaven’s Door really wants to read your pages, and tries to show you Rohan’s manuscript so he can do so. It’s tiny hands will snatch the pages from Rohan’s bag and wave them around in your presence, fervently trying to get your attention. Rohan quickly put an end to this, however, snatching the papers back and scolding his Stand like a child.

~While it couldn’t read your pages, Heaven’s Door still tried to help his user get your attention. With its child-like, Cherub-ish appearance, it’s sweet little smile would make your heart melt. How could you ever ignore something as cute as Heaven’s Door?

~While the Stand itself couldn’t speak, it would still hover next to you, curiously studying the world around it as if it were a child. It would point to certain things, such as pretty flowers or interesting passerby’s, prompting you to ask Rohan what his Stand is trying to say. Rohan would blush a little, trying to call his Stand back, but explains how his Stand is always pointing things out to Rohan it thinks he should draw. It’s mainly due to the Stand’s inquisitive nature, but Rohan has the feeling Heaven’s Door has ulterior motives.

~After that, you find Heaven’s door pointing at some of your mutual friends from time to time, but you’re especially flattered at the Stand’s insistence that Rohan draw you. Not only with it eagerly point to you, but it will try and grab at Rohan’s sketchbook and place it in his hands. When it’s user tries to placate his Stand, Heaven’s Door assumes it because Rohan wants you to model for him in his studio, not out in public- so, the little Stand will tug on your sleeve, beckoning you to Rohan’s house.

~This is the point where Rohan realizes how bad he has it for you. His Stand, the personification of his true feelings and intentions, naturally gravitates towards you and tries to garner all of your attention. The more he sees this, the more he realizes how much he truly desires to be with you.

~With lots of support from his mischievous little Stand, he finally gathers the courage to ask you out for coffee. Turns out, he didn’t need to read your pages to learn that you liked him back!

[alengmae]

Every Story Is Us (CH 5)

(AN: I was convinced by Jess to post this here. IDK why Jess but you work in mysterious ways. To read this in AO3 and my other drabbles, visit here.)

“What you seek is seeking you.”

~Rumi

Penelope choked on her the tiny sip of wine she took. She started coughing but her date carried on like nothing was amiss.

“Yeah, you remind me so much of her. You should meet Mother. I just know she will love you,” he gushed further. He gave her an expectant grin.

She gaped at him in astonishment. They literally just sat down not fifteen minutes ago, yet he was already talking about her meeting his mother on their first date. She knew it was a bad idea to trust Eloise and Fran’s idea. Tinder dates were really not her style. And, based on her first date, she felt vindicated.

She was about to set the record straight when the server came to their table and took their order. She opened her mouth to speak but her date was a lot faster.

“She’ll have the Steak Diane. You don’t mind me ordering for you, right?” he asked as he turned to her.

Penelope was too dumbfounded to respond. He was hitting all her red flags and he was completely oblivious to her irritation, which was awfully apparent since the server’s professional smile turned into a wince. She only raised her glass of wine to the server, who understood immediately her need for more booze. If the server were considerate, she would bring an entire bottle for her.

“Oh and separate bill,” he added before explaining to her with a hint of condescension, “I like to go Dutch on the first date. You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t!”

Honestly, she didn’t mind at all. If anything, she would have insisted on it. She felt that he was the type to lord it over after dinner, expecting for something in return. But the way he went on another tangent about his mother, she just knew she was not going to last the appetizer course.

She cursed Eloise and Fran heavily in her head. They insisted she try out the app and look where it got her. She should have followed Daphne’s instructions, to never get caught up in her younger sisters’ shenanigans. As she listened to her date drone on and on, one thing became clear in her mind. She needed new friends.

Nay, better friends.

She just moved from Ireland to London for work. And she met Eloise, a fellow teacher, not too long ago and they clicked immediately. Soon, she was invited to all their brunches and dinners. She fell in love with her family instantly, all eight of them. Although, there was a Bridgerton brother she has not met yet. Seemingly, that Bridgerton was off traveling the world and was on a lengthy tour this time around. And, if he was anything like his siblings, she knew she would come to love him too. But, right now, that love she felt for all things Bridgerton started to wane. She said she didn’t want a date but no, Eloise and Fran had to drag her kicking and screaming into one.

She was pulled out of her reverie when her date grasped her hand. He gently caressed her with his clammy hand and she nearly shivered from disgust because why was his hand so wet?

“I just knew as soon as I saw your picture you’d be the one. Even mother said you’d be a good wife with your wide-set hips,” he beamed at her.

“Oh my god,” she gasped out loud. She tugged her hand back and excused herself to the restroom. She needed to get out of this date. Never in her life had she felt so uncomfortable. She frantically dialed Eloise to come save her but there was no reception at all. Her annoyance reached an all-time high. Was there a fucking signal blocker installed in this facility? She lingered outside the restroom, hidden by the stately plants decorating the restaurant, and repeatedly scrolled through her phone for a miracle. She was close to screaming in frustration.

It was then she felt a finger lightly poke her back. She swiveled around and saw the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. He was exactly her type: tall, dark and handsome. He was incredibly fit, and wearing clothes that highlighted his muscular body. He had on a sympathetic smile and lips that were begging to be kissed. Well, hello there. Maybe his attractiveness short-circuited her brain because she just stood there gaping at him like an idiot.

“Sorry,” he modestly started, “I couldn’t help but notice. Are you alright?”

Penelope nodded, heat spreading on her cheeks. She must have looked like a mad woman, pacing to and fro in front of the restroom. She smiled weakly at him.

“Are you sure?” He glanced in the direction of her date and she grimaced. Her date was openly picking his nose in public at the moment. Penelope had to close her eyes in an effort not to shudder in repugnance. “Anne told me you might need saving.”

She perked up at the name of her server. She might have found her salvation after all. “I…actually, I might,” she bashfully admitted. “I need rescuing from my date. It’s a Tinder date.” She felt the need to explain why. Obviously, this handsome man in front of her probably think she was crazy for going on this date in the first place. And, just in case he might be interested, she wanted to make herself appear saner.

“No worries. I’m your guy,” he reassured her. When he grinned at her, she swore it went straight between her legs. The pull of her attraction to him was insanely intense. She had never felt anything like this before with other men.

“Colin, by the way,” he held out his hand, which she met coyly. “Penelope.”

She marveled at how long his fingers were compared to hers, how rough his skin was against hers and how dry his hands was compared to her date. Her mind started to wander to more wanton thoughts as he shook her hand. His fingers should be illegal, she mused. When he let go, she already mourned the loss of contact.

“Alright, Penelope. I’ll be your knight in shining armor tonight,” he stated excitedly.

Ugh, and he’s charming too? How the hell was he real?

He urged her back to her date without a game plan, only a wink. She got too pre-occupied with said wink to even ask about how he planned on rescuing her. She reluctantly sat down across her date again.

“You sure took your time there,” her date stated said evenly. “I hate waiting. Be more prudent next time.”

She almost threw the basket of breadsticks to his face. Colin better come right away or else, she will stab the man in front of her in the eye with a breadstick. Before she could openly berate him, Colin marched to their table purposefully. He stopped with a loud dramatic gasp.

“Penelope, how could you?” he bellowed scandalously. “After ten years of marriage, this is what you’re doing?”

“What the fuck…” she mumbled in shock at his theatrical display. Her date appeared to be equally confused at the scene in front of them.

“And you left Colin Jr at home by himself to meet up with this man?” Colin continued his melodrama without pausing. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“Wait, you have a kid?” her date’s furious question jerked her from her bewilderment.

“I-“

“I thought you were a virgin!” he cut her off, for the nth time this night.

“That’s where you draw the line? Me not being a virgin?” her incredulous voice was shrill in affront.

Even Colin stopped with his dramatics with a revolted, “Dude.”

Thankfully, this was the moment her date decided to storm out. “Mother was right, after all. Never trust anyone from the internet,” he spat at her before he left.

Penelope hissed back, “It goes both ways!” She clutched her wine glass and chugged the contents in one go.

Colin took her date’s seat and stared at her, eyes twinkling in amusement.

She glared at him. “And you, Colin Jr really?” she asked with a huff.

“I got carried away. You should have seen your face!” He laughed out loud. But she had a sneaking suspicion that he planned it all from the start. She supposed, once that her outrage had passed, it was hilarious. She started giggling with him.

He was about to stand when the food came out, along with a bottle of wine. Penelope stopped him from leaving. “It’s a shame to waste all these food I’d end up paying for. And really want to thank you for saving me from that horrible date.”

He appeared hesitate so she added further, “After ten years of marriage, this is the least I could do.”

He laughed out loud again. It definitely was her libido acting up because she felt herself swoon slightly to his baritone laughter. She found herself wondering if he had a Tinder account. He gestured for her to pick which plate was hers. She gratefully took her previous date’s salmon dish and pushed the steak towards him. They ate, happily chatting about everything under the sun. He regaled her with stories of his vast travels, one story similarly exciting as the next. She offered her childhood tales from her Irish motherland. He started talking about his work, and how he just came back from Morocco after missing his boisterous family. And she started opening up about her insecurity of being in an unfamiliar country all by herself. He held her hand in consolation as she admitted succumbing to homesickness sometimes. He comforted her by recounting comical anecdotes from his travels.

If she was awestruck by his good-looks, she was even more enamored by his wit and sense of humor. He made her laugh so hard but he also made her think. There was nothing sexier than a sharp intellect. He was becoming more dangerous to her as more times passed.

They stayed together until it was closing time. And she barely noticed the passage of time. It wasn’t until Anne cleared her throat in front of them that they noted that they were the only patrons in the restaurant left. She awkwardly asked for the cheque but Colin stopped her.

“This one’s on me, Anne.”

Their server nodded and bid them a good night before leaving.

“What? Wait, Anne!” She tried stopping her but her pleas fell on deaf ears. “I was supposed to treat you,” she grumbled lightly to Colin.

He shrugged. “How can I ask the mother of my child, Colin Jr, to pay for our date?”

She paused, blushing profusely. “Even if she dared to date someone else tonight?” she teased playfully.

He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Even when she tried to date someone else tonight. And might I add, she looks absolutely lovely tonight.”

Smooth like fucking butter. Her face must be red as a tomato right now, she reckoned. “Well, Colin Jr’s dad is not bad looking either.”

He beamed at her. She wanted to look away because he was too beautiful, it’s just not right. But he gently grasped her hand and asked softly, “Can I have your number? I really liked our time together and I really like you.”

“I like you too,” she replied, breathless.

He started leaning towards her, eyes locked on her lips. She did the same, magnetically slanting her body closer to his. Just when they were a fraction of an inch away, the kitchen door busted open with Anne bustling out.

“Boss, do you want-oops! My bad!” She retreated as fast as she came.

Damn it, Anne! Her scowl must have been a sight since he started chortling. He kissed the back of her hand reverently after to assuage her.

“Wait, she said boss?”

It was his turn to be sheepish. “I own this place.”

She blinked. That explained his intervention. “I clearly chose the wrong place to cheat on Colin Jr’s father.”

“I don’t know. I thought you were at the perfect place and time. I think I’m plenty lucky tonight,” he said sincerely.

She didn’t think she should voice out that if he kept on being sweet like that, he will get even luckier tonight. She only replied, “I’m glad.”

She exchanged numbers with him eagerly before bidding him a good night. But before she could step out from the restaurant, he gathered her in his arms and crashed his lips against hers. And it was magic and satisfaction and bliss and release all rolled into one. She clung to him, desperate against the tide of overwhelming emotions. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, she was completely swept away. It felt as if she would come undone with just a flick of his tongue. When they broke apart, they were gasping for air and sporting giddy grins.

“Good night, Colin,” she called out sweetly.

“Good night, Penelope.”

She didn’t sleep at all that night. The butterflies in her stomach were too flighty. And her excitement could not be abated, even as she knew she was attending a Bridgerton brunch the next day. She was groggy when she came in but a smile could not seem to leave her face.

Eloise pulled her aside to interrogate her about her Tinder date last night but the flurry of excitement filled the room. Everyone was enthusiastic for some reason. “The long lost Bridgerton is finally coming home. The prodigal son has returned,” Eloise said wryly. But Penelope detected her friend’s delight beneath all the sarcasm.

“Oh, that’s good,” she could not help but mirror her friend’s pleasant demeanor. She was already riding the high from last night. Another cause for celebration was just the cherry on top.

“Yeah, apparently he came back yesterday from Morocco in secret so he could surprise us. But Hyacinth still can’t keep her trap shut, ruining the surprise.”

“Morocco?”

It was then that she heard a familiar voice bellow out his greetings. She whipped her head fast and her eyes met his across the room. It was cliché but she would swear to anyone who would listen that at that moment, time slowed down. When their eyes met, it felt like nothing else mattered. And her heart leapt in anticipation as he crossed the sea of people to meet her.

“Penelope?”

“Colin.”

“You two know each other?” Eloise asked, awed.

She smiled brightly, eyes locked onto Colin. “Of course! We’ve been married, what…ten years now?”

He snickered harder upon seeing everyone’s bewildered faces. “Colin Jr missed you last night.”

Eloise interrupted again, “Is he talking about his dick?”

Penelope chose to ignore her friend now that Colin intertwined his hand with hers. “Did he now? I should go visit him some time.”

“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic with your visit.”

“So how does tonight sound?” she asked, playful in her inquiry but nervous with his answer.

He kissed the back of her hand sweetly. “Perfect. I know a place. They serve the best Steak Diane.”

She laughed.

[smallerinfinities]

something missing | feysand oneshot

a/n: oh hello! idk this just kind of....happened? it came upon me unexpectedly. I’m rereading ACOFAS and it’s snowing outside so...here’s some sugar-coated fluff laced with filth for this sinday :)

warnings: 3.3k of fluffy smut and smutty fluff

Hmmm. Feyre worried the paint brush stuck between her lips with her teeth. There was something missing from the painting. Frost and Starlight, she had called it in her mind walking through the Palace of Thread and Jewels that day before Solstice. Now, weeks later, she clung to the buzz of the early chill of winter, wanted to remember the bustling life that had turned scarce in the city. 

It was now bitterly cold—according to Mor, colder than it had been in Velaris in decades. The streets were mostly empty, quiet except for the bundled shuffling of people coming and going but rarely standing for too long. Feyre could hear the wind beating at the locked gallery door, could feel the cold pushing against the magic of her floating flames. The only thing keeping her from freezing to death in the dimming light of the Rainbow. 

Even the Rainbow had been less alive lately, artists only leaving their studios for occasional supplies. The musicians had taken to giving little salon concerts. Only the most desperate had remained busking outside. Feyre had persuaded Rhys into magicking some coins into their open instrument cases, enough to keep them out of the cold for awhile.

She shook her head and refocused on the swirls of color in front of her, the painting that might have been finished if she weren’t so set on the details of it. What’s missing?

I don’t know, but I know what I’m missing. Feyre smiled involuntarily, his purr down the bond snaking its way down her spine. 

Incorrigible. Where have you been? If you went someplace warm without me, I’m staying at the gallery and you can sleep alone in our cold bed with none of what you’ve been missing. 

Rhys chuckled. On the contrary, my love. I was in the Steppes with Az, settling a few more of the descenters down. I’ve been freezing my balls off all day. 

Feyre shivered just thinking about how cold the war camps must be, the rows of tents barely standing up to the winds. But she couldn’t resist the door he’d left open. Poor Illyrian baby, so afraid of losing something important to a little cold spell.

He sent a rude gesture down the bond and Feyre smirked, taking the paint brush from her mouth to shove into the messy bun on top of her head. She paused halfway when her mating ring caught one of the faelights behind her, setting the brilliant sapphire glittering. Ah, that’s what’s missing. 

She dipped her brush in a tiny bit of white paint and leaned into the canvas, dabbing little specks here and there, in every window in her frozen Palace. When she sat back, the effect set her eyes sparkling. The blues and reds and greens of her scene turned into glittering sapphires and rubies and emeralds. The jewels the Palace was famous for leaped off the canvas and twinkled behind the glass, worthy of the astonishment she had painted in the faces walking past.

Beautiful, he breathed, seeing the painting through her eyes. Lately, she had been leaving her mind open to him when she painted. He didn’t pry often, but she found she wanted to share a little of her process with him. Even if she couldn’t talk about some of her feelings, some of the things they left in the darkness, she could show him here in the quiet of the gallery at night. 

Feyre felt him before even the shadows could react to his winnowing. Rhys grazed the skin at the edge of her sweater, just below her neck. Shivers ran down her spine again, but not because of the cold. Her nipples hardened in response to his touch, a kindling warming low in her abdomen. 

“Hello, Feyre darling.” 

His solid presence relaxed her, the warmth of him radiating into her back. She exhaled and leaned into him as his hands left her neck to wander down her front, skillfully avoiding the hardened peaks that reached for him. Even with the stool, he still towered over her, giving him enough room to rest his chin on top of that messy bun. 

“Gods, I missed you,” he inhaled, breathing her scent, now eternally mixed with paint, “the Illyrians are such bastards when they’re being obstinate.” 

“What did you and Az have to do?” Feyre ran soothing fingers up and down his arms still covered in Illyrian leathers. 

“Nothing too taxing, just some strong words and a demonstration.” She could feel him tense up, even as his wandering hands caressed her sides, trying to find the hem of her sweater. 

“Did you kill anyone?” Such a casual question, but even with the veil of sarcasm he knew she would want a serious answer. 

“No, but let’s just say a couple of their captains won’t be flying anytime soon.” He let some of the tension he always carried after bad days melt away as he curved into her, moving to pepper her neck with sloppy kisses. 

“Rhys,” she moaned, combing her fingers through his hair that was still damp from the Illyrian snow. “Let me clean up and then you can ravish me at home all you like.”

His teeth grazed her earlobe and she bent her head sideways giving him more room. Just as his fingers finally found that hem of her sweater. Snow-cold fingers tickled the skin just above her leggings. Feyre yelped and twisted on her stool, finally turning to face him fully. His eyes were pure violet fire, taking in every inch of her, from her wild hair to her booted feet. His chest raised and lowered quicker with each passing second, the bulge in his pants evidence of his mirrored desire. She bit her lip. And he snapped. 

Fuck the house, he purred down the bond. His mouth collided with hers as strong hands lifted her from the stool. She wrapped her legs around his waist, careful to avoid his sensitive wings. His pouty lips devoured hers, a wild moan escaping him as he tugged at her bottom lip. Feyre could sense him reaching with his magic, trying to find some place to put her down so he could properly have his way with her. Out here it would be the wall between the hung paintings or the cold floor. She knew he was weighing those two options. 

There’s a table in the back room, she panted, clawing at his mental walls with the promise of what was to come. If she was honest, she wouldn’t have minded the wall, but the paintings were precious and she knew they wouldn’t be hanging for very long. He carried her, his mouth still firmly pressed against hers. She shifted her head and opened fully for him, inviting him into her mouth with a flick of her tongue against his. He tasted like citrus kissed with the bitter tang of whiskey, left over from the drink he’d had to take the edge off the demonstration earlier. 

When he kicked open the back room door, Feyre’s floating firelight followed them, immediately stoking and warming the space. 

You’re getting better at that. His praise was like gasoline on that kindling inside of her, kicking up a blazing fire that sang through her blood, through her bones. He deposited her on the worktable, only taking a second to notice the sharp scent of paint and the supplies that littered the space behind her. His lips curled, this reminds me of the cabin. Remember how messy it was?

“It was our mating,” she answered out loud, “I remember every second of that day.” I can still feel it here, Feyre took his hand and guided it under her sweater to press against her panting heart. He stepped closer to rest his brow against hers, dragging a finger down her cheek. It was a second before his soft smile went devilish, another second before she felt the wet streak where his finger had been. 

He wiggled a cerulean-tipped finger at her. 

“Rhysand!” 

He tipped his head back and roared with laughter as she slapped at his leather-clad chest. The closest jar to her was a cotton candy pink. She snapped her fingers and his leathers disappeared, leaving a perfectly sculpted tan chest for her to draw a big heart on with her fingers. 

Hmpf. Turnabout is fair play. The playful gleam in his eye sparkled as he snapped his fingers and her clothes just...disappeared. She quirked an eyebrow, I hope you’re giving those back before we leave. A low growl rumbled beneath her fingers still toying with his chest. 

I’ll take it under advisement. You might have to beg me. A wry smile formed on his lips as he dipped that same cerulean finger into the pink paint and swirled it between her breasts, a trail of purple from her throat to her belly button. Feyre exhaled heavily and leaned back on her hands, scattering some charcoal pencils. They echoed in the cold space when they clattered to the floor but she didn’t care. She was naked and Rhys was not. Her legs spread a little wider against the edge of the table, putting herself on display for him. 

“Wicked, beautiful creature.” His hot breath ricocheted off her chest where his paint marks were quickly drying. It was a struggle to keep from moaning at the touch of his fingers toying with the inside of her spread thighs, dangerously close to the liquid fire pooling between her legs. He grinned at her restraint, the muscles dancing beneath her skin. “What do you wish of me, High Lady?” 

“I wish…” she tilted her head back in a slow roll, “I wish…” When her eyes met his again, their intensity burned anew. “I wish for you to take me like you did that first time,” snapping her fingers to rid him of the last of his clothes, “no holding back.”

His knees shook like a newborn foal at the command in her words. He kneeled before her on those tattoos he’d had as a reminder for centuries. I will bow before no one and nothing but my crown. The crown he shared with her. He bowed now, as he had before, as he would many, many more times before they were through with this life. The most powerful High Lord in history sent to his knees by his Queen. 

He forced her thighs even wider to accommodate his broad shoulders between her knees. His Fae eyesight didn’t miss the way her stomach muscles clenched as he played with the sensitive skin at her hips, his fingers making a slow path to her spread thighs. He cupped the back of her knees and quickly pulled her closer to his waiting mouth. 

Her yelp turned to a deep moan when he finally tasted her. Fingers immediately weaved into his hair as her back arched off the table. Gods, you taste like honey. You’re so wet for me, Feyre. 

She didn’t have any coherent words to send back to him, just waves of pleasure licking down the mental bridge between them. He suckled at her folds, drank from her, his holy font atop his only sacred altar. She writhed beneath his fingers moving over her warmed skin, let out a groan so deep he felt it vibrate against his face when he found her peaked nipples swollen and screaming for him. He felt her toes curl against his back, stroking his wings in places that made him moan into her. 

It was the last swirl of his tongue, a figure-eight pattern from her entrance to that bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds that finally sent her chanting his name over the edge. She wasn’t sure if it was out loud, but she knew he heard her either way. His wings flared proudly, knocking over a row of easels propped against the side wall, but he couldn’t hear the noise over her heartbeat pounding across the bond. 

The force of her climax pushed her into a sitting position, her fingers still curled in his hair holding his head against her as he stroked his tongue with every wave of pleasure. Even when she was spent, her thighs trembling over his shoulders, she couldn’t neglect him. Her fingers combed through his hair and snaked down his back, busying themselves with the grooves of his wings as he sucked a mark into the inside of her thigh. She made to release him, allow him off his knees, but he growled. 

Don’t stop.

The corners of her mouth curled upward. Is it truly like stroking you...elsewhere?

Well, Feyre darling, how do you feel when I stroke that one spot near the base of your left wing?

She clenched her thighs around his head at the thought. Point taken. 

He stretched his wing in encouragement. She followed his lead, splaying her hands across the membranous skin, tracing his scars. The feeling was, well he couldn’t quite think straight. Pleasure was too tame a word to describe the white-hot fire that licked his wings every time she ran her fingers over the spines, the scars, the muscles that purred and loosened for her. She pressed in at the space between the primary spine and the muscles in his back. He moaned so loud the paint jars rippled. 

Mother above, stop. 

It’s poor form to blaspheme in such a compromising position. Feyre grinned like a cat about to pounce on its prey. This was what she had been waiting for.

Feyre Cauldron-Blessed would know. He sucked in a breath. Her hands hadn’t moved. If you don’t stop, I’m going to spill a different kind of paint on this floor and ruin all our fun. 

Such a messy Illyrian brute. But she let him go, let him rise from between her thighs and stand. He was at full attention, wings spread wide to prolong the feeling of her fingers on the sensitive skin. Even now, after almost a year with him, she still marveled that this thing between them was real. That she was his and he was hers. My mate. 

She reached for him again, low. It was his turn to chant her name. 

Rhys caught her wrists, turning her hands over. He pressed a kiss to each palm. I’m plenty primed, my love. 

Feyre wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him closer, so close to where she wanted him. She knew he liked this position, liked to watch her respond to him. He gripped her hips and positioned himself right at the precipice, took a breath. And pushed in to the hilt. 

Their collective moans shook the little back room, shadows gathering against the walls. Rhys’s eyes were fathomless pools of violet, boring into her very soul. He opened his mind fully to her and saw herself through his eyes, felt the love and the unending desire for her, tasted herself on his tongue. 

I love you. His voice clanged through her, flipping that light switch that lived deep inside of her, that little piece of Day linked to moments of pure joy. Her skin began to glow, only growing brighter when he moved within her. Slow strokes at first, deep inside. Shadows began to lick at her light, snaking against her responsive skin, the contrast only making her shine brighter. 

His thrusts quickened, control flickering with his hips. The hands that gripped her were little more than wisps of darkness, but she could feel his claws lengthening. Feyre reached back to grip the table, but instead knocked over a full jar of paint, splashing green into her hair, onto her skin. 

She laughed, tightening around him. The snarl he released shook her very center, pummeling the dam that he was determined to break for a second time tonight. She sent paint flying through the air on a breeze, landing squarely on his chest like a bullseye on a dart board. Her giggle sent his shadows skittering. 

Laughing at a male in the throes of pleasure is unbecoming of a High Lady, he panted down the bond. 

And how would you know? There’s never been a High Lady before me. Her eyes threatened another laugh until he hauled her leg off the table and shifted his hips. Her eyes rolled back. The floating fire around them surged with her answering moans, sweat beading on both of their brows. 

His hips stuttered. He was close. Feyre reached out and ran a hand down the open gates of his mind. Rhysand, she purred. 

He looked at her, his pupils narrowing, that beast of his barely concealed in this place between pleasure and chaos. His thoughts were a rush, his senses too open to hold on to any particular thought for long. The only thing she could make out other than pure sensation in his mind was one repeated word. 

Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—

Her name. Over and over again. His tether to this world, to the light. 

Rhys. She brushed at the claws on her hips, catching his attention. Come with me. 

The roar was deafening. Anyone else would have been terrified, but all Feyre could do was launch herself over the cliff with him as he finally plunged headfirst into his own pleasure. Blazing light flashed. Her light. Her joy, covering Rhys’s darkness with her own body as he collapsed into her, panting heavily against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, calming the tremors that rolled through him. 

For a few moments the only sounds in the room were the crackling of Feyre’s dying fire lights and their ragged breathing. When Rhys could finally lift himself onto his hands, he just looked at her for a long moment. 

Thought for a thought? she wiped at the sweat dripping from his temples. 

He smirked at her, I was thinking that if I didn’t already know what it feels like to die, I would think you were trying to fuck me to death. 

Her answering laugh shook her whole body, down to the place where he was still sheathed inside her. Rhys hissed, slowly withdrawing. He watched her glow dim. It always did when they parted, a fact that made him equal parts proud and melancholy. She sat up and stretched, cocking her head as he snapped his fingers to clean them off enough to get to the bath at home, leaving only the paint behind. He always liked to scrub that off of her himself.

“I’m going to have to come in early to clean up,” she worried at her lip, surveying all the spilled paint. The room was a bit of a wreck. Tumbled easels, green and blue paint dripping from the table onto the floor, scattered pieces of drawing paper with distinct details from his mate’s naked body outlined in pink and purple. Rhys scoffed and snapped again, setting everything right. 

Feyre grumbled, “you still need to teach me how you do that.” 

“I promise I will, but I’m still waiting for my thought,” he said, as he snapped a third time. Her clothes reappeared in a neat pile. They both dressed as she formed the words in her mind. Words to convey the way her pulse ticked up every morning in the shade of his wing, the way her cheeks pinked with the faintest touch of his fingers on her skin. 

“Will it be like this always? Will I still want to rip the leathers off of you in a thousand years?” He walked over and took her hands, the movement of his sleek black sweater and trousers the only sound in the room. Warmth passed between them, through their clasped hands and the look he gave her. Like a thousand years was only the beginning of their forever. 

“I hope so, Feyre. I really hope so.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and winnowed them both home. 

fin.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Terror in the Night

Prompts: Hello question/prompt for your among us imposter syndrome story: (if they sleep) black having a nightmare about something bad happening to purple and going to check on them in the middle of sleep cycle. Hurt/comfort cuddles follow. Can be applied to either the imposter syndrome story or the younger!purple ones. Either way. I love it. (Hope you are having a good time zone!) - anon

I have a request for your among us stories— we’ve seen Black comfort Purple, but does Purple ever comfort Black? Maybe Black has a bad dream, or another imposter wants to see what’s so special about this little human, or something else happens to one of them and Purple plays the role of comforter? Idk it popped in my head and I figured I ask, haha. - anon

moar somft coming up

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: nightmares, implied/referenced child abuse, death but it's in the nightmare and isn't permanent

Pairings: y'all know the drill for these babes, it is platonic all the way down

Word Count: 2408

Fear has such a distinctive smell.

When the crew of the Skeld was still here, the walls of the ship used to reek of fear, embedded into the rivets, wafting down the corridors. A more sadistic Impostor would call it intoxicating, or even an aphrodisiac. It tapered off, naturally, now that it’s just Black and little Purple.

At least until Black is sitting in the captain’s chair one night cycle and their maw suddenly begins to water.

They’re out of the chair before they know it, hustling down the corridors, legs pumping, maw on the verge of a snarl. Images flash through their mind, the crew somehow found a way to survive, Purple is hurt, Purple is dying—

They burst around the corner and the door to Purple’s quarters opens automatically. They dash inside, maw agape, a roar at the back of their throat only to see a tiny huddle under a mass of blankets, trembling and shivering and reeking of fear.

Oh, no…

Black takes a few deep breaths. No use terrifying the poor little thing any more than they already are, no use acting like anything could hurt them right now. Not with Black here. They let the helmet go, and after a moment, let the suit go too.

Be soft. Be gentle. Be kind. Don’t hurt them.

“Purple,” they call quietly, slowly making their way across the room, “Purple, baby, can you hear me?”

The mound is silent, still trembling.

“Purple,” they try again, now at their bedside, “baby, are you in there? It’s just me, it’s just Black, baby, I won’t hurt you.”

Slowly, so slowly, Black begins to lift the blankets off the bed. Layer by layer, peeling them back, never far, never all the way off. Just enough to peer inside and see a shaking little Purple with their eyes squeezed shut.

“Baby,” they murmur, “baby, it’s okay, open your eyes for me.”

Purple twitches. Their hands ball up and open again in the fabric surrounding them. They twitch again and another wave of fear rolls off them.

“Oh, Purple,” Black whispers, “are you still asleep, baby?”

The twitch that follows is enough of an answer. Black bites back a curse and rests their weight on the edge of the bed, carefully widening the hole in the blankets they’ve made. They take a deep breath and reach in, gently shaking Purple’s shoulder.

“Baby,” they whisper, “Purple, baby, wake up. Wake up, baby, come on…”

Purple doesn’t move. Black tries again.

“Purple? Purple, wake up, wake up!”

Nothing.

They start to shake harder, shoving blankets out of the way.

“Purple? Purple!”

Nothing.

Purple’s head begins to rock back and forth as Black shakes them harder.

“Purple!”

Snap!

Black’s eyes widen in horror as Purple’s neck snaps in two. They drop the corpse from their hands and stagger back, unable to breathe.

Purple’s head lies there, twisted at the most unnatural angle. Their mouth is open in a soundless cry. And their eyes...

Their eyes stare directly at Black.

Because what else could an Impostor do but kill?

Black bolts upright, chest heaving, maw flopped open and whining. They place a hand against the steel wall, the cold shocking their nerves as they cup their helmet in their arm. Nausea threatens the back of their throat and they dry heave, thankfully not actually bringing anything up as they swing their legs out. They sit there, on the edge of the bed, trying frantically to calm down.

Purple is safe. Purple is safe. Purple is safe.

They groan, scrubbing their hands over the helmet. Their maw finally starts to calm down, tongue losing the barbed point as they take deep breaths.

“Fuck.”

Their hands shake as they begin to stagger to the bathroom for a glass of water. The sudden change in position has them disoriented, sending them crashing into one wall after the other. They’re dizzy. Why are they so dizzy? Why don’t they remember how to do this?

The glass shakes in their hands, almost sloshing the water over the edge as they bring it to their lips, only remembering just in time to get the helmet out of the way. Their maw growls in protest as the cold burns down their throat but it soothes some of the churning.

The glass thuds back down onto the counter as they bend over the sink, still breathing heavily. They look up to the mirror and see bruised-bitten lips, sallow cheeks, and red-rimmed eyes.

Purple’s dead eyes stare at them—

Black flinches away from the mirror, fist tightening in their hair and pulling. No. No. It’s not real. Purple is fine.

They breathe in and the scent of fear hits their nose.

They freeze.

Slowly breathe in again.

It’s unmistakable now.

Black’s throat tightens as they slowly, slowly back away from the mirror and sit on the bed. They school their face into an inscrutable expression and place their hands on their knees. They breathe in and out.

The fear only grows.

Their hands twitch toward the door and they clench them into fists.

It’s getting stronger.

The memory of the snap keeps them rooted to the bed.

It’s still getting stronger.

Dead eyes. Because what else could an Impostor do but kill?

“B-Black?”

Black is moving. Black is up and out the door and standing in front of Purple’s quarters. The door slides open slowly and they brace themselves, preparing for the worst—

“Black,” Purple mumbles, blanket clutched over their face, “Black, I—I want Black—“

Black swallows. “Baby?”

Purple slowly lowers the blanket, peering out at Black. Their eyes…

“Black,” they manage around the fabric, reaching out one little hand, “Black, I—I’m sorry, I got scared—“

“It’s okay.” Black swallows. Get it together. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here now.”

“Can—can I have a hug?”

“Yeah, sure, baby, can I—let me come over?”

Purple puts the blanket down and opens their arms, reaching out for Black as they stumble across the room. They pause just out of Purple’s reach, shaking their arms to get into the rest of their human form. Purple lets out a quiet noise as their wrap their arms around Black’s chest, burying their face in the soft shirt.

“Hey, hey, baby,” Black murmurs, clumsily patting their head, “it’s okay, we’re okay, you—you’re safe.”

Purple’s little hands ball up in Black’s shirt, tugging as they try and lie back down. Black just manages to catch themselves on the wall behind them.

“Hold on, baby, you’re gonna pull me over.”

Purple pouts, tugging insistently at their shirt.

“Do you want me to lie down with you?” Another tug. “Words if you can, baby, I want to make sure I don’t hurt you.”

“Will you come lie down, please?”

“Sure, baby, shift over.”

Purple scoots, barely giving Black enough time to calm down before they’re clinging to their arm and trying to scoot into their chest.

“Hey, hey,” they chuckle, turning to lie on their side and open their arms, “there. Come on, warmth.”

Soon, they have a little Purple buried in their chest and stomach, a cold little nose pressed into the crook of their neck, soft warm breaths puffing over their shoulder. Black hums, their maw opening just enough to nibble gently at Purple’s shirt. Purple sighs happily, burying a little closer.

“You’re really warm.”

“Are you cold? Do you need more blankets?”

Purple shakes their head, pushing closer. “Have you.”

Because what else can an Impostor do—

“Black? Black?”

Black blinks and immediately bites back a curse. Their grip must’ve tightened on Purple. They loosen it as quickly as they can and let Purple pull away from them.

“Did…did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, baby,” Black promises, fighting the urge to reach out and cup their little face, “no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Purple rubs their shoulder absentmindedly. “You didn’t.”

Doubt. Black sighs, rubbing their eyes. When they lower their hand again, Purple stares at them with a furrow in their brows.

“You don’t look good.”

Black huffs a laugh. “I don’t feel that good either.”

“What’s wrong?”

Oh, is that all? “I, uh, had a nightmare.”

Purple’s little eyes widen so large Black can see the whites. “You have nightmares too?”

Black’s breath catches for an entirely different reason. “Yeah, baby, everybody has nightmares, it’s okay.”

“Even you?”

“Even me.” Unable to resist the urge any longer, Black reaches out and gently strokes a thumb over Purple’s cheek, drawing forth a soft noise when the poor thing starts to sniffle. “Oh, hey, hey, c’mere, it’s okay, shh, shh…”

Purple crawls back into their arms, wrapping them tightly around Black’s neck as Black turns them over, laying Purple out across their front and tangling one hand in their hair, rubbing their back with the other.

“It’s okay, baby, we’re both okay now,” they coo, wrapping themselves around Purple, “you’re okay, baby, I’ve got you, we’re just gonna lie right here.”

“You—you were scared too?”

“Yeah, baby, I was scared, but that’s okay, everybody gets scared.”

Purple just sobs and clings to them tighter.

“Oh, shh, shh, baby, it’s okay, I’m not scared anymore, I’ve got you here with me, yeah? You keep me safe, I keep you safe, right? It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” Black keeps crooning to the little thing, using a few tendrils to carefully coax the blankets back up over their shoulders, tucking them snugly under the covers. “There, here we go, see? Nice and safe.”

Purple sniffles before reaching out and tugging one of the blankets a little closer around their heads. Black chuckles at the determined little face before Purple cautiously reaches toward their face. They take Purple’s hand in theirs and carefully place it on their cheek.

“What’s the matter, baby?”

“I’m sorry you were scared.”

“Oh, it’s okay, baby, it isn’t your fault.” Black smiles and strokes Purple’s hand with their thumb. “You’re safe, baby, that’s what matters.”

Purple sniffles again.

“Hold on a second.” Black coaxes them back down to their side and shuffles back a few of the covers. “Watch this.”

They hear and feel Purple’s delighted gasp as they flick out a tendril to snag the tissue box from inside the bathroom. They reel it back in and take one tissue out, holding it gently to Purple’s nose.

“Blow, baby.”

Purple listens, their eyes squeeze shut as an adorable little honk rings in the room. They dispose of the tissues and wipe the last of the tears from Purple’s cheeks.

“There,” Black murmurs, “all better now.”

“That was so cool! How did you do that?”

“Remember my arms, baby?”

“Your tentacles!”

Black chuckles. “I can control them, make them stretch if I want to.”

“Wait,” Purple says, their eyes going wide again, “does that mean you can be as big as you want to be?”

“Well—“

“Could you eat the whole ship?”

Black’s heart stutters, reassurances springing to the tip of their tongue that no, they would never, Purple doesn’t need to worry, until they spot the slight pout to Purple’s lower lip and the expression of their face.

“…Purple?”

“Could you?” And yes, that is the voice of an eager child as Purple scoots a little closer to their face. “Could you eat the whole ship?”

“Well,” Black chuckles, wrapping their arms around the little one again, “I don’t think I can get that big.”

At Purple’s disappointed pout, they chuckle again.

“And even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to. Have you seen what this ship is made out of?” They make a disgusted expression and stick their tongue out a little. “I don’t want to eat that! It would taste awful.”

Purple giggles. “You don’t want to eat metal and reactor parts?”

“No!”

Purple giggles again.

“And then where would you stay?” Black tucks a strand of hair behind their ear. “I don’t want to eat your home.”

Purple stills, looking down at Black with a strange expression. Shit, this—this is probably the last place Purple wants to call home. A lump forms in the back of their throat.

“This isn’t my home,” Purple mumbles.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

“You’re my home.”

Black’s chest stutters to a glorious pause.

Oh.

Oh.

Purple’s hands land on their stunned face again, squishing their cheeks gently. Black closes their eyes, overwhelmed by the weight. They hear Purple let out a soft noise and oh, it’s their turn to cry.

“B-black? Black, I’m sorry, I—“

“No,” Black gasps out, tightening their grip on Purple as much as they dare, “no, you don’t—you don’t need to be sorry, Purple, they’re—I’m—I’m—“

Purple’s quiet for a moment, then…

“Happy tears?”

“Yes, baby—happy—happy tears.”

And they have an armful of Purple, cuddled right up to their chest where their arms can wrap as tightly around them as they want, their maw can nibble protectively at their shirt, and their tears can dry in their hair. Purple hums sleepily, letting out a squeaky little yawn. The covers tug up snugly around them as Black buries their face in Purple’s hair.

“Can we go back to sleep now?”

“Sure, baby,” Black whispers, “whatever you want.”

“Can we stay under the covers?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t we?”

Purple shrugs. “Everybody knows monsters can’t get you when you’re under your covers.”

Black chuckles wetly, tucking Purple’s head under their chin and pulling the blankets into position. “Then here we stay.”

Yes, as they drift off to sleep, safe and warm, wrapped in each other’s arms, here they stay.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I've been thinking about your Ruthari angst prompts and idk if that's even allowed 😅 but what do you think about a mixture of 3 and 11? 👀

Okay, so I wanted to play with the arranged marriage au for a bit, and these two lines landed like they might be part of negotiations. So here you go:

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” and “How am I supposed to go on?”  

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Runaan paced slowly at Ethari’s side as they circled the fog-shrouded gardens of the Silvergrove Council House for the seventh time, matching the craftsman’s easy amble. The assassin had begun their negotiations with his hands clasped behind his back as they trod the well-worn path just inside the pale filigree wall that ringed the grounds. Now they hung loose at his sides, after over an hour of conversation that gradually found its rhythm. Ethari was surprisingly easy to converse with, so far. Runaan wasn’t certain he really approved of the taller elf’s playful mindset, but his easy forgiveness and acceptance had soothed away a lot of Runaan’s initial worries.

Runaan kept his face carefully forward as they walked, not wishing to indicate any weakness by glancing Ethari’s way too often, but he kept Ethari’s boots in the corner of his eye so he didn’t walk too fast and leave him behind.

I could. I could leave him behind. I’m faster, stronger. But my life has never been mine to direct. It belongs to Xadia. And so does my heart. Runaan took a slow breath as Ethari thoughtfully contemplated his reply, nibbling at his lip. My heart for Xadia. So, my heart for Ethari, as much as I can manage it.

“I suppose,” Ethari began slowly, “I would do whatever the council wished me to do.”

That was the best answer Runaan could have expected. Ethari had a deep sense of duty that overrode his personal feelings, just as Runaan did. Another thread of tension loosened in his shoulders. No one understood duty like an assassin, but the council had selected Ethari from among all the eligible craftsmen in the Silvergrove. He was the best they could find. But Runaan was the one who’d marry him, and he needed to be sure, too. And now, to his relief, he was sure. Ethari was willing to do his duty, no matter what.

Good. He’ll need that as much as I do.

“Would they make me marry the next assassin leader, too, do you suppose?” Ethari continued. He looked further ahead on their circular path, as if he could see such a dark future already looming.

Runaan blinked in surprise. He shifted himself out of the equation--an easy habit of long practice--and considered the idea. “It depends on what sort of match we have, I think.”

“How do you mean?” Ethari’s voice was carefully distant, unwilling to give any indication of interest either way.

Runaan pouted thoughtfully. “Well, if we match well in skill, if your crafting is of high quality and I perform admirably with your weapons, then the council will be inclined to match you with another assassin so you can continue to perform your valuable services.”

“Hmm.”

Runaan glanced over from beneath a single raised brow at Ethari’s noncommittal noise. “You don’t agree?”

“Does the council take feelings into consideration in situations like that?” Ethari asked.

“Feelings?” Runaan scoffed lightly. Feelings never protected anyone from anything. They were more likely to cause chaos than bring order.

Ethari shot him an uncertain glance. “Yes, feelings. What if...?” He looked away abruptly.

“You worry they would match you with a woman?” Runaan guessed.

A tiny smile flickered at the corner of Ethari’s lips and vanished. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh. What, then?”

Ethari glanced across the gardens, to where the lacy arches of the Council House faded into the mist. “Can I ask you for a favor, Runaan?”

Runaan’s spine straightened. A personal request from his intended? This was the sort of thing he would be expected to agree to, wasn’t it? They were to be partners, allies, for the protection of Xadia and the Silvergrove. But soft subjects were merely practice for the important things. That was Runaan’s takeaway after Tiadrin sat him down and gave him a thorough talking-to, anyway. “Of course,” he responded. He had no idea what to expect, but he was intensely curious what could prompt Ethari to ask for a personal boon just then. “Anything you like.”

The craftsman’s eyes scanned the foggy garden until he spotted something that met with his approval. He held out a broad-palmed hand toward Runaan. “Will you come with me for a moment?”

Runaan stilled, studying the outstretched hand so easily offered. I suppose I should get used to this elf’s touch sooner rather than later, he reasoned. Slowly, he placed his gloved hand in Ethari’s, resting it there as lightly as a landing bird.

Ethari grinned warmly and gave Runaan’s hand a gentle squeeze. Then he towed him past a couple of short fruit trees that were just budding their spring leaves, until they were entirely hidden from sight, against the outer wall of the gardens. He pulled Runaan to face him and gave him a secretive smile. “Here, this’ll do.”

Runaan glanced around uncertainly. “For what?”

Ethari glanced down, suddenly bashful. “I, I thought we should kiss. To get used to it. They’ll expect it of us in public from time to time.”

Runaan’s brows lowered. “We don’t have to kiss.”

Ethari’s shoulders slumped a little. “Do you mean right now, or... ever...?”

Runaan’s expression tightened as he struggled with these unfamiliar notions Ethari was creating in him. “We are to be wed for the good of the SIlvergrove, Ethari. You are a craftsman of immense skill, and I am to become the leader of the assassins. Our union will stabilize the chaos of the past few years and ensure a brighter future for everyone. Kissing...” Runaan shook his head slowly, baffled. “Kissing doesn’t enter into it.”

“Kissing doesn’t--?” Ethari blurted. “Runaan...”

Perplexed at Ethari’s sudden outburst, the assassin took a moment to look him up and down, seeking some reason for his intense reaction. But he saw only a tall, frustrated craftsman before him, clearly in on some secret Runaan did not possess. It seemed he’d have to ask out loud for it. “What?”

“You fool.” Ethari’s hands were on his cheeks in a heartbeat, pulling him closer. Runaan’s sound of protest was trapped in his mouth as Ethari’s lips found his, hard and urgent, driving him back against the garden wall. Runaan backed into it with enough force to  draw a grunt from his chest.

Ethari chased him there, pressing himself flush against Runaan, pinning him with writhing eagerness. At the sound of Runaan’s grunt, he let out a low, grinding moan to match, sieving his fingers into the assassin’s hair.

Don’t stab him. Do not stab him. He wouldn’t understand. This is for Xadia. The thought flared red in Runaan’s mind, tangled and fragmented by a truly frightening amount of heated sensations that burst out of nowhere and swarmed him like a cloud of moon moths seeking escape, finding none. What is... what is he doing to me... what is this...

A stifled groan slipped through Runaan’s teeth. Instead of shoving Ethari away as he felt would be proper for such an uninvited assault, Runaan found his hands knotting in Ethari’s shirt and tugging him closer still. He wrapped a leg around Ethari’s ass and snugged their bodies together, lost in the grip of unreasoning neediness.

“Nnngh.” Ethari’s moan nibbled its way along Runaan’s jaw and nipped at the delicate skin beneath his ear. Runaan arched against his lips, tilting his chin up, bucking his hips forward with a soft cry.

Ethari steadied himself with a grip on a swirly amid the pattern in the filigree wall. His other hand teased beneath the lower edge of Runaan’s shirt, and his words rang breathlessly in Runaan’s ear.  “Runaan... I’ve always loved you... always... You make me so happy, this is a dream come true...”

“Aah!” Runaan tore himself away and stumbled a couple of steps sideways, panting heavily. His body throbbed in all the best places, his skin was flushed, his pupils blown. But he held out a hand to ward Ethari off. “You tricked the council?” he puffed. “You lied to them?”

Bereft, shocked, Ethari made an abortive reach toward Runaan and then stopped. “What? No!”

“They asked me if I had any attachments.” Runaan’s voice was cold, but why wouldn’t Runaan’s heart settle? It insisted on galloping across the Forest like a wild moonstrider. “I said no, so I was approved for consideration. And it was the truth.”

“I... Runaan, it wasn’t a lie! I’d never told you. There was no attachment to lie about.”

“There was in your heart.”

Baffled, breathless, desperate, Ethari took a step forward with his hands out pleadingly. “How is that a bad thing? I told them nothing of my feelings. I let them decide, for the good of the Silvergrove. And now that it’s decided, I’m telling you the truth! Isn’t that what couples do when they trust each other?”

Runaan’s brows drew down, and he thought searchingly through the wild storm of his feelings, seeking the hard edges of something reliable. Ah. There. He tucked his hands behind his back--the better to keep them off this deceptively charming elf before him--and straightened up into a formal assassin pose. “That’s just it, Ethari. I don’t trust you. We don’t know each other that well. And we’re not a couple. We’re a team--or trying to be--serving Xadia first and foremost. And you just admitted that you’re capable of deceiving the whole village council--and me--to get what you want. You told me you’d marry whoever the council paired you with, if I fell, but that’s not true, is it? You’ve put your needs above those of the many. And that, I cannot abide.”

Genuine fear bled across Ethari’s face as Runaan’s words sank in. “Runaan, please don’t... Are you calling this off?” His bottom lip trembled, and he pressed a shaking fist against his mouth. “Please don’t tell me I’ve ruined everything, please, please...” He closed his eyes and stood there, vulnerable, exposed. “You’re right. You’re right. It probably isn’t true. If I lose you to the humans someday, I won’t want to marry another. I just want to be with you. If...” His sunset eyes searched the mists for answers and flew back to meet Runaan’s stern gaze. “If I lose you--later, or right now--how am I supposed to go on?”

Runaan’s jaw worked as he stared at the pleading craftsman. His touch had been electric, dazzling. Runaan craved it again already. But such neediness would be an imbalance that could cost him in a critical moment--and if he fell, then his entire purpose was at risk. His head scrambled for distance even as his heart thrummed with eager heat. “I cannot trust you, Ethari. That must be the base tenet of this relationship, or we cannot serve Xadia as it requires.”

In true distress, Ethari grabbed his own horns and turned away, pacing erratically, muttering “No, no, no” through his teeth. Then he whirled back to face Runaan. “Please, I promise you, I won’t give you any further cause to doubt me. Let me prove myself. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you need.”

Runaan stalked closer until they stood nose to nose. “I need you to give your heart to Xadia. Not to me.”

“Done,” Ethari blurted. His gaze clung to Runaan’s face, and he trembled with tension, his fate hanging in the balance.

Runaan’s gaze betrayed him, falling for a single moment from those urgent eyes to his intended’s full lips, before snapping back up. He gritted his teeth, tugged his shirt smooth of Ethari’s recent elfhandling, and added roughly, “And don’t you dare kiss me again. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Ethari looked down. “I’m sorry. It... won’t happen again.” His voice faded to a whisper like a wounded animal crawling into the shadows to die.

“How am I supposed to go on?” Ethari’s words echoed in Runaan’s mind, and he relented a little. “Wait. This is to be an alliance. I must consider your feelings, however... misguided, if we are to make this work, yes?” Ethari will make a solid ally, at least. I cannot say the same for every craftsman in the Silvergrove. I may never find an easier or stronger connection than this.

Ethari looked up from beneath his downcast brows, curious but not hopeful. “I suppose so,” he allowed uncertainly.

Runaan nodded decisively. “Then I’ll do the kissing, when it’s appropriate. You were right: they will expect it from time to time. Does this meet with your satisfaction?”

Ethari stared at him for a long moment and sighed dully. “I’ll take it.“

Runaan’s brows drew together. He’d expected Ethari to be delighted, grateful, that Runaan had considered his feelings and made allowances. Wasn’t that how these negotiations were supposed to work? Moon help me, I may just be making this worse... is it too late to take it all back and just let him kiss me again? That was... hnnngh...

Runaan opened his mouth to admit he was wrong, but Ethari spoke first.

“My heart for Xadia.” The craftsman offered his hand again, hesitantly.

Runaan studied that open palm again. Holding hands. A decent compromise in itself. He took it softly and nodded.

Together, hand in hand and worlds apart, the betrothed elves made their way through the mists to the Council House. For Xadia.

[adam-memeleri]

Imperfections

it may not be foreign affairs anymore, but its still ayna day in my heart 😔❤️. thanks @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton for the prompt again, i threw in some angst this time cuz i like pain :) kinky

no idea when anything takes place, but im aiming for during the fake relationship i think ?? who knows tbh

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tagging -@bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @alccaddsccup @cardinalnuggets

if you do or do not wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (uhhhh i think hurt/comfort? primarily? idk man)

Ayna x MC (Kennedy, they/them)

~2k words unedited but thats nothing new now is it?

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Ayna’s fingers fasten a necklace clasp behind her neck, every movement careful and precise as she readies herself. They move to her hair, fixing it for the nth time, just to assure it’s perfect.

It has to be perfect, all of it. Every hair, every pore, every fine detail - it’s all been carefully thought through for weeks now, for this one specific date.

Valentine’s Day.

The end all be all, at least this year. She’s never given it much thought before, but she’s never really had a reason to. Until this year. Until this crazy, wild, borderline disastrous year. Until the day Kennedy stumbled into her class, all smiles and longing looks.

Until she spent days looking forward to coffee house meetups, until short texts could make her whole day, until every class was an excuse to share a small smile. And, unfortunately, until those meetups were forced to end, until those texts stopped coming, until class was just a reminder that even smiles were dangerous.

But not today. She had a plan today, a foolproof, perfect plan. No planned meetups, no trackable texts, nothing too out in the open. And she’d be damned if it failed.

She turns from the hanging mirror, shrugging on a jacket and tugging on a nice pair of shoes before straightening. Her reflection stares back at her, carefully done makeup and slightly askew glasses. She quickly adjusts them, tucking back one last strand of hair.

With one last glimpse at herself, she grabs the bouquet of roses she picked out earlier in the day, bright red petals resting on her table. And with that she leaves, exiting her building and venturing onto Vancross campus.

She eventually steps out onto one of the many winding paths leading through the school’s grounds, carefully making her way to the expansive library settled in one corner of campus. It’s familiar warmth shines through the windows, yellow lights on even in the darkening night for cramming and over enthusiastic students.

Ayna’s fingers tighten over the door’s handle, tugging it open as a small, excited grin overtakes her lips. She steps inside, flowers poised in her hands regardless of how cheesy they may be, and scans for

They’re with her. Sitting with her, talking with her, laughing with her. They’ve been doing everything with her, and today’s no different. Today’s not special, not exempt, not reserved for Ayna.

Huddled close at a table, books spread before the pair as they whisper, heads so close. Arms touching, smiles wide, chairs so close. They’re so close, that’s all Ayna can think about as she simply stands there, all her previous excitement evaporating from her body.

And they don’t even notice her. Kennedy’s gaze doesn’t flicker in her direction in the way it always does. Their cheeks don’t flush when they’re caught like they always do in the lecture hall. Their hands don’t fidget with barely contained nerves, atop the table, a pen twirling between anxious fingers.

Their gaze is glued to Evelyn’s features, their cheeks dust in a blush from her words, their hands are relaxed as they lean against her shoulder. They don’t even notice Ayna.

She turns on her heel, quickly rushing out the library’s front doors and into the dusk settled around campus. Her heels clack with some strange anger, some swirling in the pit of her gut as her fist clenches, crushing the bouquet she spent so long picking out.

And all for naught. This is all for naught, that’s the worst part. The outfit, the shoes, the hair and makeup - all for absolutely nothing.

She stalks to a trash can resting beside the pavement, glaring down at it with pale knuckles and a furrow in her brow. She breaks, like a glass hitting concrete. She breaks, stuffing the ridiculous flowers into the bin over and over again, until she’s just needlessly exerting herself, needlessly scratching herself on discarded thorns.

Little nicks on her skin, tiny imperfections to ruin it all. A visual of her failings, a marking to remind her of this disastrous night. A brand forged without fire, one that’ll remain in the morning, even after she’s washed off the rest of tonight. Even when the mascara and curls and jacket are discarded in the next few hours, the cuts will stay, at least for a few days.

She breaks once more, from the trash bin as an angry and hurt tear slips down her cheek. A crumpled fist hurriedly wipes it away, before she’s stamping down the paved path once more, shoulders tight and expression pinched.

“Hey! Ayna!” a voice rings behind her, out of breath as quick footsteps draw closer and closer. “Hey,” a hand softly grasps her sleeve, a smiling face slipping into her line of sight.

“Hey,” she mumbles back, her gaze trained on the pavement beneath her feet, feet that haven’t once halted.

Kennedy slows by her side, falling into step with her easily. “Tatum said he saw you come into the library then leave, what’s up?”

Ayna’s shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug, slumping with an exhale. “Nothing.”

“You sure? You seem kinda… distant.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, okay,” Kennedy relents, head swiveling as they search for something to occupy her attention. “Um, happy Valentine’s!” Their hands clap together excitedly, expression alight with a beaming smile. “I wanted to call you or something earlier, but Winston was hovering over me all day and I don’t know… You’re usually busy this time of night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Ayna shrugs again, her hands fisted in her pockets. “I’m not busy.”

“Really? Then let’s do something!”

Her gaze snaps up, shock sparking throughout her mind. “What?” she blanks, stopping in her tracks to further scrutinise Kennedy.

“Yeah!” Kennedy’s grin is brilliant, even in the low light, before they glance about the quad. Their hands slip into Ayna’s, fingers tangling with hers, before they’re tugging her along, away from the light posts and travelled paths.

She’s led past the bushes, to a secluded bench, empty branches hanging above it, stretching from a large tree. A soft breeze stirs them, whistling through the leafless wood.

“Okay,” Kennedy starts, sucking in a deep breath. “So I know this is super late, and I don’t really know how to go about this, but…” they meet her eyes, hope glimmering within, “would you, Ayna Seth, do me the honour of being my Valentine?”

She blinks. Not a single other muscle moves, her breath halts in her lungs, her brain malfunctions entirely, and the only thing she can do is blink. Again. And again.

“...Ayna?” Kennedy squeezes her hands where they still rest in theirs.

“You really… Really?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve been trying to find a good time for ages, so I figured… Are you bleeding?”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding! Your hands!” they grip her forearm, tugging her down to the bench, where they carefully cradle her hands in their lap. Their fingers hover over her skin, not sure what to do as they send uneasy glances up to Ayna’s eyes.

She inspects the scratches now, all of them shallow and mostly painless. “It’s just a few cuts,” she mumbles, Kennedy’s panicked gaze quieting her.

“What happened?” they whisper, as if worried the volume of their voice could inflict further damage.

“I, um -” Ayna steals her hands back, folding them in her lap to hide them. “The flowers,” she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, “They had thorns.”

“You should be more careful.”

“Okay,” she nods, still biting her lip.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You’ve been wanting to ask me out?” They speak at the same time, concern brimming in Kennedy’s eyes and disbelief in Ayna’s.

A grin quirks Kennedy’s lips as they settle against the bench, arm draped over the back. “I asked first.”

“Barely,” Ayna chuckles lighty.

“Still got there first.”

Ayna shakes her head in exasperation, a fond smile lifting her lips. Before it all falls away, replaced by a crease between her brows. “I, um,” she shifts in her seat awkwardly, struggling for the words. “I don’t think I’m as comfortable with the fake relationship as I thought I was…”

“Okay,” Kennedy answers quickly, easily.

“What?” she balks, jaw working for words. “Are you sure?” is all she manages.

“Of course,” they chime, just as quickly, as easily. “If you’re jealous or uncomfortable, I’ll do whatever I can to put a stop to it.”

Ayna’s jaw snaps shut, a frown curving her mouth, “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh really?” Kennedy’s voice hums, a teasing lilt to it.

“I’m not,” Ayna’s frown deepens.

“Okay…” they hum again, leaning closer as their voice lowers. “So you’d have no problem with me, say, asking out Evelyn for real?” Their eyebrow raises, head cocking to the side. “Or what about Blaine? Maybe Zaira…?” they tap their chin thoughtfully.

Ayna starts, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” her voice tapers off, replaced by the bouncing of her leg and the picking of a nail.

“You’re jealous?” Kennedy supplies with an amused smile.

Ayna deflates, sighing heavily, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being… jealous,” she almost spits the word, distaste heavy on her tongue and sloshing in her stomach.

Kennedy shifts closer, their body warm against Ayna’s in the cool night air. “Don’t be. It’s normal, it’s fine,” they take her hand, their palm covering tiny cuts, tiny imperfections with warmth and comfort. “I’d get jealous if you were walking around with someone too.”

“You’re not weirded out by it?”

“No, it’s normal,” They squeeze Ayna’s hand, thumb brushing lightly on her skin. “It’s human. You’re human.”

“I still don’t like it,” she scowls, eliciting a nudge and smirk from Kennedy.

“That’s fine, too,” they reassure, a more serious expression taking over. “So what happened with the thorns?”

“I got you roses,” Ayna’s cheeks flush dark, “Even though I know it’s lame, and then I kinda, uh, threw them out.”

A wide grin breaks across Kennedy’s face as they sidle up against Ayna, throwing their arm over her shoulder. “One:” they count off on the hand resting over her shoulder, “that’s adorable, and two: why’d you toss them?”

She doesn’t move beneath their arm, sitting stiff and rigid, her voice the same, “I got jealous and ruined them. I wanted tonight to be perfect, it was supposed to be perfect, and I ruined it.”

“Stop that. You didn’t ruin anything,” Kennedy scolds. “I told you, jealousy’s human. And I tend to like the things about you that make you human. It’d be weird if my Valentine was a robot,” they tease, nudging Ayna until she joins them in smiling.

She finally faces them fully, her own eyebrow jutting upwards, “I never said I’d be your Valentine.”

“You didn’t, did you?” Their arm retracts, leg folding on the bench as their body rotates towards hers. Their palms clasp in their lap as they lean forward, a smirk on their lips. “So what’ll it be, Ayna? Be my Valentine? My perfectly imperfect Valentine?”

She chuckles, shaking her head as she finally relaxes, the teasing familiar. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she smiles softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, unbothered by it.

“It does if you turn off the robot brain,” Kennedy lightly taps Ayna on the nose, laughing when her face scrunches.

“The robot brain is a part of the Valentine’s package.”

Kennedy squints, eyes roving over Ayna’s features. The askew glasses, the smudged lipstick, the flyaway hairs. “Are the roses also a part of it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then I’m all in,” they grin, just as infectious and brilliant as always. “So? Valentines?” they prod, wiggling their eyebrows playfully.

Ayna smiles softly back, scratched hands rising to cup Kennedy’s cheeks and close the already shrinking distance between them. “Valentines,” she murmurs against their lips, a whispered promise. Before they meet, light and soft and full of the light that’s held beyond the bushes.