#like a nice dusty olive color

[catsukiiee]

# IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING NICE TO SAY, THEN SHUT UP.

bookstoreowner!reader x pro hero katsuki bakugou. | Chapter 1.

— scenario: you're just a small bookstore owner wanting to have a normal day until..

— readers quirk: weightless [ allows you to manipulate gravity, making both objects and humans lighter or so heavy to the point it can't be moved. ]

— reader appearance idea: short spiky/ruffled black hair, the edges have a faded pink color from a dye attempt, stands at 5'4, lightly muscular. dark olive toned skin.

— bakugou has been aged up to his mid twenties, reader is also in the mid twenties.

All was quiet in your tiny bookstore, greeting old and new customers with a smile as they came and go with new books in hand. The aroma of worn-out, dusty books was soothing.

"Hey! Quit it!" That moment of silence and serenity was shattered by a woman's startled scream of fright.

Glancing around to investigate the source of the disturbance, you encountered a low-class thug who had transformed one hand into a massive metal blade and was gripping a woman's pocketbook hard with the other.

Without pausing to consider your options, you charged towards the two and gave the thug a forceful shove from the surprised woman, making sure your nails went deep into his flesh as a silent 'fuck you'.

The thug turned on you, his jaw clenching with anger, both hands now large sharp blades. "You fucking bi-"

Your heart was beating so quickly that you felt like you would faint at any moment. You had no idea your quirk had activated for that brief instant; you and the woman stayed back, watching the thug try to advance on both of you now.

When the thug realized he couldn't move his own body weight, his rage turned to terror.

"You fucking punk! Don't you know it's illegal to use your quirk without a license? You'll be arrested alongside me, so why don't you release me from whatever you have on me."

Was this man insane? Did he truly think..

Your thoughts were cut off by the woman you rescued calling out that a hero had arrived. The relief you felt was definitely an understatement.

When you turned to check which Pro Hero had arrived, you were confronted with a scowling spiky haired, irate man dressed in casual attire.

Jeez he looks pissed. Must've been his day off or something.

The Hero completely ignored the frantically talking woman, brushing past both of you with a scowl on his face. Without any hesitation, the thug was knocked unconscious then grabbed by the collar of his shirt.

"The hell.." The Hero grunted out when he couldn't move the thug, you could've sworn you saw a muscle in his head twitch.

"This woman saved me!!" The frantic woman gasped at the end of her ramble. You winced at how loud she was then winced again when you caught red eyes staring you down, hard.

"You did this?" His voice clipped and harsh, gesturing with his free hand to the man.

"Uh..-" You truly didn't want to be arrested today. Why did things have to go for the worse on a fucking Friday?

"Ma'am."

You sighed then nodded your head, seemingly increasing the Pro Hero's scowl, if that was even possible.

"And I'm assuming by your expression that you don't have any form of permission to use your quirk, am I right or wrong?"

"You're..right."

He sighed, "Wonderful."

"I'll deal with you later, just release whatever your quirk is so I can give him to the cops outside."

The police only remained for a brief period, asking you questions and making sure the victim was okay. After they left The Pro Hero was still there, watching the police drive away, his back to you and his arms firmly folded.

You're not sure what was going through your mind at that very moment, but you found yourself paying his back muscles a little too much attention.

The crunch of gravel under his foot made your heart pound as you swiftly dropped your gaze to the ground as soon as he began turning you.

"You."

His voice made you stiffen, you truly didn't want to get arrested, the thought of making a run for it replaying in your mind, wincing internally, you looked up at him. "..Me?"

He cocked his head to the side, staring you down with an unreadable expression; your heartbeat quickened as you both continued to stare at each other.

Am I about to get arrested?...

"What's your quirk?" Suddenly, he asked.

The sudden snap from the silent stare down made you jump. "It's weightless, I'm able to manipulate gravity." You answered quickly.

When you responded, he just nodded his head, the heat in your body instantly leaving the moment his hard stare finally left you.

"Go get permission to use your quirk before you use it, you're just getting in the way," he grumbled, maintaining a stern glare yet kept it off you.

WHAT?! This fucking asshole. Okay well..that was a reasonable idea, but without me, some poor woman might have been robbed or worse.

Reasonable or not; his response didn't stop your short temper from flaring. "Without my quirk that man would've gotten away! A thank you would be nice."

His frown quickly became a fierce scowl as his eyes darted to meet yours. You were positive that you were going to get arrested or punched, but nothing happened. "Tch, just get your fucking license."

With His hands tucked in his pockets, he started to leave.

"If you don't have anything nice to say, then shut up!" You yelled out at his retreating back. He continued to walk away, only glancing over his shoulder once when your back was to him. "Idiot." He grumbled.

this was originally gonna be bookstoreowner!katsuki bakugou but i changed my mind last minute :] hope you enjoy chapter one!

[oliversrarebooks]

what do your guys think about flowers? do they appreciate a nice bouquet? does lady jessica get roses from her love interests? has fitz ever had them be thrown on the stage after a performance? has anyone ever made lex a flower crown and told him to stop looking so sad and tormented? (if not, i will make him one.)

also, do any of them have a favourite flower with a special significance? i feel like the resident gays might have something sappy like that going on. like "ooo i got a bouquet of roses from fitz in 1897 and now whenever i see roses i tear up and spiral for 5 consecutive days"

also, lex seems like the type to enjoy nice, pressed flowers... he would 100% kill live ones. oliver wouldnt tho, i think. in my heart, oliver knows how to take care of little potted plants like he knows how to care for old books. maybe he could get some for lex's (i bet) sad and lifeless little manor. it needs the touch of a living person /j

sorry for the many questions, i suddenly got curious. as a parting gift, i stick a flower in fitz's gorgeous gorgeous hair, and i assure him he looks stunning (which he already knew). i also give miss lily a flower for being employee of the month at the thrall factory. ... i would like to give everyone a flower i think... they all deserve it... lady jessica for being so pretty and fun, lex for being so sopping wet and squishable, emily and oliver for being the best thralls... (jameson gets nothing, but the rats get a flower too)

This is a great ask, I love it

Lex would definitely love pressed flowers. He enjoys floral scents, as well, and often smells a bit floral due to using soaps and perfumes with floral fragrance. But you're right, he does not normally have live plants in his manor. Particularly when he's in a mood, he tends to lose track of the days, and is poor of taking care of living creatures. This is part of why it's good for him to have thralls that can attend to their own needs. He's had cats before, but they were allowed to free roam outdoors and so often took care of their own food by killing the numerous city mice.

Lex would also have books on flower language. Among the supernatural folk, flower language is mostly the realm of witches and faefolk, as they have strong connection to nature and plants.

The idea of Lex in a flower crown is amazing.

I think it's spot on that Oliver would enjoy houseplants. Keeping houseplants in the manor would be difficult because the windows are usually shut (to protect Lex in case he needs to get up during the day). He would keep plants in his own bedroom, where he usually keeps the window open for sunlight and fresh air.

Oliver would beam with delight at being given a flower for being the best thrall.

Fitz does indeed get tossed roses and flowers at his performances. He loves gaining flowers as a token of admiration, but could never actually take care of a live plant. He does have one very bad association with roses that will come up in the story. Lex would usually get him flowers other than roses for that reason.

Fitz grins and preens at having a flower stuck in his hair.

Lily doesn't have a particularly good or bad association with flowers. She's always busy and doesn't keep house plants. She does very often wear floral print dresses, though. And she'd be very amused to be named the Employee of the Month at the thrall factory.

Jessica LOVES flowers. She loves to get them from admirers and fills her house with them. She has both real and artificial flowers -- she tosses the real flowers as soon as they start to die, and tosses the artificial flowers as soon as they get dusty. Like many things in Jessica's life, nothing actually lasts very long. She also often wears floral corsages, and flowers on her hat and in her hair.

Emily likes the flowers in Jessica's house. It's one of the bright spots of her dismal existence, and once she gets some art supplies, it's one of her favorite subjects to draw and color.

Jameson thinks flowers are for women and children.

[rubykgrant]

Some eye color ideas for RVB characters (plus two OCs, Poppy and Junonia). Some of these vibe with their signature armor colors, but not all of them

Sarge; ruddy brown (very proud that his eye color is so close to red~)

Simmons; light brown (sort of a fawn color... his cyborg eye is, naturally, red)

Grif; dark brown (almost black, but can have different colors of shine depending on the light source)

Donut; blue (more of a periwinkle/lavender)

Doc; mauve brown (almost a muddy-purple)

Locus olive brown (a dark gray-green color)

Flowers; warm brown (a rich shade, tinted a little red; Sarge approved~)

Poppy; dusty brown (a less vibrant fawn color than Simmons)

Church; stormy gray (while they usually look like steel, sometimes they have little hints of colors that represent the other Fragments)

Tucker; golden brown (very vibrant and warm)

Caboose; deep brown (nice earthy tones)

Tex; pale peachy-brown (almost a rose-petal color)

Wash; hazel (sort of sandy brown, a mix of light green and amber)

Carolina; green (we've all seen her INTENSE eyes~)

Junonia; light brown (a rose-almond color)

Kai; dark brown (similar to her brother, but a slightly different tint, a bit lighter)

[pixielush777]

My Top 10 Cottagecore/Fairycore Bedroom Decorations

Hey, Pixies!

What typically draws your eyes first when you enter a room? Could it be a set of hanging crystals that illuminate the space with rainbows? Could it be the shelves of dusty books that have taken their readers on memorable adventures to escape reality for even a short amount of time? Well, whatever it could be that draws your eyes first, for me, it's about the feel of the room. The vibe. We want our bedrooms to feel cozy and welcoming and somewhere we can spend our time relaxing. A personal haven.

Without further ado, here's a list of my top 10 cottagecore/fairycore bedroom decorations that I hope you will adore and that will help you create your dreamiest bedroom or whatever space you decide to use them in! All affiliate links are to Amazon for easy breezy shopping because who wants to visit a bunch of random sites to find what you're looking for?

xo Pixielush

1. Olive Green Duvet Cover Set

Sure, you might look at this Duvet Cover and think 'What's cottagecore about that?' Well, when setting up a theme of a room, I like to start off with a nice, clean base to work off of. A floral or patterned throw blanket and some cute pillows are a game-changer when you want to dress up your bed. The thing is, if you already have a busy duvet cover, then it's likely going to be a little harder to dress it up without it feeling too overwhelming. If you don't love green, then it comes in other colors as well!

Plus, this color is just my favorite, so I couldn't not include it!

2 & 3. Moss-like Body Pillow Cover & Mushroom Throw Pillows (1, 2, 3)

Okay, yes, this may be the second green thing in a row on my list, but that doesn't make it any less important! Like I said, let's set that base to work off of! Do you like snuggling up to a body pillow? Even if you don't they are perfect for leaning back on when you're watching tv, browsing Tumblr on your laptop, reading one of those fantasy books to escape reality, whatever it is you do it's far more comfortable when you have something to lean back on!

This body pillow cover looks just like a mossy field and is the perfect base for some mushroom throw pillows to sit in front of. I mean, come on, I can't have a cottagecore list without including something with mushrooms, could I?

Here's a few options whether you're going for one literally mushroom-shaped, a simple but beautifully done one with cute little mushrooms and other flowers on it, or even one that's a little darker and foresty. I mean, this last one has ferns, and paired with moss that's just screaming 'My bed is a forest floor'. Might even look more dreamy than that meadow scene from the first Twilight movie. Just a thought.

4. Vintage-looking Crochet Throw Blanket

Wrap yourself up or throw this vintage-looking crochet blanket over the foot of your bed and it instantly ups the cozy vibes. It reminds me of one I would find at my grandma's house, one that was handed down to her or one she made as a young woman that will one day be handed down to me. The thought just makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

5. Fairy Lights and Vine Set

Hang these twinkle lights above your bed, your reading nook, or behind your PC setup for the perfect cozy lighting! Take a walk and find a sturdy branch to hang them from for extra flare! The best part is that the vines are included, so you don't need to buy them separately to create this look.

6. Floral Laundry Basket

It can be hard to find a laundry basket that actually works for you AND that's cute. This one would perfectly fit into your room's aesthetic and be completely functional at the same! Keep in mind it's on the smaller side so it works better for people who do laundry often. Which, is actually not me at all. I use it as a dry trash bin!

7. Amethyst Moon Sun Catcher

This dreamy suncatcher brightens your space throughout the day! Sure, for a few hours here and there you'll only get a glisten or a rainbow there, but place it perfectly in your window and whenever the sun hits it your room will look so magical that you might want to buy a second one for another room.

8. Vintage-looking Gold Mirror

This arched mirror would fit perfectly over a dresser or vanity! Its vintage feel would add to the cozy cottagecore style you're going for and on top of that, it even has a little ledge for your trinkets!

9. Stained Glass Lamps (1, 2)

I mean, are you kidding me?? How cute are these? Honestly, I don't think any further explanation is needed.

10. Vintage Looking Area Rug

Last, but not least, this worn area rug would pull the room together and makes the room feel just like an old country cottage. This one has an antislip bottom so you won't have to worry about it sliding around on non-carpeted floors if you don't plan on putting it under your bed or other furniture.

That's all Pixies! I hope you all have a wonderful day ♥

[chloedrawss]

tagged by @carlsdraws !!

last song/album: Don’t you Dare Make me Jaded by olive klug!! so so lovely and good album about how joy is something you have to assert and about like taking a stance against becoming jaded in a world where it’s so easy to, so good

favorite color: okay okay so it was gray for FOREVER but i think recently it’s become green?? like a nice forest green, sage green, any green lol (also am an avid dusty, earthy pink enjoyer)

last tv show: somehow also supernatural lmao i’ve been going insane and rewatching it and hey?? why is this. good. actually sometimes. so having a lot of fun with that!

last film: i think everything everywhere all at once? my college had a showing of it and it was. sobbed so hard in a room full of other students also crying lmfao. no but genuinely life changing movie that means so much to me now

relationship status: single! last relationship didn’t end so well so definitely chill with it staying that way, and i love reconnecting with myself and my friends again :)

current obsession: getting back into hobbies!! and creating!! and the joy in that!! like i said not so good end to last relationship and kind of stopped creating during that but i’ve been getting back into it and loving it :) (i guess by that token also??? supernatural??? bc that’s all i watch during it lmfao but tbh don’t mind it that much)

tag someone: okay tbh don’t have anyone but anyone who sees this feel free to do it!

[toptrendclothing]

2022 alexisonfire merch heartskull shirt

2022 alexisonfire merch heartskull shirt

Green would but too much green could be…well…too much. On the 2022 alexisonfire merch heartskull shirt in contrast I will get this opposite side of the colour wheel is purple so anything like that would be ok It depends on the tone; whether the green is warm, neutral, or cool; the hue, lightness/darkness; and the intensity/saturation of the green. I’ve always been obsessed with olive green as my go-to “black,” and I’ve found that virtually every red color, from dusty rose/baby pink, to coral/salmon, to watermelon/vermillion, to fuschia/magenta, to fluorescent day-glo pink/ladies’ gold ball pink, to scarlet/crimson, to burgundy/raspberry…. they all look good, as long as they compliment your individual skin tone to begin with…. Purples loks great, esp. Lavender, Orchid, and plum; blues look ok, I prefer a lighter blue, like mint, baby blue, icy blue, with olive for contrast, although dark navy and turquoise look good as well… I’d stay away from medium blue tones, they aren’t offensively clashing, but they are less appealing than most of of the blues IMO. Orange, mustard, chartruese, marigold, Baby yellow, lemon yellow, safety yellow, and regular old Big Bird yellow look nice too, again skin tone depending. Black, dark brown, light beige, khaki, white, and gray look good universally. As far as other greens, a good way to match it with other colors’ shades is the old make-up advisor trick, hold both up under your face a few inches below your chin and see how your skin looks, in natural and artificial lighting, ideally…. if it’s glowing, go for it! If you look washed out or sallow, try again with another shade… and try this wit h the green only first, to make sure it’s not the green making you look ‘bleh.’

Buy this shirt:  Click here to buy this 2022 alexisonfire merch heartskull shirt

Home:  https://toptrendclothing.com/

[assortedvillainvault]

I'd like to ask back, but I forget who your f/os are

Lol that's fair, a good chunck of my 'will write' list are actually my F/O's but I realise I didn't put any indication as to who was who. I don't think I had the confidence to actually announce that when I started this blog.

Anyhoo I'm in a mood for scales, so I hereby select Repton and Sir Pentious for the games! Oh God this got long

Repton:

R - Rainbow - what colors do you associate with them and why?

It's always deep olive greens and harsh dusty yellows for Repton, his colour scheme is pretty consistent and pretty much matches his territory. I find it very soothing almost? Like watching a savanna landscape, which is technically where he lives so, win.

E - Emotion - is your f/o open with their feelings or do they keep them close to their chest?

If it ain't rage or exasperation then he ain't showing it. He absolutely feels a wider range but frustration at his limitations rules his judgement 99% of the time, which is a work in progress. Makes those rare time's he is openly happy that much more delightful!

P - Pets - do they have a pet? if so, what kind and what is/would be its name? would you have a pet together?

Canonly, no, but I've always figured the wastelands around his terra would hold some kind of cool monster that he would take delight in taming, so in my head he has pet dragons. Not big ones, but if Gwythents were more bat like that'd be ideal. Atmos is criminally underdeveloped ok I can make up animals if I WANT

T - Teach - what skills of theirs would they teach you? what would you teach them?

I have an aversion to motorsports but you literally cannot get around atmos without a sickass flying motorbike, so I would def be accepting dirk-biking lessons from the guy with the coolest ride around.

As for what I'd teach him... I'm honestly not sure what I have to offer that he would find interesting or useful, but I can offer lots of geology/geography knowledge that would probably be handy for raids and crystal formations? Alternatively how to speak nicely to his siblings

O - Online - what is your f/o’s social media presence like, or what would it be like if they had internet in their world/era?

'Officially' he wouldn't partake, seeing the dumb shit his brothers watch online would drive him insane. Unofficially however, he would totally stalk his enemies facebook posts just to plan an opportune ambush.

N - Nostalgia - what’s your f/o’s favorite memory?

Canonically, probably the day he defeated the Interceptors. That was a serious victory that shook the Sky Knights and their teams across Atmos, and he relished in the leverage it gave him.

Sir Pentious:

S - Story - if you and them were in a fairytale, which story would you be and who would play which character?

Oh a reverse fairytale for sure, a runaway noble of some descript get's kidnapped by maniacal (artificer I guess in this case?) for ransom, only to find they're both terrible and have much more fun encouraging his shenanigans.

I - Image - show us a picture of them that gives you a lot of feelings. if they aren’t a visual character, describe your mental image of them!

Oh see GIF above, this man is SO happy to be gatecrashing even when his shit is already wrecked, my mans THEATRICAL and loves his job.

R - Rainbow - what colors do you associate with them and why?

Black, Yellow and Fusia. Pretty self explanatory - the high contrast is gorgeous and luxurious in his design and yet attention seeking like a particularly villainous traffic cone.

P - Pets - do they have a pet? if so, what kind and what is/would be its name? would you have a pet together?

Do the Eggs Count Idk if you can have snake pets in hell but he is absolutely the type to have boa contractors and cobras draped all over his ship. I'm more than happy with this.

E - Emotion - is your f/o open with their feelings or do they keep them close to their chest?

Sweetheart this mans emotions are broadcast to the fucking moon. Everyone in hell knows how he's feeling at any given moment and he hates it, but he doesn't have the restraint to keep a lid on them when things don't go his way.

N - Nostalgia - what’s your f/o’s favorite memory?

Extrapolating from the crumbs of the single pilot we have, probably the birth of his son. He seems the type to have Gomez Addam'sed the shit out of his family, and I don't doubt he cried more than the mother and baby combined.

T - Teach - what skills of theirs would they teach you? what would you teach them?

I'm signing up for lessons in firing lazer beams and rockets and you cannot stop me. I would probably teach him what modern slang and style suits him becuase the secondhand embarrasment I recieve watching this 19th century supervillain attempt to integrate into modern culture is nigh lethal.

I - Image - see above.

O - Online - what is your f/o’s social media presence like, or what would it be like if they had internet in their world/era?

It's cringeworthy and mortifying for want of better words. I wish he would stop chasing the overlords accounts and getting into screaming matches in the comment sections. At least the latter results in him blowing up someones house occasionally, but it hurts to see him ruin his own reputation which he cherishes so much. Less of more here, really.

U - Uplift - how do they help you when you’re stressed or sad and vice versa?

When I'm sad it's cuddle time. He's fantastic at it, and his scales are much softer than they look. It's weird to feel his eyes blinking, but the pressure and attention feel wonderful after a bad day.

When he's sad or frustrated - I'll admit that I'm not the best at feelings things and would much rather offer practical solutions, he appreciates a second pair of eyes and opinions on his projects. I can compliment his engineering no end and belittle the bastards that made him feel workthless forever, so if I bitch whle we work it's a win-win.

S - Story - see above.

Thanks so much for asking!

[vasiliquemort]

I just thought of something, what's your favorite type of fashion or style? We all see and love your gothic art works and learned about what some of your favorite bands are, but what about style! Does it also impact how you dress and style your ocs?

Hello! It's so delightful and beautiful and gorgeous to see you again!!<зз

Oh, um, and it's really basic o/////o I got used to the way how physical and mental situations shaped me not in a person that I would like to be, but the one I needed, and it touches a lot my ways - both of lifestyle and, um, personal design. While I growed up there was a specific way from punk grunge into vintage traditionalist - it was both more affordable and helped me to feel mellowed and in-line with other people, but it turned out to be unreliable in mental and physical way - it didn't helped me to feel on my place and be the way how I was actually intended, I think.

I tried to look more grown up and feminine that I truly am - conservative dresses of knee-lenghth and restrained colors (dark blue and greys mostly, models that was intended for mid-aged women for their oficial places), low heels, vintage ukrainian jewelry, low buns as the way how I did everyday, and makeup that probably wasn't needed but helped me to work with image. It was my high school and I feel that I both tried to overcompensate the female image in my family and to have approval from older figures in my life rather than actually have fun and try to express myself.

Now I feel a lot more comfortable with my way of living - chaotic, not so active but restrained to constant physical work and movement. I flew along with household problems, labor over land and taking care over constant renovating and caring for resourses - all in one day sometimes so I am more industrial type of person with occasional ukrainian poetism o/////o Lots of olives and greys and dark ivory - with strong bending towards that historical militaristic movement, which is both cringe and poetical for current time, I feel, and with additions of vyshyvankas, strands of clay beads and braided tightly hair (not now - water supply is lower each month so I cut it off into short bob). As fluid as I could be at this moment, I feel, too - the more I can put invitation into character rather than social representation, the more true and comfortable I feel myself. Most of my upper clothes details are now stained in equal parts in sooth, chain oil, mordants, paints and polishes of different kinds, - not of soil, still, as I am not a gardering type of worker at all, - and I think that I smell how my uncle used, too - metallic and dusty, with sharp tones of masculine products (founded out that it soothes me a lot). Generally unwelcome type - just as I am currently o////o It doesn't bother me, still - it works in harmony with the way how I feel and see myself, and how world treats me, and it's the main thing, I feel.

It's so cringe but - Karl Heisenberg design? It's so nice and relative and feels so terrible because I know how it feels (oily and sticky for the work clothes - washed or not) and smells (like me but a hundreds times worse) but it's the easier way to describe in shorter term. Being so openly agressive for view, unbothered for the way how way life treats you (at this moment all my personal belongings works both for my home and forest and basement or garage, since anytime my place of living may be changed - and it is, occasionaly<з) and still show ego in the way how it shapes your character. And generally it's that specific industrial-military aesthetic of 30s and 40s, which is terrible in historical context and shapes your mental health in a potentially dark and harmful way of responding to yourself, but it works for the current meantime in the way that leaves me sane and productive in wartime. I treat things like they are my relatives (in the same way how in our family we wear clothes and personal belongings of deceased for years), they are cheap and have a history before me but we all in this together and we are responsive and assimilated to our needs and situations, and it gives me a place of sane comfort. It helps a lot, too, how affordable and mainstream tactical and work clothes are in my country for the current time - it's like a place of solitude in ravaging storm.

I am not sure if it does or not impacts the way how I draw my characters o/////o It's a lot (endlessly so) more poetical and fantasy and gothic that I might ever be - it has the relative gloom and dropped mentality, but the entirely different places of spectrum. I think its the rightful way for me, still - to be both artistical and grounded, both withdrawn and binded to the reality. There is too much of things that happen in my current life - to always swing from one side to another makes me at the same time exist in constant stress but being in harmony with it. Something like that o/////o

Thank you so much for your message!<зз

[forzalando]

Always Been You | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x F!Reader AU: soulmate!au Word Count: 2.2k Warning: mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of injuries on face and arms, mentions of blood, a curse word or two, description of an explosion (the warnings are scary but i promise this has a happy ending! it just takes place during the BoH so if anything surrounding that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read! ily💛)

A/N: the italics are a flashback and this is a soulmate!au that takes place during the Battle of Hogwarts! not feeling very confident about this one but it is complete and i promised i would post it😊i hope you guys enjoy and love you all!💛special thanks to @hufflepuffbaby9 and @fortisfiliae for their words of encouragement and edits!

Living your life in love with someone when you were unsure whether they were your soulmate was a complicated ordeal. Your friends were worried for you; they had been worried since you officially met him all those years ago, the memory fresh in your mind as it always was.

“Miss Y/L/N, might I suggest you spend less time gawking at Mr. Weasley and paying attention to my lesson?”

You swallowed dryly, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment on your cheeks as Professor McGonagall called you out in front of everyone. You heard snickering behind you, the entire class was clearly amused at your humiliation, but you couldn’t resist sneaking one last glance over your shoulder to where he sat.

He, of course, being Fred Weasley. Fellow sixth year and the most handsome boy you had ever seen. He had let his hair grow longer over the summer and it was infinitely more interesting to pay attention to than Transfiguration.

When you looked his way, you were horrified to find that he was already looking at you. Before you could quickly turn away and start trying to forget the moment had ever happened, he smiled at you. Not a smirk or a grin, but a soft smile that you hadn’t seen from him before (you would know as you always watched him quite closely).

You smiled back and struggled to control your breathing when he did a funny sort of charade that you took to mean “talk after class?”.

“MR. WEASLEY,” McGonagall screeched, causing the two of you to jump and turn away from one another. “My classroom is not a place for flirting. This is my final warning. To the both of you.”

With a final glance at Fred, you turned back to your notes and counted down the seconds in your head until class was over. As soon as you were dismissed, you threw your school books into your bag and hurried out the massive door to the Transfiguration classroom.

As promised, Fred was standing outside with a dopey grin on his face.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever formally met, Fred Weasley, at your service.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“So, how long have you fancied me?”

“Who said I fancied you?”

“Your eyes,” he said matter of factly.

With a salute and a bow, Fred Weasley sauntered off, leaving you in a complete state of bewilderment.

You knew in that moment, that boy was going to be the death of you.

And, oh, how he was. Ever since that day, Fred Weasley had managed to make your life complicated and perfect in the most wondrous of ways. Even though you weren’t the closest of friends, he was always a constant in your life. Hanging around after classes that you shared to speak to you, going out of his way to hang out with you at Hogsmeade, or making sure you weren’t around when he and George pulled one of their infamous pranks.

It hurt you that you hadn’t gotten closer during your time at Hogwarts, but you were secretly glad as well because you didn’t know how you would cope if you had the opportunity to fall even more in love with him.

Not only were you unsure of who your soulmate was and secretly hoping it was Fred, but you also had no idea how you would find out. There were a million different ways to know; your mother and father couldn’t see color until they met one another, your friend Elizabeth and her soulmate had the same unique birthmark just above their left knees. During your sixth year at Hogwarts, your friend Delilah found her soulmate, a Durmstrang boy, during the Triwizard Tournament when he spoke the words to her that had been tattooed on her wrist since she was born.

You had no tattoos, no exceptional birthmarks, and you saw color spectacularly well, so each day was a constant reminder that it would be harder for you to find your soulmate than most, which bothered you more than you cared to admit.

While your soulmate, or lack thereof really, should have been the last thing on your mind as you found yourself running through the halls of Hogwarts amidst a ferocious battle, you truly couldn’t help it. You’d seen friends and family die right before your very eyes only moments ago, and all you could think about was if you would join them without knowing who was made for you and you for them.

More specifically, you were only thinking of Fred Weasley and if fate would somehow be kind to you and reveal what you’ve believed in your heart all these years.

You had yet to see him; only catching glimpses of red hair every so often, or maybe you might have imagined it, as you stumbled around the castle with Luna, incapacitating any death eaters in your path.

Before you could call out to Luna to ask if she’d seen him, you heard his unmistakable laugh from nearby. Your eyes and body were drawn to the sound, and you saw him outside where you knew the Room of Requirement to be, Percy standing next to him, having just jinxed the Minister of Magic. You started running towards them, calling out Fred’s name but he was too transfixed over the shocking behavior from his elder brother to notice your cries.

“You’re joking, Perce!” he shouted as the Death Eater he was dueling collapsed to the ground. “You actually are joking, Perce…I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were – ”

Out of nowhere, the wall behind Fred and Percy gave way due to an explosion and a scream erupted from your lips as your body halted.

Everything happened so quickly that it was impossible to know what exactly had happened; all you knew was that the stone wall collapsed and peeking out from the rubble was an unmistakable head of unruly, red hair.

You began running towards him, reaching him in a matter of seconds and prying debris off of his body; Percy was next to you doing the same, calling out his brother’s name in earnest.

Fellow former students and friends from nearby came to assist, pulling Fred from the rubble and talking frantically about how he needed to be moved, it was too dangerous out in the open.

Luna pulled you along; watching Fred’s body being rushed towards the Great Hall had you heaving and your mind foggy. Your vision was blurry and all you could think about was how you would survive in a world without the light that was Fred Weasley.

A flash of red snapped you from your haze and you fired a curse back at the Death Eater running towards you and Luna from the side; you ran as fast as you could to catch up with, who you now recognized as Oliver Wood and Dean Thomas, along with Percy, shielding them and firing at anyone who dared come within 50 feet of them.

Your only solace was that you could see the faint, yet consistent, rise and fall of Fred’s chest.

Once you reached the Great Hall, Oliver, Dean, and Percy laid Fred on a stretcher and carried him with greater ease to where his mother and father stood.

You’d thought briefly that the sound of the explosion was the worst sound you had ever heard, but it was nothing compared to Mrs. Weasley’s cries as she fell to her knees when she laid eyes upon her wounded son. She grasped his hand in her own and brought it to her cheek, fresh tears spilling over Fred’s dusty, bloodied fingertips.

Her gaze met yours and you walked towards her slowly, asking permission to approach Fred as his family members began to crowd around him. Even though she did not know you well, it was almost as if you knew she could see the love in your eyes and graciously made room for you to kneel down next to Fred.

“Hey Freddie,” you gave him a watery smile, hoping that he would open his eyes to see it. You noticed his breaths getting shallower, and his face stayed rigid, the ghost of his last laugh still lingering.

Mrs. Weasley offered you his hand, the hand she had been holding to her face while George knelt down across from you and had taken ahold of his other.

You quickly grabbed it, folding it in between both of your own and leant down towards his ear.

“I never got to tell you, Freddie,” you whispered, desperately hoping that his family couldn’t hear you. “I never got to tell you that I love you, even though I know I’m not supposed to. All those moments between us after that day in Transfiguration, I wish I could say that’s what did it, but the truth is it was way before. I sound absolutely mad, I know, but I can’t explain it. It’s just always been a feeling in my heart, and now I…I’m afraid that I – ”

“Y/N, look,” George gasped, interrupting your confession.

You raised your head and looked down at Fred to see the color returning to his face and the cuts on his cheeks closing up.

“Keep talking to him, do something, anything,” George said desperately.

You spoke louder this time, with greater confidence and squeezed Fred’s hand even tighter, though tears blurred your vision.

“Freddie, you have to come back to me. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember and I know if you saw me right now you would laugh at how embarrassed I am, your family doesn’t even know me and I’m blubbering over their son like he’s the most important person in the world to me but, oh Fred, you are the most important person.”

The gashes on his arms were becoming faint; almost as if they never existed at all. His breaths became deeper and soon enough, his eyes fluttered open.

“I – I don’t understand,” you muttered in confusion, turning your attention to Mrs. Weasley.

“Oh, my dear, you are his soulmate, his guardian angel. I’ve only heard about this in stories but, it’s said that soulmates with the purest of loves can heal one another from even the most deadly of afflictions. Your love is so strong that it can overcome even the gravest of injuries.”

Your reply got caught in your throat and all you could do was focus your gaze back on Fred, who was groaning and attempting to sit up off the hard, stone floor, but you gently pushed him back down as you could tell he was struggling.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled. “I feel like death.”

Everyone around you was silent, until George made a shrieking sound, which you suspected was a panicked laugh.

“Merlin, Freddie, that’s got to be a million times worse than my holey joke.”

Despite the despondent tone of the room, yourself and the Weasley family found it in yourselves to laugh along with George.

Your giggling stopped abruptly when you felt Fred squeeze your hand tightly.

“I guess I ought to thank you for saving my life and all,” he snickered, this time sitting up with ease. “I feel better than I have in years, please never let go of my hand.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you whispered, the weight of the situation fully sitting itself on your shoulders.

“I don’t know if…if you heard me um…before, but – ” you started to say.

“Don’t worry, love, I heard every word,” Fred answered with a smile.

“Well, that’s good because I’m not sure if I could say it all again. I almost wet myself and that was before I knew that you’re my soulmate. Now there’s even more pressure!”

Fred smiled at you, the same soft smile he gave you that day in Transfiguration that made you realize that you would love that boy for the rest of your life, soulmates be damned. Of course, you knew the moment wouldn’t last too long.

“Y/N, my legs are still a bit sore, d’you think the whole healing thing will work faster if you come a bit closer? Maybe a bit of true love snogging?”

You cackled and gently punched his shoulder, but leaned in nonetheless and finally kissed the boy you had been dreaming about since you were a young schoolgirl. You pulled away quickly, not missing the look of disappointment on his face that made your heart swell, but you didn’t feel it was very appropriate to kiss the hell out of him in front of his entire family.

“Say, you think when I meet my soulmate my ear will grow back?” George wondered aloud, causing his entire family to flick their gaze towards him.

“Oh my god, George, I almost died, will you shut up? For once, let the attention be on me,” Fred jokingly scolded.

“My attention was always on you,” you offered sweetly, watching the edges of Fred’s lips turn up into a smirk.

“Always? You never looked at anyone else?”

“No, Freddie, it’s always been you, and it always will be.”

taglist: @theweasleysredhair @gcdric @fortisfiliae @swellwriting @letsgotothehop @hufflepuffbaby9 @theboywhocriedlupin @wildfire-whizbangs

please let me know if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist😊i’ve had a lot of requests to be added to the bridgerton au one but didn’t want to tag any of y’all here just in case you only want to be on that one!😊

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- I have no idea where this is going, but its definitely going. Also, just for some supplemental texture--> John’s townhouse   Y/n’s apartment)

The Arrangement 

Warnings- NSFW/SMUT, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, some angst, John being kind of an asshole.

Sweet Surrender

John leaned back in the dark leather chair positioned behind his mahogany desk, his elbows propped on the upholstered arm rests and his fingers touching at the tips. Besides work, there was a lot of his mind, most of it having to do with Y/n. They weren't his usual thoughts of her though, these were troubling. Something had changed with her and lately, he had been starting to sense that she was unhappy. Y/n hadn’t out-rightly said so, but it was in the little things; she’d stopped offering him details on the life she lived outside of their shared moments and all in all, she wasn’t her typical light, carefree self. 

In the beginning, it was Y/n’s bubbly personality that had attracted him, enthralling him. Before, he’d usually find his women via other means, there had only been a few others and they were all nice enough, good at following orders and fun in bed. But nonetheless, Y/n was certainly his favorite, upon meeting her, John could easily tell that she was a natural submissive and wasn’t thoughtless like those gone by. She didn’t take her role in his life lightly either, and John cared for her in a way that he hadn’t for anyone one else. Which was why it stung to think that he wasn’t doing right by her, their arrangement was supposed to bring them both pleasure, but if he wasn’t doing that for her, then half the purpose was lost. He wondered what had caused her discontent, up until then, he figured that he had been good to Y/n, he took care of her needs; sexual, financial and otherwise, he tried to listen when she needed an ear and always respected her boundaries. 

He’d have to bring it up soon, John wasn’t afraid of addressing it, besides, it was nearing the eleventh month of their first contract, they’d have to discuss whether or not they wanted to renew it or not. Usually, John never renewed them, by the end of the year, he'd often find himself yearning for a fresh face, letting his latest attraction go like dust on wind, but that year it was different and he couldn’t see himself growing tired of Y/n in the foreseeable future. John knew what he wanted, the final decision would have to be Y/n’s. 

“Mr. Wick?” his secretary poked her little brunette head into his office, interrupting his tumultuous thoughts. With a hum and annoyance expertly kept at bay, he glanced up, meeting a pair of clear green eyes. Abigail was just a few years older than Y/n and had been his secretary for going on three years. He could never tell what her angle was though, with all the tight shirts and short skirts, sure she was pretty enough, but it was the kind of beauty John could see himself getting bored of quickly. She didn’t really have much of a defining personality either, very two dimensional and he suspected that she didn’t have much more depth than she offered at face value. She was nothing like Y/n who was intelligent and exciting. “Your one o’clock is here,” even after she delivered her message, Abigail stayed there, still holding the door open.

With a quiet sigh, John sat up straighter, slowly moving to stand, “Is that all Abigail?” He didn’t even spare a minute to look at her, though, he could feel her eyes on him. When she offered a meek yes, finally turning to walk away, he called her back, just remembering something, “Did you finish the draft I asked you to work on?”

After a moment of hesitation, and shuffling her feet childishly, “No, Mr. Wick, I haven’t-”

“How the fuck am I supposed to start the deposition on Monday without it?” He snarled, glaring at her; John absolutely hated excuses, especially when he could tell they were going to be baseless.   Alarmed, Abigail jumped, her face going pale and her eyes glassy. Apologizing profusely, she cast her gaze to the shiny marble floor, but John was too irritated to care. He’d have fired her right on the spot, but he needed someone working his receptionist’s station and for that draft to be finished by the end of the day. So, he’d spare her, for now. “Just….get it done by five,” he’d wanted to leave by four thirty to get ready for dinner later that evening, but he’d spare Abigail the half hour, “And get the hell out of my office.” Without another world, Abigail scurried out and John  finished gathering his materials, almost ready to head to the elevator when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a text from Y/n, and despite himself, he smiled, she never ceased to brighten his day a little. She had sent a picture of the dress she’d purchased for the night, per his request; a short, dusty mauve, chiffon one with a cowl neck and thin straps at the shoulders. Directly below that picture was another of strappy nude stilettos with thin five inch heels, John adored seeing her in high heels, especially those pencil thin, dangerous looking ones. The attachments were followed up by a simple question, “Are these okay?”

John moistened his lips, already able to picture how the outfit would look on Y/n, definitely good enough for him to want to keep her in the bedroom. She had a wonderful sense of style and normally looked good in anything. Usually, John preferred to be there when she shopped, ensuring that she wasn’t worrying about prices and that things like lingerie were suited to his tastes, but in the event that he was unavailable, John had found that she was fine on her own. “Those are perfect,” he sent the text, locking his phone and heading out of his office to the conference room.

John detested Y/n’s apartment. It was small, no, small would be an understatement, it was tiny and if he’d had his way when they were first checking places out for her, John would have seen that she’d gotten something bigger. But, he was deep in lust and Y/n hadn’t been happy with any of the other that the real estate agent took them to. In fact, it had taken almost a month for her to find that place in New York City and, when they had gone to see it, Y/n had instantly fallen in love with the quaint, cool-toned, vintage styled apartment with beige and mellow blue walls, light hardwood floors and white wooden doors that were intentionally made to look faded and unfinished. The decorator that John had hired kept with the natural vintage theme too, adding an old fashioned farm sink, a charming mix of stained marble and tiles on the kitchen counter, homely rugs and even a 1950’s refrigerator solely for aesthetic purposes. Thankfully, the running fridge was integrated and actually from their century. 

As time passed, Y/n had also ensured that her love for houseplants were reflected in her decor too. She had one in every room, always watered and tended to, some growing cheerful flowers while others just maintained a healthy greenness.

Before Y/n had moved in, John had been sure to ask her well over three times if she was sure about her decision, and each time she’d assured him that she was. Y/n had eventually explained that if she lived in something bigger she wouldn’t have a clue on what to do with the extra space, it was just her and Theo anyway.

John stood at Y/n’s door for a minute, searching for her key on his bunch, casually looking up and down the hall. Thankfully, the neighborhood and by extension, the building, was a nice one. Upon finding the right key, John slipped it into the lock, turning twice. As he entered Y/n’s apartment, John called out to her, though, before she could answer, he felt a gentle rubbing on his leg; Theo.

Chuckling, he bent, scooping up the grey Scottish fold. John held the cat to his chest, absently running his fingers affectionately on his soft head, “Where’s your mom?” He asked, already walking towards the living room, earning himself a meow.

“Oh,” Y/n was just hurrying out from the other side of the living room, barefoot and still in her silk lilac robe, though her hair and make up was already done, “John,” her eyes went wide and she looked down in embarrassment, clearly alarmed, “I’m so sorry, I must have heard the time wrong.”

“You didn’t,” he reassured sternly, “I’m early, don’t worry about it,” he waved off her worry, still holding Theo in his arms. John had never been a cat person, but Y/n’s four year old rescue had taken a liking to him upon their first meeting and John at some point, the furry fella had grown on him. 

“Thank you,” she smiled lightly and John offered a faint smile of his own in return, “Theo!” Y/n scolded just realizing that he was in John’s arms, “You’re gonna get cat hair all over John.”

“It’s okay, he just wants a little attention,” John sat himself on her olive colored living room sofa, the length of his legs exaggerated by how low it was, “Go finish getting ready,” he urged and after a brisk nod of compliance, Y/n  hurried off again.

John’s hand was low on Y/n’s back as they followed the hostess to their party’s table in the high end French restaurant. Their table was near an elaborate indoor fountain, beneath a glittering chandelier and as they approached, Y/n could see that a middle aged couple was already seated with a round of drinks. Putting on her best smile, she waited for John to introduce her before offering her hand, “Ellis, Lauren, this is my girlfriend, Y/n.” Her breath hitched excitedly at the word, even if that was the way John always introduced her, it wasn’t like he went around telling people that he had an, by all intents and purposes, a paid for fuck doll. Still, it was enough to feed her hope that one day, maybe in the distant future, he could actually see her as that, as his girlfriend, that the word wouldn’t just be a cover. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” after a moment of bewilderment and obvious hesitation, they took turns shaking her delicate hand, and Y/n did her best to maintain her trained smile; she was used to dealing with snobs anyway.

Even as they introduced themselves; Lauren and Ellis Capeldai, Y/n could see they were judging her; a girl her age, with a nearly middle aged, rich, powerful man? In their minds, Y/n could only be one thing. But alas, she was used to it, and if John had taught her anything, it was that opinions didn’t matter, they were consenting adults, and whatever they did with their personal lives was no one’s but their business.

John pulled out her chair and just as Y/n sat, John did too, immediately engaging conversation with Ellis. They glazed over small talk for a couple minutes, before getting into the specifics of a case; the Capeldais’ owned a private clinic in the city and had recently had a malpractice suit brought against them. Quietly, from her position next to John, she tried to keep up with their conversation, though, she only knew that much when it came to legal and medical jargon; an English degree could only take you that far in certain directions. In fact, the only thing she could deduce was that someone’s relative had died and that John was positive that he could prove that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but the dead patient’s. 

Eventually, it came to the point where the more they spoke, the less Y/n wanted to hear. There was a dirty side to John’s job, or maybe it was just John himself, though Y/n could never bring herself to see him like that, so she blamed it on the trade instead. He was always willing to go the extra mile, or twenty, for his clients, just to make sure that they won, even going those miles meant getting his hands dirty. It was rare for Y/n to see that side of him, the side that he showed clients, that was ruthless and capable of anything in the name of victory and though John’s power and confidence enthralled her, it also scared her.

If he was like that, what else could he be?

Slowly, Y/n retreated into herself, no longer paying any mind to how their conversation unfolded. Working on autopilot, she steered her gaze to the plate before her, using her fork to shift around what was left of her entree, punctuating her movements with the occasional sip of Pinot Noir. Y/n sunk into her own little world until John’s grip held firm on her exposed thigh, his warm breath fanning her ear as he leaned in to whisper, “It’s rude to play with you food darling.” His gravely drawl sent shivers up his spine, “You don’t want to ruin our night by being punished, do you?”

Hastily, Y/n shifted her dilated gaze to meet John’s whiskey pools, the new rosiness in her cheeks brightening her sparsely applied blush, evident to those that sat across from them, “No sir,” she cast her head down out of instinct, “I’m sorry.”

Surely, the Capeldais’ were spectating with intrigue, though, thankfully not hearing a word of John and Y/n’s exchange. “It’s okay,” his rough fingers inched higher, sneaking beneath the hem of Y/n’s dress, “But don’t do it again,” he warned, covering his tracks with a peck on her cheek.

Even when John redirected his attention to his food, his hand still lingered on her upper thigh, slowly working its way further up, his feather light touch ticklish and reflecting in the pooling moisture in her panties. “So Y/n, dear,” Lauren turned to Y/n, her distaste masked under a stiff smile, “What do you do when you’re not being wined and dined by Mr. Wick?” There was malice in her words, Lauren had apparently decided that Y/n was nothing but a gold digger or something of the sort. 

For a moment, Y/n glanced towards John, who cleared his throat loudly, thankfully, opting to answer for her, “Y/n works at a bank, you probably know it; Fraser Holdings,” John gave her leg a reassuring squeeze, and by then, his fingers were close enough to brush her crotch, “It’s where we met actually, I had some business there and she caught my eye.” John was a master of controlling narrative Y/n knew that every word of his explanation was chosen carefully, with the intention of carrying an air of vagueness. Y/n wasn’t ashamed of her job as a secretary, it paid the bills, at least, it used to, and she knew that John probably wasn’t either, but some people just weren’t worth the whole truth. 

“Oh,” Lauren's stiff, condescending smile was apparently permanently plastered to her no doubt Botox infused face, and her nosiness was proving to be relentless, “And how long have you two been dating?” At the question, the graying Mr. Capadali looked up, he too was intrigued by the question.

Just as the query hit the ear, John’s stocky index brushed her lace clad folds. Caught off guard, Y/n jumped, her eyes going wide and breathing an alarmed gasp, her knee made painful contact with the bottom of the table as she crossed her legs, only serving to squeeze John’s hand in place. Again, she looked to him, but that time, he indicated for her to take the question, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, his trimmed scruff hiding it almost perfectly. “Um…” her words wavered as he rubbed gently, just barely grazing her nub with his pointer, the lace of her panties adding extra, effective friction. “We’ve been together for about a year.”

A slight tugging on Y/n’s thigh was enough of an instruction for her to uncross her legs, parting them slightly. Under the security of the pristine white tablecloth, John pushed aside the crotch of her panties, rubbing Y/n’s cilt slowly with the ‘v’ of his index and middle fingers. Once again startled, she glanced his way, but he merely offered. Her swollen bud throbbed beneath his expert touch and Y/n had to hide the moan that threatened to escape her matted-burgundy painted lips with a lengthy drag of her wine. Her breath shuddered as she set the glass down, quickly looking to John, who'd already rekindled conversation with the older couple, seemingly unaffected by her plight.

Her eyes stayed trained on his side profile though her attention waned; John's handsome features blurring as her orbs glazed over with desire. By then, it wasn't hard to identify the distinct pink hue standing out on her otherwise flushed cheeks and the absence of focus was blatant. The more prolonged John's ministrations became, the closer Y/n got to her tipping point. Just out of the corner of her faulty vision, Y/n could see when John carelessly let the fabric napkin fall over his hardened crotch, the creases and haphazardness of the eggshell material masking his hard on. 

Another hitch of her breath came when one of John’s fingers slid further into her drenched heat, her posture, maybe thankfully, not allowing him access to her entrance. Though, John had a solution for everything, no mind how harsh or abrupt it may be, “Well, Ellis, Lauren,” he cleared his throat, pretending to check his watch. A waiter had just cleared their plates and had promised to be back soon with a desert menu, “I think we’ve covered a lot tonight, but Y/n and I have an early start tomorrow,” for the first time in a while, he removed his fingers, dragging them along her inner thigh, messily spreading her slickness. Now hot, bothered and still in the middle of a packed restaurant, Y/n could quickly feel herself growing frustrated at the loss of contact, ready to grab her clutch off its resting place on the table as John signaled a waiter, handing over a business card and requesting that the final bill be sent to his office. Y/n doubted that it was something the establishment regularly did, but there wasn’t a soul willing to deny John Wick. Besides, if he said he was going to pay, there wasn’t a bit of doubt that he wouldn’t. John was a man of his word. 

After they’d bid their companions goodnight and safe travels, John led Y/n out of the restaurant, holding onto her into her light petite coat as the valet brought around his navy Maserati, the dark coat shining even in their dimmed surroundings. John, as Y/n had learnt, was quite the car enthusiast and he’d collected quite a few over the years, enough to supply a small dealership, with almost everything from prized, classic muscle cars and widely adored classics to flashy sports cars and of course, some more sophisticated ones. 

After they’d gotten in, John had tossed her coat to the back seat and then peeled away from the curb, navigating the car onto the busy street, easily weaving through the thinning traffic. Stealing a glace, Y/n found that John’s expression wasn’t readily readable, though, when, not too long after they’d left, he turned into a deserted, poorly lit, damp alleyway between a shady Chinese restaurant and a low grade department store, she got a pretty clear idea of he wanted. “Do you know how fucking sexy you look in that dress babygirl?” His question strained and mumbled as John undid his seat belt and used the lever beneath his seat to push it back a little. Excitement had Y/n breathing heavily, and she didn’t think to answer his question. “Didn’t I ask you something?” He probed roughly, undoing the belt, button and zipper on his black slacks.

“I don’t know,” she breathed, blushing and blinking quickly, her stomach fluttered when John reached over to undo her seat belt, easily manhandling her over the console and into his lap.

“Well let me show you,” he grunted, grabbing her hand and shoving into his undone pants, over his erection, gasping quietly at the distinct firmness overtaking his member, “See what you do to me? This is all you baby,” he whispered harshly, catching her ear lobe between his teeth. 

The alluring aroma of fine wine and musky cologne clouded her senses and Y/n’s breath hitch, the sound quiet, and pitched. “Sir,” she moaned, eyes wide and pupils lust blown as her hand lingered in John’s pants long after he’d stopped applying pressure. 

John trailed feverish kisses down the column of her neck, high on the scent of her perfume, occasionally alternating between lapping his tongue over her vein and nibbling her skin. He was definitely going to leave marks, claiming her as his own. As his mouth ravaged her throat, John fiddled with the thin straps of her dress, letting them slip carelessly down the curve of her shoulders, eventually urging her arms out of them and pushing the top down, exposing her breasts, pushed together enticingly by a simple, cream colored strapless bra. “I want you to ride my cock,” John’s fingers slid up her body, thumbs brushing the smooth, stain covered padding over her nipples, before easily undoing the front clasp and freeing her full, voluptuous breasts, “Now,” he growled, pushing aside the crotch of her flimsy thong, his digits brushing the lips of her swollen, soaked pussy.

With anxious hands, Y/n helped John shove his pants down to the area right above his knees, “Come on,” he slouched further into the leather stead in an instant, John’s hands were up her dress, holding her hips in place as she eased down on him. Feeling how he bottomed out inside her, stretching her tightness so wide it burned, Y/n’s head lolled back, squeezing her eyes shut as her loud moan bounced off the windows. “Move, now,” he managed through his clenched jaw after he’d given Y/n a minute to adjust. 

Desperate, filthy mewls swirled in the heavy air around them, joining John’s languid grunts as his hips rose to meet hers. Each time Y/n came down on him, her bouncing erratic and harsh, her core slapped his balls, rendering loud, wet, perverted sounds. “Sir,” her breathy cries were the only interruptions of her heady noises.

"Fuck," John hissed, just before taking one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling around her pebbled nipple and one hand sliding up her back, pressing her chest to his face, "Faster," he urged.

Y/n's eager hands slid up John's chest, the material of his grey button up smooth under her palm, his carnal heat seeping through. She settled them beneath the lapels of his tailored, black blazer, bunching the fabric up in her fingers as she quickened her pace with renewed vigor. 

The tinted windows around them fogged over and the purring of the engine fell on deaf ears. John could feel her nails digging into his skin, even through his shirt and the throbbing veins running up his shaft offered Y/n an irresistible friction. Every time she came up, only to sink back down on him, John’s swollen tip reaching her end, Y/n could feel herself drawing closer to the edge. “Please,” she whimpered, pleading for John to permit her release.

John’s hips  jerked upwards to slam into Y/n’s center, the remaining hand caught under her dress now aggressively squeezing and kneading her ass. The other violently grabbed a fistful of her head, rearing her head further back so John could ravish her neck without resistance, “Do it,” he commanded between skin pulling bites, “I want to feel your cunt squeezing my cock. You’re my little bitch and I need to feel you cum.”

Before long, Y/n was shuddering; her legs straddling John stiffening and her pussy convulsing as warm juices gushed from her center. Her gasps were broken and her breaths ragged as Y/n’s eyes rolled back and her hold on John’s now wrinkled shirt loosened. With a slackened jaw, the rest of her body went limp and John was the one still moving, though, his thrusts rigid. 

The feeling of Y/n milking his cock entwined by the ecstasy that always accompanied being buried deep inside her was pleasurably unmatched and soon, John was following her to release, “Fuck Y/n,” he sputtered, slowing his movement as he spurted bursts of hot seed inside of her, their products mixing as it seeped out, coating Y/n’s thighs and dripping onto his.

It took awhile for their breaths to slow and for any sense of coherence to make its way back into the stilling running car, and even after; they lingered, John’s now flaccid cock still cocooned in her settled center. When he finally guided her off him, John used tissues from the glove compartment to clean Y/n up as she still sat in his lap, and she let him readjust her dress, forgoing her bra, instead just pulling the straps over her arms. When he set her back in the passenger seat, Y/n winced, though she wasn’t half as sore as she’d usually be after sessions with John, when he had more room and time to work with. In fact, hot, spontaneous moments like that one were rare, which arguably only made them more enjoyable.

Except, that night, as Y/n silently watched John clean himself up, his expression stoic, as it typically was, she couldn’t help but feel a little dirty, and not just in a physical way. That dinner hadn’t been her best one with him, she didn’t particularly enjoy seeing him as the villain, willing to desecrate the name of a dead man. Logically, she knew that it was the job, and someone had to do it, but being that good at it? It took guts and a certain kind of coldness that frightened her. 

And then, of course, there was the typical issue of their otherwise unattached status. Because, as scary as John was when he was in his element, she still found herself falling deeper and deeper in love with him, which wasn’t exactly ideal, considering the more she fell, the more it hurt when she remembered that she was just his sub. It was confusing, but mostly it hurt.

The drive back to Y/n’s place was without conversation, though, when John parked on the curb and Y/n had gathered her stuff, namely her purse with generous bits of her bra sticking out the top and her coat draped over it, John grabbed her leg before she could get out, “Do you have vacation days?”

“Yes,” she nodded firmly, intrigued though not daring to say anything further.

“How many?” John’s eyes were void of anything telling and he wasn’t going to give her more without Y/n’s compliance.

“A month.”

“Good,” John reclaimed his hand, immediately fishing his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and his fingers going to dance on the unlocked, brightened screen. He didn’t look at her again, leaving her bewildered as he came out and jogged to her side, opening the door for her. John helped her out of the car, and with a hand low on her back, he walked to the front double doors of the building, holding one side open but making no move to go in himself. “I want you to take two weeks,” he said, putting his cell away, “I’m taking you to a summer home in North Carolina. Abigail will book a jet for Sunday afternoon, call your boss and tell him you won’t be in on Monday,” and before Y/n could protest that she actually needed to give H.R. a month’s notice, John intervened, “If he gives you any trouble, let me know and I'll talk to him, okay?” By ‘talk to him’, it was quite possible that he meant bullying her boss into giving her the time off without consequence.

“Yes,” her lips quivered in surprise, and Y/n nodded again, “Okay.”

“Okay,” John repeated, stiffly reaching across to peck the side of her lips, “I’ll send you the flight details, and I’ll taking you shopping tomorrow afternoon,” when Y/n agreed, they exchanged pleasant good-nights and John finally let Y/n go, secretly hoping that their trip would do them both some good in terms of their upcoming discussion. 

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana   @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​  @danceoftwowolves​

[eerythingisshaka]

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Jason Momoa x Reader

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Bad attitudes/smut

Vroom vrooooom!!

Your eyes squeezed tightly in annoyance before you started to buck your blankets off of your body, punching your bed in aggravation.  Every weekend it’s the same thing: at 7 am your sleep is disrupted by the violent roar of a motorcycle engine.  You just moved in to your new place a month ago and at first you assumed that the disturbance would be temporary.  People work on their vehicles on the weekend, and testing things may require a few loud repetitious sounds. But EVERY weekend?  The two days out of the week you get to be able to sleep without an alarm blaring and you still have to wake like its a work day.

Today was even worse because it sounded like it was right outside your window.  The funk of fumes made you cough while you got up to look out your window.  No one was outside but you put your shoes on anyway.  No way were you taking this lying down.

No shame in your bonnet game, you walked out in your pajama shorts, tank and slippers to survey your surroundings in the parking lot.  You see some guy hunched over a big old looking bike, his back turned to you.

You marched over to him without abandon, building up your month's worth of frustration to fire off at him.

"Hey man!"

The putter of the engine must've drowned out your words so you shouted again.

"Hey! You know what the hell time it is? Some people are tryna sleep!" you said to the back of his messy man bun.

He turned his face to you slowly with a raised eyebrow, looking amused as his eyes settled on your slippers.

You felt self-conscious, taking a step backward and crossing your arms.  "I had to hear you tinkering at this garbage at ungodly hours for a month!"

He reached for the ignition and turns the motorcycle off.  

"It’s not garbage.  It’s vintage."

His voice boomed in the newfound silence, throwing you off your anger rhythm.  He wipes his dirty hands against his well worn jeans as he comes to a standing, towering over you like a giant.  

You felt a wave of vertigo just looking at him but remained on subject.   "Looks old, like it should be thrown away."

He crossed his arms bouncing momentarily on his toes just making him grander.  "Perhaps you have heard of a concept called recycling, refurbishing, or reusing.  Just because something has lost its luster doesnt mean its a pile of junk."

“Well excuse me for liking the finer things in life.  Couldn’t kill you to trade this in for something better and less noisy!  So keep it down in the meantime.”  You walked off in a huff, scraping the soft soles of your slippers across the pavement.

“Nice to meet you too neighbor, the name is Jason!  I could show you how to sew that hole in your shorts too since you like the finer things!”

You stopped suddenly, sticking your butt out to look at the supposed hole.

“Don’t worry.  Looks good.”  His voice dipped into a tone that sounded predatory.  You walked backwards glaring at him  as you made your way back around the corner out of his line of sight.  

You stopped for a second to feel your behind and come across the hole you got roasted on.  You kiss your teeth, feeling yourself get warm with embarrassment.  It didn’t matter to you because sleep clothes aren’t supposed to always be fancy schmancy.  You peeked around the corner and spied on him as he worked.  He had the nerve to talk about anyone with his dusty olive green Henley on with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his large forearms and that geometric tattoo.  You couldn’t care less about his opinion, long as his motor keeps quiet.   The next weekend, you stayed out hella late catching up with friends after work.  Happy hour was popping and you are a sucker for discounted drinks, especially when they are as good as the ones at your favorite bar.  Your Lyft dropped you off in front of your place at 3 AM and you trudged to your front door and catch a glimpse of something in your peripheral as you dug out your keys.  On top of the trash bag there was a note scrawled on a piece of paper that says RECYCLE.

“What the fuck?”  you say out loud and picked up the note, turning it over you see the signature -Neighbor J.   

You balled up the paper.  “Oh you think you run my life now?  Where the hell he get the nerve even coming up to my front door.  He don’t know me, but he will!”  You cursed out the air, practicing what you plan to say to him next time you see him and plotting your next moves.

A few hours later, morning broke and so did your peace.  A loud banging at your door makes your heart race from surprise.  You prayed silently that it’s no police as you bounded toward your door and look through the peephole.  

You jumped back just as fast when you recognize the face, snatching your bonnet off and fingering your curls loose to be more presentable.  You scuttled over to a nearby mirror to check that your shirt had no stains, and shorts no holes.  All looked clear but you didn’t want to open the door in loosely fitted mickey mouse pajama bottoms, changing fast into some boy shorts.

After a quick change, you finally answered the door, to be greeted by his broad back.  He wore a tank top today, mauve pink of all colors, giving a full show to the power he packed in his arms.  Plus his hair was out of its man bun, showing off its waves, looking so touchable.  His jeans and boots looked like the same ones from the last time you saw him.  You chuckle to yourself over his laziness.

He turned to you like a shampoo commercial with his hands on his hips.  “You put your crap on my bike?”

You crossed your arms and leaned on your frame, shrugging.  “No idea what you’re talking about.

He pulls a cardboard box from beside him with empty water bottles and old cereal boxes.  

“You think it’s funny, playing crap Jenga on my property?”

You rolled your eyes.  “It’s not crap, it’s reusable, remember?  Look, I got your note about recycling.  I just wanted to let you know I am way ahead of you.  My contributions are better than that gas you spew in the air from your bike.”

“Single use plastics are one of the biggest contributors to the destruction of earth’s ecosystems.  Why the hell would you waste money on them anyway?  Get a filter and a steel bottle-”

“Please!  Can you stop telling me what to do like I ain’t grown!  I know how sustainability works, that’s why I’m re-cy-cling!  Now if that’s suddenly a bad to do, I’ll Google that, but you ain’t God here.”

His stare read threatening to you, but you weren’t afraid of him trying you.  He seemed to be the type to not be challenged often and you yourself loved a challenge.  Multitasking the stare down, you memorize his facial features from his shaggy facial hair to the break in his eyebrow from an old scar.  

You work your neck for emphasis.  “Are we done here?”

He scoffs, kicking the box toward you before strolling off.  “Stop using single use plastics.”

“Ok, George of the Jungle!”  You taunt, sending him off with a wave.  Closing your door, you laugh out loud, giving a fist pump to the air.  You won this round whether he acknowledges it or not.  Plus you never heard that engine all day afterwards, catching up on your rest.

--

A couple weekends passed and one hungry morning you realize you’re low on food to eat.  You can’t chill on an empty stomach so you get your stuff to head out to your car.  

The sky was cloudy that day, making you yawn involuntarily as you start your engine.  It sputters, trying to turn over, but won’t kick off.  You tried this four or five more times before you sit back, punching your steering wheel.  Of all days for this to happen, today ain’t it.  

Suddenly the roar of a motorbike distracted you in the distance and a horrible thought passes your brain.  Jason knew his way around a motorbike, so a car shouldn’t be too different, right?

You get out the car and stomp towards the other end of the parking lot where you see you neighbor mounting his motorbike.

“Hey!  Hey!”  You yelled out, waving him down.  He saw and you notice his shoulders jump a little as a smile crawls across his face. You weren’t expecting that reaction.

“I’m gonna be outta your hair, I got my girl fixed up and I’m taking her for a spin.  Continue to catch your beauty sleep, doll,” he says sarcastically.

You look at his bike and gave the tire a kick.  "I'm not worried about that.  Glad you got it up and running."

Jason turned off the engine and scratched his beard, coming to a standing.  "What’s going on?"

You shrug, making Jason laugh hard.

"Now I really know something is up.  This is the first time you are speechless AND the last thing you said was nice? What did you do?"

You tried to fight your attitude because you still needed to ask if he could help you.

"I mean, I still think the bike looks rusty and dusty. Can’t tell it from some junkyard scrap but hey, there’s a pulse!"

Jason pointed at you, clicking his tongue. "And a good morning to you as well."  He kicks on his motor again and begins to move.

"Wait wait!" You shouted.

He turns the bike off again. "Sweetheart, I got little patience."

You groan.  "My car won't start.  I was hoping you could give it a look."

“DO I look like a mechanic?”  he asks, leaning forward on his bike.

You stared at him dumbfounded.  “You literally work on this bike all the time!  No one is doing that shit without some experience!”

“A motorcycle is not a car, ma’am,”  he said.  “Apples and oranges.  Hell, their practically fishes and trees!”

“Do you really wanna insult my intelligence?”

Jason held his hands up in the air.  “I don’t have to do anything when it comes to you.  You come with drama and mess in tow, and I’m tired of hearing it, if we’re being honest.”  He got up from his bike, heading in the opposite direction on you.

A raindrop on your face snapped you back to reality and by the time you looked up the clouds opened up their floodgates.

You covered your head.  “Dammit!  Jason!”   

You ran after him as he continued to stomp on to his place.  “There’s a thing called humility and being a good neighbor and something tells me you haven’t learned that before.”  He stops in the middle of his yard whipping around to face you.  His hair soaked in rain yet maintaining its wave intrigued you.  Most people look like a sad dog in the rain, but the wetness amplified his stoic appeal.

“You’re spoiled,” he says, rain falling off his lips as he enunciated.

“I need help!  That’s all I’m asking!”  

“You don’t ask!  You demand!  You demand I be quiet and play childish games when people call you out.”  His voice became more aggressive with demonstrative movement to emphasize his words.

You clasped your hands together.  “Oh!  Well it looks like you’re just used to doing shit YOUR way, and no one had the BALLS to step to you.  Well I am, so what?”  

You step right under his nose, rain from his body drops in your face.  He looked down at you amused.

“You better run along before you do something you can’t take back,” he warns.

“I don’t have regrets, just learned lessons.  So what you got?”

“What I got?”

“Yeah, what-”

His lips crashed into yours with momentum and strength.  His hands gripped your arms a little too tightly, making your hands splay in a shocked manner, unable to move.  His force mixed with the weather conditions made it hard to breathe and your will to do so causes you to push him back with as much strength as you can.

“What the FUCK WAS THAT?!”  You scream, wiping your mouth to no avail.

He stands there frozen, breathing hard.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like hell you don’t!  This the shit I’m saying!”  You gawk at him, seeing his shirt cling to his body as the rain weighs down the fabric.  Jason whipped his hair back unapologetically.  

“I told you.  You’re spoiled.  I don’t kiss your ass, so you’re mad.”

“I don’t remember asking you to kiss me at all, did I?”

He shrugs.  “I didn’t ask you to get in my face and threaten me, yet here we are.  Go dry off,” he says, taking himself back to his place and leaving you in the rain.

--

Later that night, you’re in the midst of finishing up twisting your hair  for the night when you hear the familiar sound of an engine blaring.

You check the time, 12:35 AM.  You’re instantly fuming, twirling a mad finger around your last twist end and putting on your robe.  

Stomping outside, you see him clear as day, outlined by the parking lot lights.  Jason sits on his bike revving it over and over as you walked closer and closer.  You get about 30 feet away from him when he turns the bike off.

“You fucking get on my damn nerves.  I’m sick of this!”  You shout at him.  

He got off his bike, standing with his hands in his pockets.  Soon as you were within arms length, you raise your hand and bring it to the back of his neck, pulling him into you.  You were ready this time, opening up to take hi essence in with your own.  Your fingers clutch the roots of his hair, pulling yourself up to him as much as possible until he helped you.  Wrapping his arms around your waist, he doesn’t miss a beat in your mouth as he lifts you to his level and you wrap your arms around his neck.  You bit his lips, groaning into his mouth excitedly.  

“I told you, I step up if you try me.”  you say.

He licks his wounded lips, eyes heavy with anguish.  “And I can take a hit, if necessary.”

You both stumble back to your place, fighting to feel each other’s skin quicker than you could get undressed.  You let your robe fall off at the door.

Your scratch at the bottom of Jason’s shirt, pulling it up as he surrenders his arms to your tugs, shaking his hair loose once you’ve freed him.

He pulled your hair back roughly, exposing your neck to his tongue grazing the pulse point of your neck.  Your nails dig into his hips as you fight the ticklish sensation, making him groan.

“Watch those claws, kitty,”  he warns, taking liberties with your body. The palms of his hands feel rough against your stomach when he traces your curves up to your breasts.  You breathe erratically, feeling the warm arousal build as your nipples greet his fingertips, but you pushed him back roughly.  As he stumbles, he looks at you defensively.

“Am I moving too fast?”  He asks as his chest rises and falls heavily.  You take your shirt off, standing in just your underwear.  He starts to unbutton his pants…

“Stop!  Don’t.”  You command.

He freezes in mid zipper pull, looking frustrated.  “Look if this ain’t happening, just-”

“Did I say nothing is happening?  I told you to stop.  And it would be good if you just listened, for once,”  you say, dropping your voice lower and quieter.  You walked up to him, moving his hand aside, pushing him against the wall.

“You find me attractive, right?”  You ask as your fingers find his zipper and pull it the rest of the way down.

He keeps his poker face as you stare him down.  “I do.  You’re very sexy.”

As he admits this, your palm slides down his stomach and under his waistband.  Under your touch you feel him grow, making your heart skip.

“Not sexy enough.  You still got some growing up to do I see,”  you reply as you pull his bottoms down, letting his dick recoil from its boundaries.  

Jason exhales sharply, bracing his back against the wall.  “You don’t have to.”

You settle down to your knees, observing the specimen before you, gripping his shaft as you look up at him.  “You don’t want me to?”

His hair framing his face, he pulls it back taking a deep breath.  “You got my dick in your hands, and you think I’m backing down now?”

“Then tell me what you want me to do…”  You say quietly, biting your lip as you watch him while stroking him, blowing slowly along his length, lips puckered and tempting.

He reached for the top of your head gently massaging your scalp.  “I want that big mouth to show me what it can do.”

You smirk, letting your tongue flutter around his tip, warming him up.  You feel his scalp massage slow as your lips softly kiss his member.  His head falls backward as you open your mouth wider, swallowing his girth deeper.  You look up at him, massaging his balls. 

“Oh God, you’re amazing.  Your mouth so soft,”  he moans, looking down at you, jutting his hips towards your face minutely.  

You allow your throat to open a bit more, taking hold of his thighs as he pushes himself into your mouth deeper. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.  Just look at you.”  He pulls out of you, bending down to take you in for a kiss.  He tastes himself within your mouth, fully devouring your mouth in a kiss.  You hold his hands against your face as he embraces you, feeling overwhelmed with passion.

“Fuck me, now.”  You growl into his face, getting up.  He pushes you against the wall he once stood, pulling your underwear down to your ankles, you steady your hands on his wide shoulders.  

He stands up looking you deep into your eyes as you reach for his dick, coaxing him to move on, but he grabs your wrists, setting them on his shoulders.  

“You’re too impatient,”  He says, running his finger across your cheek, nuzzling his nose against yours.  

You exhale.  “Damn right I am.  The one thing we can get along about, you’re trying to postpone.”

He chuckles, feeling between your thighs.  “You’re this wet for me?  You like me more than I thought.”

You roll your eyes, closing them when his fingers fit so easily inside of you, digging your nails into his shoulders.  “Maybe I just like the sex.  Thought of that?”

He shrugs.  “Let’s see what fits and talk later.  Your pink looks real good.”  

He grips his hands under you, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist in one movement.

As he holds you, you feel for his dick, helping to guide his tip to your entrance.

“Teamwork, right?”  You gasp as he spreads you wider, pushing himself inside of you.  You exclaim, gripping the back of his neck for dear life.

“Did I hurt you?”  He asks.

You shake your head.  “No, keep going.  I want more.”

He obeys, pushing further inside your walls.  

“That’s it baby, deeper.”  You encourage him, you tighten up around him as your body relaxes to the new sensation.

Jason’s hands travel around your back, holding you close as works his length into you, working his hips like it’s his job.

“Ah, your pussy is so good baby.”  Jason moans in your ears.

“This pussy is good to you cuz that dick.  Give it to me, harder.”

Jason rams his length inside you, holding still as you writhe, repeating the action over and over.

“Yes, oh yes,”  you cry out, feeling tears reach the corners of your eyes, feeling a wave of pleasure creep and spread throughout your body.

Jason pounds your deeper, harder as you cry out, digging into his back, he pulls your mouth to his, kissing you passionately.  

“You take me so well.  I knew you were tough.  Keep cumming, I want all of you on me,”  he says.  You cover his mouth.

“Shut up, or I won’t stop,” you feel your body buckle under the pressure.  It became too much.

Jason opens his mouth, sucking two of your fingers as his pace quickens.

“I’m close baby, hang on.”  Jason cautions, gripping your breasts and he rests into the crook of your neck, giving all of himself into you.

His hand moves between your breasts, tracing your sweat with his lips.  He grunts with a guttural tone, “Looks good.”

“Pull…”  you say weakly between breaths, barely able to think straight.  Your body feels like it’s floating away from you as you hit another orgasm before you feel yourself go empty.  You look down to see Jason jacking against your stomach, strips of white paint your belly as he howls in euphoria.

You notice your heartbeat for the first time, pounding in your chest but you felt no stress.  Your mind is hazy as Jason talks but you can’t fully register what he’s saying.  He holds your face, looking concerned as he picks you up to take you to his bedroom lying you down.

You feel a towel on your stomach as you lay on your back, completely checked out of your surroundings.

“Sure, you can spend the night, no problem.”  Jason says half-jokingly as he crawls to the other side of the bed, pulling a blanket over the both of you.  You feel his hands in your hair, gentle massaging your curls as your eyes close.

The next morning, you wake with a fright, feeling this arm laid across your waist like a boa constrictor.  A snore behind your head makes you nearly jump out of bed.

“Good morning, beautiful,” a gruff sounding Jason stretches, kissing your shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa.  Don’t do that,” you say, sitting up and covering yourself in your section of the blanket.

Jason tousles his hair, moving closer to you.  “Oh no?  I can’t initiate this time?”

You push his face back.  “You can’t initiate ever!  This isn’t a back to back thing, so don’t think you got rights to me.  Where are my clothes?”

You see your drawers, robe and shirt by the front door.  “Can you close your eyes as I get my stuff?”

Jason lays back with his hands behind his head.  “Take the blanket.  I don’t mind my body being out.”

You make a face.  “Ew, just close your eyes and turn your head.”  Jason covers his face like he’s getting ready to play Tag.

You gather your panties, slipping them on.

“You don’t have to run off so fast, we were just getting to know each other better.”  JAson says behind his hands.

You talk through your shirt.  “Bullshit.  Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

Jason drops his hands.  “So there’s nothing to discuss?” 

You shrug your robe on, running your fingers over your twists that are now sexed over and slept on as best you could.  “I’ve already forgotten what we are talking about.”

He nods.  “Well I am glad you got function back to your legs.”  He smiles widely.

You groan.  “Happens all the time, you aren’t special.  And take your trash out, smells like shit in here.”

“That’s just sex in the air, sweetheart.”  Jason waves you goodbye as you flip him off, walking out the door.  When you reach your place, you take a deep breath, feeling the aftermath of last night coursing through your body still.  You felt positively sore, like after a good workout.  It replays in your head over and over; his hands on your body, his deep kisses,  his taste.  You shake your head, trying to free your mind.  No way is he taking up any space in your memory.  It’s over and done.  You take the morning to shower off, somewhat thoughtfully.

The next day you got ready for work, feeling better than you had in a while.  Dick was not the reason, so you thought.  You felt all around more positive until your peace became disturbed.

“No, no, no, NO!”  You yell out.  “It’s not even the fucking weekend!”

You pick up your purse, looking for your keys.  You curse yourself for keeping car keys and house keys separate until you remember you are without a working vehicle.

“FUCK!”  You didn’t want to see, you wouldn’t.  You’ll text your job and tell them what’s up and call a car.  Problem solved.  

You get out of your place, locking the door and notice the hood of your car up and Jason sitting in the front seat.

He turns off the engine, closing the hood, leaning on the car as he looked at you.  “Turns out I know cars after all.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?  For stealing my keys?”  you say with a sour disposition.

He tosses the keys in the air, catching them.  “You left them at my place.  I thought it was an invitation.”

“None of it was an invitation.  Give them to me.”  You walk up to him with your hand out like a three year old.  When he drops them in your hand, he doesn’t let go.

“Say….”

You tighten your lips for what felt like an eternity until you say, “Thanks!”

He lets go with a smile and walks away.  “I swear I was gonna do it regardless, but you had to initiate so…”

“You kissed me first!”  you shout a little too loudly for a neighborhood.

He looks back winking at you.  “And don’t throw something away that’s reusable.”

Masterlist

[valhallanrose]

The Place is Immaterial

“meet me at sunrise, at sunset, or the new moon - the place is immaterial.” - from the letters of Emily Dickinson

In which a poet and an adventurer find common ground.

2.1k. Milenko (and Atanasie) belong to @sunrisenfool​. No CWs apply. 

“...I’m telling you, Atanasie, there’s a whole collection of those vases back at the dig site. I keep saying you’d love it out there - how long do I have to dangle the bait of ‘newly uncovered murals’ in front of you before I have to pack you up in a carriage myself?”

“Oh, just a little longer. It’s just a matter of clearing a big enough gap in my schedule to focus on it completely. Now get your dusty boots off my desk.” Atanasie reached out then, smacking the bottom of her boot where it was popped up against the edge of the wooden surface. “Heathen. You bring me back one Bulani vase and you think you own the joint.”

Astoria laughed, dropping her foot to the floor and setting her teacup to the side. “Harsh words. Maybe I should just…”

They leaned over to the side, reaching toward the tall vase standing beside Atanasie’s desk, only for him to shoot them a scandalized look. 

“You touch that vase and I’ll get you banned from the Palazzo.”

“Why would Nana ban me? I can make his life infinitely harder when he tries to use the palace library.”

Atanasie grumbled as Astoria grinned, clearly far too proud of themself for winning that one as they reached for their teacup again. 

Whenever they returned from their travels, Astoria made it a point to come by the Palazzo Cassano to visit Atanasie Radošević, fellow enthusiast of ancient civilizations who also happened to get paid to pursue his passions. When she was around, they had tea a few times a month, usually in one of their respective offices so they didn’t disturb other patrons around them. Sometimes they got into quite animated discussion, but other times it became casual conversation, catching up with one another on their lives and adventures. 

“Any plans for the winter?” Atanasie asked after a few beats of pause, and Astoria nodded, a smile breaking out across their face. 

“Yeah, actually, I’m thinking about heading south again. Granny’s going to be at Castle Kintyre for Hogamanay, so I’ll probably join her for the celebration. It’s been quite a long time since I’ve been there, so it’ll be nice to be home.”

The man shuddered, shaking his head slightly and bringing his cup a bit closer to his chest. “I’ll never understand how you do the cold down south, it’s absolutely intolerable -”

A knock on the door cut through their conversation, making them both pause before Atanasie glanced at the clock. He stared at it for a moment, then two, before being broken from his reverie by another light knock and a call of “Uncle?”

“Come in!” Atanasie called, already rising from his desk as the store swung open. 

Astoria glanced over their shoulder as Atanasie and his visitor met halfway, a bright smile on the former’s face as he leaned in to press a kiss to each of the person’s cheeks and reached up to loosely grip their upper arms. 

“Sasi, my darling, peace be upon you.”

Immediately, the name clicked in Astoria’s mind - Atanasie had spoken of his nephew many times before, usually when the conversation turned away from work and they checked in on each other personally. Astoria stood as Milenko smiled and returned the greeting, setting their teacup on the desk - and discreetly dusting off the print their boot left behind before Atanasie drew their attention. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been a little rude.” He beckoned her closer, then gestured to Milenko with a smile. “I’ve told you about my nephew, yes?”

“You have.” Astoria chuckled, nodding and extending a hand to the man in question. “The infamous Milenko - it’s nice to put a face to the name. A pleasure, I’ve heard much about you from your uncle.”

They noticed his eyes first. Warm brown, the kind of color that made them think of fresh brewed coffee - gods, they needed a cup, the more they thought about it. Olive toned skin, a spattering of freckles across his cheeks, dark brows and bronze curls that just made him just seem like a different kind of warm altogether. 

It fit the way Atanasie had described him, truthfully. 

Milenko quirked a brow at her words, but took her hand, giving it a firm shake in turn. “Hopefully good things. Regretfully, I’m not sure I can say that he’s told me about you…?”

“Astoria. Astoria Fenharrow.” They glanced down to their joined hands, where their bare palm was clasped in his - they’d forgotten to put their gloves back on - and in a moment of curiosity, pressed their first two fingers neatly against the fluttering pulse point on the inside of his wrist. 

Every heartbeat was a little different. She’d compare her own to that of a hummingbird, fluttering, unrelenting, the quick wings that carried her across the continent and back when the fancy took her.  

Milenko’s made her think of rivers. Not the small, babbling kind, but the rivers that ran strong and steady for decades, ran their courses and carved through mountain sides with time. Persistent, strong and steady...a force to be reckoned with if you allowed yourself to get swept up in it. 

“You have a strong heart.” Astoria commented idly, their hand sliding from his and wrapping around one of the suspenders they wore. Milenko gave her a curious look before Atanasie stepped closer, clapping a hand on their shoulder and giving them both a smile. 

“Ah, it’s a good thing, Sasi. Astoria told me something similar when we met.” 

“I told you your heartbeat made me think you were a boar.”

“And I choose to take that as a compliment.” Atanasie chuckled, squeezing Astoria’s shoulder before his hand fell back to his side. “Do you mind if we continue this another day? The time got away from me.”

Astoria chuckled, reaching for her bag and swinging it loosely over her shoulder. “By all means, Atanasie, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from family. I did drop by unannounced. Do let me know what you make of that vase the next time we meet, and I’ll bring the tea. Gods know Granny’s sent me more than I could drink in a lifetime.”

Atanasie met their friendly embrace, and then they slipped out the door - letting it fall shut behind them as they ventured out into the main library. 

What, like they were going to pass up an opportunity to peruse the shelves while they were there? 

*     *     *     *     *

Libraries like that of the palace and the Palazzo Cassano were easy to get lost in, and Astoria had done just that. 

They dropped their bag off at a desk and had begun to wander, through the aisles packed chock full of texts on history and science, literature and art, and everything between until they found the section they were looking for. 

Astoria had heartily plucked a book off the shelf in the poetry section and unceremoniously seated themself on the floor, back pressed against another set of shelves and their legs stretched out across the aisle. With the book in their lap and a quick adjustment to their glasses, they were set for a few hours of reading, and they certainly met that expectation. 

They didn’t know how long it had been when a voice cut through the silence - hushed, as to not disrupt others, but enough to draw their attention - and made them look up toward the source. 

“A strong heart, hm?”

Astoria blinked once at Milenko, then twice, before their face flushed and they sheepishly closed the book with a finger between the pages to mark the poem they’d been reading. “I apologize, it’s...something I forget might unnerve others. I do hope that didn’t sour your impression of me.”

“Not at all.” Milenko shook his head, loosely gesturing to the space beside Astoria on the floor. “May I?”

When they nodded, he sat down unceremoniously, letting out a long breath as he stretched his legs out and closed his eyes. He was quiet for a moment, long enough to make Astoria wonder if they should go back to their poem, before he spoke up again with eyes still closed. 

“Uncle says you’re an archaeologist like him. He called you the ‘expert on Bulan’, if I had to use his words.”

“Oh, gods...somehow even when I’m not in the room, Atanasie finds a way to mess with me.” Astoria groaned, laughing slightly as she pressed the cover of the book in hand against her forehead. “I do study Bulan, but there’s still so much to uncover. I’d hardly call myself an expert yet. Should I be nervous that you were talking about me?”

Milenko chuckled, shaking a few curls out of the way and folding his hands neatly in his lap - a motion that made her notice the ink stains on his hands that she’d somehow missed earlier. “Had to put myself on an even playing field. You knew who I was, but I knew nothing of you.”

“Well, I know you’re his nephew. I know you have a dog named Ursula, that you visit fairly often, and that you’re a poet. Nothing deeply personal.”

“Still puts you a step ahead of me. We know each other’s careers. Got any pets?”

“A dog as well. My familiar - her name’s Nathaira. I’ve also got two doves, Patroclus and Achilles.”

He laughed a little at that, a sound that made Astoria’s lips quirk up at the corners as well. “I didn’t take you for the sort who enjoyed epics.”

Astoria shrugged, getting to their feet to slip the book back into its place on the shelves. “Ah, well, I spend a lot of time on the road, or working with old texts. I’ve read a little bit of everything, truthfully, poetry just...speaks to something different.”

“I understand that.” Milenko nodded, still seated on the floor as Astoria met his gaze - something curious, even critical in his eye as he looked up at her. “What drew you to it in the first place?”

Astoria paused at that, then turned, leaning back against the shelf carefully and loosely folding her arms across her chest. The words were easy to remember, she knew them line by line for how many times she’d read the poem in question. 

“Among the ruined temples there,

Stupendous columns, and wild images

Of more than man, where marble daemons watch

The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men

Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around.”

Milenko’s face broke out into a wide grin, nodding in approval as he got to his feet. “Alastor; or The Spirit of Solitude. I can see why it would have pulled you into the world of poetry.”

“It did. I’ve spent as long as I can remember digging around ruined temples, so the passage struck a chord.” Astoria had to tip their head back slightly to meet his gaze as he moved, briefly wondering if the gap would be narrowed or widened if they both removed their heeled boots from the equation. 

With a nod, Milenko took a step closer and offered Astoria his hand before he spoke, expression shifting from curiosity to determination on some unknown front. 

“I’d like to ask a favor.”

Astoria grinned, eyeing his hand with something akin to mischief in their eyes. “Oh, so that’s why you wanted to get to know me. Dangerous, you know, asking for favors from new acquaintances. But I’m interested, go on.”

“I’d like to pick your brain a little.” Milenko wiggled his fingers slightly as if to try and entice them to take his hand. “What you said...I want to know more about what you see in a heartbeat. Call it writer’s curiosity.”

They mulled that over for a few moments before they nodded, laying their hand neatly in his. “Alright. I can’t find it in me to stifle said curiosity. I’ll be settling in at my office in the palace library for the next few days, can’t imagine how dusty it is after the last month or so. I could meet you in the library?”

“The fountain in the gardens, preferably. I write better near water.” Milenko smiled, then lifted Astoria’s hand in his - pressing a chaste kiss to their knuckles before releasing their hand completely. “I’ll come by tomorrow. I’d like to follow this train of thought before it’s lost.”

And, just as unceremoniously as he’d come, Milenko slipped out of the aisle - leaving Astoria standing there, rosy cheeked and wondering what the hell they’d just gotten into. 

[imtryingthisout]

Sunglasses and Serenity

[a fic inspired by @nachosforfree @sanderssides-magicalgirlau check them out]

[Warnings: Descriptions of a Panic Attack]

[Pairing: Sleepxiety]

[Word Count: 2283]

——————————————————————

It was not a quiet night. The sky above was dark, the pearly stars hidden behind the neon verbosity of downtown. 24 hour shops and businesses had windows that never dimmed, pinpricks of artificial lightings blurred together creating an abstract mess of blended color.

The moon itself was distorted by the light pollution. It’s natural autumn glow paled in comparison to the vibrancy of the busy streets.

Remy both loved and hated it.

Growing up with summers spent in his family’s old Villa in Italy, secluded in a valley side miles away from the nearest approximation of a town, he had always known how the sky was darker blue than black. He and his cousins loved to climb upon the rooftop and find the stories hidden in the stars. The earth around them was quiet and peaceful, but never silent. The symphony of crickets and other night creature laid in the background of every night spent there. A distant murmuring, Tellus’s lullaby.

Moving to the city had been akin to dunking his head in a bucket of ice water and screamo pop.

Shocking, painful and utterly disorientating. But after the ringingness faded- strangely exhilarating.

Remy has thrown himself headfirst into the city’s night culture. Staying up late partying, trying all the best coffee houses, hanging around the hidden-and-not-so-hidden drag shows,gaining a reputation and a caffeine addiction along the way.

But this was not a night where he would be going out, not when everything he needed was with him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Virgil really was a sight to be seen, his skin was pale, like the white-petaled sunflowers that grew by the valley, that seemed to glow in the moonlight. But his starkness fit in perfectly with the gleam of the industrial lights. Heterochromatic eyes, green and purple, stunning as murano glass and pulsing as strobe lights.

Achingly familiar, yet enticingly foreign. Home and longing rolled up in one boy, a boy who has stolen one of his sleep shirts for his own nefarious (adorable) use.

And who probably wanted an answer. Quick Remy, think of some witty remark to be entertaining!

“You ever notice how bright it is sometimes?”

Damn it! Guess we’re being genuine.

Virgil quirked his head to the side, giving Remy a piercing look, before nodding his head slightly . “Yeah,” he said, “Used to overstimulate the crap outta me when I was younger.” Then he paused, debating with himself over continuing- but decided to press forward. “Is that why you always wear those stupid shades?” The last words said in jest.

A surprised laugh escaped his through before he could stop it- Virgil almost reaches out to comfort him, but tensed up, too many bad memories stilled his arm.

“Girl, I’ll have you know these are designer glasses right here” he made a gesture around his face, “Iconic one of a kind Remy Hypnos Original Shades. Don’t go dissing my brand babes”

Virgil just snorted and rolled his eyes, “Uh, I’m pretty sure the designer thing on your face are those-eye bags you have hidden under there.”

“Damn right, even the bags under my eyes are Gucci”

“Oh Gods did you steal that off tumblr you sleep-deprived asshat? Oh don’t give me that look you totally did.” Virgil’s words had started off biting, but slowly devolved into a giggling mess.

(He really was just too cute for this world, Remy thought)

“Oh Ha ha, laugh it up” he snapped, ignoring his blushing cheeks and hot ears.

(Virgil could always tell how flustered Remy was by how red the tips of his ears were. A dusty pink for flirty, A warm rouge signaled embarrassment or arousal. Virgil loved watching the colors bloom on his skin. Memorizing what each shade meant- he could take any cochineal-colored paint swatch and map out Remy’s mood in the margins. It made him so easy to read, and so much fun to mess with.)

Soon the laughing and jeering subsided, and Virgil turned to look at Remy, “But seriously man, Is that why you always have those things on? Photophobia?”

“Can’t it be enough that I look rad as all Hell’s in them?”

“Not with that deflection it can’t” Virgil wasn't giving up it seemed, so Remy let out a deep sigh and gathard his words. “Remember highschool?”

“Kind of hard to forget.” High school was an absolute trainwreck for Virgil, he’d been on and off meds that screwed with his moods- making the already hormone fueled circus that was over a thousand teens trapped in one building, like a pack of sardines- even more emotionally taxing.

But if High School was a disaster for Virgil, it was absolute Hell for Remy.

Remy and his cousins had been homeschooled by their many relatives since they were children. Growing up learning in his family’s study. Rich mahogany floors, dim golden lighting bouncing off the variety of nick-nacks and treasures that line the shelves. Learning to read in his grandfather’s library, his worn and wrinkled hands guiding his young fingers along the words.

His cousin Alessia longed to go to a public school, and pleaded with her mother for ages before she relented. With the condition that she would allow her to go- but only if one of their own went with her.

So Remy, proving himself as her favorite, offered to accompany her.

The blinding smile on Alessia’s face as she squealed thank you , thank you amata cugino, favorito benedetto, was totally worth it. ‘It’s only one year’ he thought, ‘how bad could it be?’

Until he actually got there.

Virgil could think back and recall in semi-perfect clarity the day Remy Hypnos graced the halls of Sandershore High. Roman had become a central hub for gossip , and he’d heard whispers that of new transfer students, which in of itself wouldn't be news. But Hypnos was a household name, owning some of the most ridiculously pretentious Itialian Restaurants in the country. The kind people got engaged at, those levels of nice.

Needless to say when Remy and Alessia strolled into Sandershore’s gate. With perfect olive skin, rich brown hair and clothes nicer than Virgil’s single mom income could ever afford. Virgil fell in hate easily.

(The kind of hate that has him staring at him out of the corner of his eye during Calculus. Thinking about what his eyes looked under those darkened glasses. The kind of hate that wasn’t really hate)

Remy had all the perfect components to rule to school. Pretty, rich, with a startling amount of charisma and people skills for someone so unsocialized.

(Know one knew how he picked up slang so fast in an attempt to hide to slight foreign tilt that laced his words. Never knew how when he first heard someone mock Alessia’s body he punched the guy’s lights out without ever thinking. No one knew how he hadn’t had a night's sleep since school started. How fake he felt, his mannerisms esageraged and twisted to suit the liking of the student body- till he felt like a caricature rather than a person.)

By second quarter Virgil and Remy’s seeming distaste for one another had spread far and wide. They couldn’t be in the same room together without having some sort of verbal showdown. If you asked Virgil he would say that Remy was a self absorbed prick with an ego the size of Mt. Rushmore. If you asked Remy he’d say that that Virgil was a clingy mood-killer who couldn’t see past his own issues.

(Remy didn’t know how empty Virgil felt. How much the crushing weight of his own thoughts threatened to pull him down under. How his dependency on Patton was more sinister than a clingy best-friend. How sometimes his nightmares left him gasping and clawing- begging for them to come back. How his mother never really could fill the emptiness in his house. How Virgil sometimes felt like a puppet going through the motions.)

As the eye bags under their eyes grew darker and heavier, and autumn grew colder and colder. Both boys felt the pressure crushing them under its weight.

(Turns out they both used their arguments as cathartic release from the world around them.)

(Some things never change.)

It was winter when they found each other. Both on the verge of a breakdown-

(It was always too bright. There were no warm wooden floors just chilled title and harsh- fake- lights. The entire building smelled like body odor and cleaning supplies. The teachers were strangers, uncaring distant- he heard what the girls were saying about his cousin. He just felt so-)

(Empty. Hopeless. Patton was gone where did Patton go? He was lonely. And so so pathetic. He needed to get himself under control needed. Don’t be a burden- they all hate him- don’t slip up. They’re going to leave him. Everything felt so distant- drowned out by the static- he was drowning-)

Where the fate’s looking down on the two powder keg boy. A spark away from igniting. Weaving their strings together for a happenstance in counter. Or was it merely coincidence that they went to the same storage closet, to have a moment's respite.

Was it just chance that the door was automatic-locked.

“This is just great” Remy hissed under his breath, he just wanted one moment- just one! Of some cooled peace and solitude. Away from the buzzing gossip and fake friends. Away from the sensory hell outside. A little kernel of bitter anger swelled within the pit of his stomach. One moment, just one.

Then he turned to look at the other person in the room.

Remy had seen lots of sides of Virgil Anxiti, the sarcastic commenter, the horrible-yet oddly insightful- student, the debater .

(He hadn’t seen the devoted son, the caring brother, the friend who would do anything for his loved ones)

But he’d never seen him… blank.

Curled up in the corner of the closet, arms hugging his knees as they were pressed into his chest, was Virgil. Eyes dead and dulled as stone. The muscles in his face were relaxed completely- which unsettled Remy more than crying would have.

Remy wasn’t a Knight in shining armor, or even a comforting person in general- but unqualified as he may be, he couldn’t just let his favorite rival just sit there and do nothing to help.

Alessia needed physical touch when she was upset , their whole family was practically comprised of touchy people. So when one of them was sad, it was a one way ticket to hug time. Somehow Remy didn’t think that would be well received.

“Hey, babes I’m going to touch your arm- that good with you?” He didn’t reply, not that Remy thought he would- but still. So slowly, cautiously, he layed a single hand on Virgil’s arm.

The change was gradual, but noticeable. Hear bloomed under Virgil’s complexion, bringing back warmth into his skin. The glassy oversheen of his eyes subsided, and his entire posture just… relaxed. And so did Remy.

When he had gathered enough of himself, Remy guided Virgil though his breathing exercises. In and out, In and out. Hand never leaving his arm- grounding him to the world.

The door was still locked when Virgil regained his senses. “Guess we have to wait until someone notices we’re missing” Which nearly set Virgil off into another spiral. Until they rembered that technology exists. And so they used Virgil’s phone to text Logan to come and unlock it.

“He’s the only one who won’t make a big deal about us being locked in a closet together”

But there was time between then and there. Time to talk, if only to fill the awkward silence.

To talk about school.

“Girl I have no idea what they put in those ‘school provided lunches’ but they are not food.”

“What rock have you been living under? I once got food poisoning from drinking some of the milk in 6th grade- and that still wasn’t the worst thing I’ve eaten from there.”

About Friends.

“I met Patton when I was six and we’ve been best friends ever since. Dee joined in when we were all about nine and we first saw Lo’ and the twins when they started freshman year”

“I cannot honestly tell you the names of half the people who hang around me”

About Family.

“Hon you could bust down every wall in this building and still wouldn’t have enough room to put all my fam”

“It’s just been my mom, little brother and Patton since I was eight and my dad walked out. Still don’t know who I hate more for it- him or me”

If Logan took just a tad longer route to the closet- he didn’t mention it. He also didn’t mention when Remy started joining their table for lunch. Matching Roman and Remus in all their theatrics- offering to set up a ‘play date’ between some of his younger cousins and Dee’s many siblings.

(If he noticed how much happier the two were after that, how much more healthy Virgil seemed, how more secure in himself Remy acted...well that was just one more thing he didn’t mention.)

Present Day Remy took off his glasses, letting them rest gently in his hand. “My Nonna gave them to me the day before I started school. Said they would come in handy. They did of course.. they just kinda.. became more” he rubbed along the temple’s rubbery tip. Eyes focused in on the way his fingers move up and down the slender frame.

Virgil gently takes the glasses into his hand, and sets them down on the bedside table. He has to stand on his toes to reach Remy’s face, but when he does he tenderly places a hand onto his cheek, gazing into his deep brown eyes- the same shade as his espresso cups and just as rich.

And Remy melts into him. Allows himself to be led away from the window. From the bright lights and traffic noise, and into Virgil’s embrace.

[pufflyhallows]

Butterbeer

Gif not mine

Pairing: Oliver Wood x reader

Summary: Oliver is feeling down with the result of the last game, so the Hogsmeade trip doesn’t seem too exciting until his friend takes him to an interesting shop.

a/n: I realized I had never written anything with a Hufflepuff reader, which is absurd! XD

Warnings: language

Word count: 2,412

********

Oliver was not happy. 

Harry Potter had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the recent Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match, in which Gryffindor suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

Of course Oliver worried about his friend’s health and he was glad that Harry was perfectly fine now, but the weight of the defeat upon his shoulders was too much. He was the captain, after all. He knew he was the first one to blame and he knew everyone in Hogwarts was talking about it, especially the Slytherins.

For that reason, he wasn’t too excited about the last Hogsmeade trip of the year, unlike his friends, who couldn’t stop talking about it in the common room as they got ready to go out.

“I’m gonna buy as many boxes of Chocolate Frogs as possible,” Noah said as he counted his money, “I don’t wanna wait the entire summer to eat those again.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a muggleborn,” Riley thought out loud.

“I can send you more if you run out,” Leo patted Noah on the shoulder.

“Thanks, mate.”

“Can we go now?” Oliver asked impatiently.

Noah and Leo looked at each other finding strange their friend’s behavior, but Riley understood very well why Oliver wasn’t quite happy that day.

“Yes, we can,” she replied, standing up and motioning for the boys to go with her. And they did.

Hogsmeade looked just the same as it did on their previous visit. Nothing had really changed, except maybe for the weather. It was slightly hotter now.

“There he goes,” Leo pointed discretely at Percy, who had just entered Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop with his girlfriend Penelope.

Noah smirked, shaking his head. “That’s why he was in such a hurry.”

“Let the boy live,” Riley chuckled, “Where do you guys wanna go first?”

“Honeydukes! I need my Chocolate Frogs,” Noah patted on his pocket, where his money was.

Riley thought Oliver would protest, but the boy didn’t seem to be on the same planet as them. She knew where his mind was and she felt bad for him, hoping the crowded shop would cheer him up somehow.

But it didn’t.

“Where do we go now?” Noah asked with a full mouth as the four friends left Honeydukes.

“Zonko’s?” Leo proposed.

“Sure.”

“Oh, I actually want to go to Tomes and Scrolls,” Riley said, pointing at the bookstore across the street.

“I can go with you,” Oliver offered, finally saying something since they got there and making Riley a little bit more optimistic.

“He can go with you,” Leo repeated, “Noah and I will meet you there later. It might take a while, though.”

“It’s okay. See you later then,” the girl waved and the two boys left towards the joke shop, leaving her alone with Oliver. “Let’s go?”

He nodded, following her to the store he had never paid attention to before. 

As they got in, Oliver realized it was way bigger than what it looked like from outside. The shop was completely filled with books of all kinds, shapes and colors. Of course his eyes landed on Quidditch Through The Ages, exposed on a shelf by the door. He inevitably sighed, looking away from it and going further into the store. He did not need a reminder of his failure at that moment.

Riley wasn’t searching for anything specific, she said. She liked to just go there and walk around until something caught her attention, so Oliver decided to do the same. 

They parted ways, each of them heading to a different side of the store, and the boy started reading the books’ titles as he walked through the tall shelves, hoping something interesting would come into sight.

He could understand why he had never paid attention to that store before or why it wasn’t as full as Honeydukes. Unfortunately, despite having a nice variety of books, that shop looked abandoned and slightly dirty. But he could also understand why Riley liked it so much. It strangely felt like home.

A bell rang from the entrance, announcing that someone had just come in. Oliver looked at the door curiously, feeling instantly glad he had done so. Standing by the first shelves, two girls talked to each other quietly as one of them pointed at a book with a yellow cover. Oliver’s eyes could not drift away from the girl on the left, wearing a navy blue coat and nodding at whatever her friend was saying about the yellow book. Her beauty illuminated the dusty, sad environment, bringing back the life Oliver knew it once had. 

He gulped, his heart growing a warm feeling. The girl was holding a small package in her hands, which he could bet was a chocolate bar from Honeydukes, and he suddenly felt the urge to know what she liked to do in her free time, what was her favorite Quidditch team (if she even liked the sport at all), favorite book genre, favorite drink, her favorite song, her name... Who was that girl?

When the two new visitors started walking further into the shop, consequently closer to where he was, Oliver grabbed the first book he saw and opened it at a random page, pretending to be highly interested in the words written there.

The navy blue coat girl waved at someone behind him, a shy smile on her face that made Oliver’s cheeks heat up. He turned around slowly and a mixture of euphoria with total shock took over him as he saw Riley waving back. 

He did not waste a second before walking up to her. 

“Who is that girl?” he asked urgently, not caring if he sounded too demanding.

“She’s a Hufflepuff, a year below us. Why?” Riley frowned at her friend’s urgency.

“How do you know her?”

“She helped me in the bathroom once if you know what I mean. Kindest person I’ve ever met, to be honest.”

“What’s her name?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s Y/N.”

“You’re not sure?!”

“It was a long time ago, Oliver. Why are you asking me all these questions?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“How have I never seen her before?” 

“I don’t know,” Riley shrugged, “But you didn’t answer me.”

“She’s...” Oliver looked at the other side of the store, where Y/N was. “She’s so beautiful.”

“Ohh...” Riley smirked, “I see.”

Oliver kept staring at the girl with a dreamy look on his face, making Riley laugh. That was completely adorable. And new! She had never seen him like that before.

“Let’s go talk to her,” she proposed.

“What?!” he looked at his friend, “No way.”

“Why not?!”

“What am I going to say?”

“’Hi, my name is Oliver, nice to meet you?’” 

“Then what?”

“I’ll help you, c’mon.”

“Riley...”

“Come on.”

Riley pulled her friend gently by the arm towards the two girls on the other side of the store. Oliver felt his heart race increase instantly and his stomach get cold. He hoped his face wasn’t red, but it probably was.

“Hey, Y/N,” Riley risked, praying she had gotten the name right. The navy blue coat girl turned around and smiled.

“Hey, Riley! It’s been a while, how are you?”

“I’m good! I’ve heard about your dad’s promotion on the Ministry. Congrats!”

“Thank you! We’re really happy,” Y/N blushed slightly. “Oh, this is my friend Jade.”

The other girl held out her hand with a polite smile, “Nice to meet you, Riley.”

“Nice to meet you too, Jade,” Riley shook her hand, “This is Oliver.” 

“Hi,” he said, shaking Jade’s hand as well.

“Oh, we know Oliver,” Y/N said, making his heart stop completely as he and Riley shared a surprised look. “You’re the Gryffindor captain, right? We watched the game last week.”

Oh no. Riley bit her lower lip nervously.

“Yes, I am,” he nodded, “And I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Well, you guys made history,” Jade said. 

“Jade,” Y/N elbowed her friend discretely.

“It’s okay,” Oliver reassured Y/N, “She’s right, we did.”

“Miss Allen?” the owner of the shop called from behind the counter. 

“That’s me,” Jade explained, “Excuse me.”

As the girl left towards the man who had called her, Riley saw the opportunity to give Oliver a little push. 

“Oh, I didn’t know Mr. Bennett was here today. I’ll be right back.”

And she headed to the counter as well, leaving Oliver completely alone with Y/N.

“So...” he said, clearing his throat, “You come here often?”

Fucking hell, man. She was probably going to think that was a pick-up line.

...would it be so bad, though?

“I do, actually,” she held the small package against her chest and looked around, “This is my favorite shop in Hogsmeade. It might sound strange, but-”

“It feels like home.”

She looked at him, slightly stunned.

“Exactly,” the girl nodded.

“I get it, even though this is my first time here. It’s a pity I took this long to notice it.”

“Well, it does have a discrete facade,” she smiled kindly at the thought of Mr. Bennett decorating it.

“Yeah,” was all Oliver managed to say. He felt completely lost in her smile and didn’t seem to be able to form any more words.

Y/N noticed the small pause, but the cause of it was unknown to her. 

“So, how’s Harry Potter?” she asked to break the silence, “Is he still in the hospital wing?”

“Um... Yes. But he’s okay now, he’s awake. He’ll stay there for just a few more days.”

“I’m glad to hear that. The news scared us all, but I can only imagine what it was like for you and all of his friends. It’s very understandable what happened on the match. You guys were probably still shaken with his situation.”

“Y-Yes. We were,” Oliver agreed, surprised to find sympathy after a week of disapproval. “He was still unconscious when we played.”

“And yet, you guys gave your best. That’s admirable.”

“Thank you. Not many people seem to take that into account.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the entire school, but I can assure you that the Hufflepuffs do. Cedric even had a speech about it,” she chuckled, “Some boys were being... you know.”

“Thank you. Really,” Oliver sighed, feeling like a giant burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It was very good to know that not everyone blamed him. “You have no idea of how much I needed to hear this.”

“I do,” she put a hand on his upper arm and squeezed it gently, “But it’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

If he hadn’t been able to speak when she smiled, he wasn’t able to even breathe now that she had touched him. The feeling of it was so surreal, he couldn’t believe she existed.

“Oh, and Cedric has said countless times that the Gryffindor team is the second best in Hogwarts,” Y/N added, “After Hufflepuff, of course.”

“Of course,” Oliver chuckled, being followed by Y/N. Usually, he would disagree, but this time he let it pass. The sound of her laugh was too sweet to be interrupted.

“What I mean is that this last game won’t change the fact that you guys are really talented,” she explained, “Don’t listen to the Slytherins, you know that’s an old house rivalry.”

“Yeah...” he looked down, “I know.” 

“Can you believe they had a delay and it’s going to take another week?” Jade complained as she approached her friend.

“Oh no. And how are you going to pick it up?” Y/N asked.

“Mr. Bennett wanted to send it to me for free, but I said no. I’ll pay for the delivery, it’s not his fault,” Jade sighed, “But I wanted it now! That was the whole point of ordering it here, instead of buying it at Flourish and Blotts.”

“Yeah, that’s a shame.”

“So, let’s go?” 

“Sure,” Y/N nodded, “It was nice meeting you, Oliver. See you around?”

“Um... Actually, are you busy right now?” the boy inevitably held his breath as he took his shot.

“I’m afraid so...” Y/N looked hesitantly at Jade, who seemed like she was trying to hide a smirk. “We had planned to go to The Magic Neep now and then to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.”

“I can go to Scrivenshaft’s by myself, Y/N,” Jade tilted her head slightly, “You’ll be totally free after The Magic Neep.”

Oliver didn’t say anything as he waited for the two friends to come to an agreement. Y/N took a while before replying. 

“You’re right,” and she turned to face Oliver, “I’ll be free after I visit the greengrocer down the street. Why?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I was thinking that maybe we could go to The Three Broomsticks to have a butterbeer and... talk. What do you think?”

Y/N gave her friend a glance, but the girl smiled encouragingly. Oliver couldn’t help but notice the light pink color that Y/N’s cheeks had suddenly acquired.

“That sounds nice,” she answered shyly, “I’d love to.”

“Great! So, see you in...?”

“Half an hour.”

“I’ll be there,” the boy smiled.

“Now, we should get going,” Jade said, “See you around, Oliver.”

“Bye,” Y/N waved at him and followed her friend outside the bookstore.

“Bye,” he whispered as he watched them leave. 

He could not describe what he was feeling at that moment. How could a girl turn a boring day into the best one he had had in a week?

“So?!” 

He jumped on the spot with the sudden voice behind him. He turned around to meet the eyes of a very excited and curious Riley.

“How was it?!”

“I have a date,” he smiled.

********

[3rdgymbros]

— pairing; lemiel silvamillion clover x elf! reader

— summary; you fall in love with a human boy, but your story is doomed to end in tragedy

Your favorite dress is bright vermillion, with no sleeves, and very little back. Your people have always favored the loose, simple chiton styles, as opposed to the structured heavy velvets and silks that the humans wear. It makes you look almost like a princess, complete with the fresh flowers woven through your hair, though your mother would pinch at your cheeks and claim otherwise, with the way that your face is currently twisted up into an expression of wide-eyed wonder.

It’s not directed at Licht; rather, it’s directed at the two humans with him. You’re not alone in your reaction; many other elves are watching the humans with wary eyes, giving them a wide berth as they venture through the village.

“They’re humans,” Your elder sister Lenna murmurs, and something dark flickers across her expression as she takes your hands in hers and turns away. You’re forced to turn away with her, and you’re left with an abrupt sense of loss as you’re no longer able to see the boy with the golden crown glittering in his hair. “( Your Name ), let’s go.”

Ironically, it’s a human who ends up saving you.

Your parents, wary of the humans who keep coming back to the village, have forbade you from leaving the house. Restless, looking for diversion, you turn to exploring the gardens of Bougainvillea House. The place is half-wild with papaya trees, mango, wild orchids, spider lilies, and an abundance of bougainvillea after which your house has been named. At the back of the house is a small lake, its grassy banks ending in coarse lallang upon which monitor lizards sometimes sun themselves. You’ve seen minnows, and crabs and crayfish stalking about the weeds.

One second of misplaced footing is all it takes, and you slide right off the banks and into the water with a shriek.

Before you even hit the surface, you feel its chill and see your skin turn an icy blue. As the water erupts around you, it pours into your still shrieking mouth. You cough and splutter, gulping down even more. Your legs flail as you search for the bottom, more resembling an octopus than a human being. Your lungs begin to burn and scream for air, and right as you’re sure that you’re going to die, a gentle grip yanks you out of the water.

Your dazed mind thinks that he’s an angel at first.

“Are you alright?” He speaks slowly, so that your still-reeling mind can have a chance to understand him.

You can’t form words, only cough, but he rubs circles on your back reassuringly, and sheds his damp cloak to drape over your form. Later, you would look back on this gesture and blush; it’s tradition for husbands to drape fabrics over their newly-wed spouses during the wedding ceremony, and you can’t fault him for doing so unknowingly, since he isn’t aware of your customs.

“Do you need anything?”

As the spots clear from your vision and your mind comes back to the earth, you realise that it’s no angel. The man standing in front of you is a human. The male human, hanging around Licht. Up close, he has pale skin and small, delicate features. His eyes are the blue of the warm summer sky, and his thick blond hair is plastered wetly to his face. His strange clothes are soaked through, though it’s nothing compared to how sheer your dress has become, but he still manages to smile brightly at you, asking once again if you’re unhurt.

As you catch your breath, trying to ignore the flush on your cheeks, and the traitorous thumping of your heart, he tells you his name and proclaims that the both of you are friends, as if it’s as simple as that.

Lemiel makes an effort to seek you out when he visits, sometimes accompanied by his smiling sister and Licht, sometimes without. His smiles are freely given, and each time, his presence sweeps through you, filling you with amazement that, although for so many years he had been so near, you’ve had no knowledge of his existence.

You grow daring enough to slip out of the grounds, careful to remain unseen as you hurry to meet him.

You should have known that no secret ever remains a secret in the village, and soon, your parents find out and bar your way one evening, as you prepare to make your escape.

Your mother is incensed in a way that you’ve never seen her before, shaking a finger at you. “He isn’t the same! He isn’t one of us! He could be dangerous!”

“He’s my friend,” You say. In the face of her fury, you falter for the briefest of moments, but then the thought of Lemiel waiting for you overriding every other emotion. One way or another, you’ll see him; you’ll have your way, and you tilt your chin up in determination. “He’s my friend, and I’m going to see him.”

His dream of coexisting seems so far away, you think that night, as you meet him in your secret clearing under the gazebo, but you don’t say anything. You’re unusually quiet, and your famed sharp tongue is weighing heavily inside your mouth. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder and let his voice wash over you, a cool silk shawl that drapes over you and lulls you into a feeling of peace and serenity.

You’ve been getting used to having two humans in the village, but never before have you spoken to Tetia alone; she and Licht have become close, and they’re often seen wandering about hand-in-hand, wrapped up in their own little world. Tetia takes the teasing that comes her way in stride, with a good-natured smile and retort for everyone who stops to chat.

The smell of roses tickles your nose; blue silk skirts and silver slippers fill your vision as footsteps approach, lighter and slower than you’ve been expecting. You know instinctively that it’s not Lemiel, and even though your heart sinks in disappointment, the expectation is clear in your eyes when you look up from weaving a crown of flowers, placing a spell on them so that they’ll stay fresh for longer.

Tetia’s hair seems lit from within by tawny light and frames a slim face of high cheekbones. Her eyes are hazel and slanted, cat-like against her light olive skin. She appears radiant and impossibly beautiful as she gifts you with a smile, and motions to the empty patch of grass next to you.

“May I sit?” She asks, her voice a musical lilt.

You shrug your shoulders non-committedly, to which Tetia takes as a yes, and it’s without a word that you continue weaving your crown of flowers. You’ve amassed quite a number of them in your wicker basket to hand out to your friends, and, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re hoping to see Lemiel, to pass the best one to him. He may have a crown of gold, but you think that the softness of the flowers brings out the roses in his cheeks.

“Is –”

A small smile plays at her lips, but this one seems slyer somehow, even as she shakes her head and gazes at you out of the corner of her eye. She hugs her knees to her chest. “He isn’t coming today. Father wished to see him, I’m afraid. He’ll be stuck in meetings all day.”

The realization twists your gut because it’s a reminder of how close the two of you have become in just a short span of time. The blunt reminder of Lemiel being royalty makes you feel as though you’ve been dunked in cold water; again, it’s made apparent that the two of you come from two different worlds. Tetia must see how your eyes widen, how the color drains out of your face under the heat of the blinding sun, and she hurries to apologize, tripping over her words in her haste to make things right.

You sigh. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She nods, but you can tell that she doesn’t believe you. She opens her mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it again.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Licht.” You say instead, your mouth twisting up as you change the subject abruptly.

Tetia counters instantly. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with –”

“He’s nice.” You say, cutting her off before she can apologize again, for bringing up her brother. “I like him.”

“He likes you too,” She replies, and the knowing glint in her eyes only darkens.

Your hours together are filled with a strange expansion you know he also feels, your emotions growing every time you see him.

Sometimes, Lemiel brings an instrument made of wood and strings, a contraption he calls a ‘violin’, and plays for you, plucking hesitantly at the strings, his tongue poking out in concentration. The music, although sometimes broken by a bout of laughter or a squawking trail of notes, curls through you both. If you’re in a particularly good mood, or if Lemiel has his way, you’ll twirl about, barefoot on the grass, your skirts fluttering about your knees. You’re the best dancer in the village, and the music speaks to you, lives in you, and you heed its call with gleeful abandon, losing yourself in it.

He tells you interesting, irrelevant things, about magic, about his latest inventions, the magic tools he’s tinkering with in his room. He always carries a book, is always reading. Sometimes, he’ll read out passages from the dusty tomes as you press your cheek to his neck and look at the faded, yellowing pages. You sit close to him on the bench, your legs touching as you talk.

Sometimes, you’ll take him to the lake at the back of your house. The two of you kick off your shoes and wade into the shallow waters. Tucking your dress into your undergarments, unashamed – though Lemiel averts his eyes, the tips of his ears turning red – you splash water at him, amongst the weeds and slippery lichen. The two of you always take care to keep to that part of the canal that’s tucked away from Bougainvillea House by the overhanging trees.

Only away from him do you realize that this is happiness.

At night, you remember his face, and sleep.

“I saw you at that wedding a few days ago,” Lemiel says, after a long stretch of comfortable silence. You let out a hum of acknowledgement, but focus on planting more flowers in your garden, burying your hands deep into the earth and sprinkling water atop the mound. You could use your magic to command the flowers to grow instantly, as you do with the crops in the village, but you love seeing how the seeds slowly grow into the fragrant blooms. “You were dancing with some other girls.”

The compliment surprises you. You hadn’t thought that he’d been watching, and the knowledge makes your cheeks warm, sends a shiver dancing down your spine and has gooseflesh pimpling your arms. “You should have come over. We could have danced together.”

“I’m not much for dancing, I’m afraid.”

Silence falls again. The soft sounds of people and commerce drift down to you, but the two of you are wrapped safely in the green embrace of the trees above.

“Tetia’s pregnant.”

“I heard,” A smile lights up your face, tinged with secrecy and mischief as you remember the surprise party that everyone’s planning for the newly engaged couple. Everyone’s had to keep Fhana away, knowing that her contagious giggles would give the game away almost instantly. “I’ve been roped into helping to plan the wedding. She wants a spring wedding.”

For some unknown reason, Tetia had wanted you specifically as a bridesmaid, and you’d found yourself unable to turn her down, even if that means having to spend hours upon hours at the dressmaker for your fittings. You bear it good-naturedly, the hours made slightly more bearable with Tetia chattering away by your side.

“What about you?”

You eye him. His smile seems perfectly innocent, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s offering to put a ring on your finger, and his cloak around your shoulders once again. You don’t tell Lemiel that you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with him; you’re far too proud for that, and there’s a small part of you that’s actively conscious of the fragility of what you both have. You don’t want to be the one to break the spell. “I don’t want a spring wedding.”

A smile turns up the edges of his lips, and it’s with his next words that you feel something shift inside of you. “What about an autumn wedding?”

“Are you offering?”

“Do you want me to?”

Yes.

You stare incredulously, but have to try to smother the giddiness his words bring out in you. It’s a heady feeling, like you’ve swallowed down a mouthful of liquid sunshine, and even as you try to hide it, an exquisite smile blooms across your face; Lemiel’s own smile widens in response.

We’re technically already married, you think, but what you say is, “No, of course not. We’re not getting married until you put a ring on my finger and a donkey in my father’s yard.”

The party is in full swing by the time Lemiel arrives.

The village square is lit up in the dark of night with lamps and the fullest moon you’ve ever been under. Everywhere around you people laugh, dance, and play. The musicians strike up a tune that has everyone tapping toes and dancing.

You smile, the joy contagious. “Dance with me.”

You’re dressed in saffron yellow silk today, the fabric draping over both your shoulders in wide swaths and a neckline high enough to cover your clavicles. The bodice is pinned tighter around your torso, so that it highlights the curve of your waist.

You hold out a hand to Lemiel, and he takes it, as easily as breathing, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. He has, but never in public, as openly as he has now, and you don’t miss the way everyone is staring at your intertwined fingers, his calloused palm pressing against your own as you pull him after you, onto the dance floor.

Lemiel’s hands come to rest on your waist; for once, he looks unsure of himself, almost resembling a deer caught by surprise in the light. His steps are clumsy, hesitant, and his foot comes down hard on yours, eliciting a wince from you, followed hard on the heels of a breathy laugh. The warmth of his touch seeps through the silk of your dress; laughing, drunk on the sheer atmosphere and a touch too much wine, you press closer, your cheek against his neck.

Lemiel lets you guide him into something resembling the complex steps of the dance. You almost blend into the twirl of the other dancers around you, but you’re not foolish enough to believe that people aren’t watching you and the human prince. Tetia swirls by, her blonde eyebrows arching so high that they nearly disappear into her hair, but her mouth is smiling as she takes in the two of you, far too close for comfort.

“You can’t dance,” You say lightly, teasingly. Your heart is hammering so loudly it feels like everyone present can hear it, even over the flutes and the drums. “Is there anything else you can’t do?”

“He can’t cook, he forgets to eat half the time, and you have to force him out of his room sometimes,” Tetia chips in on a laugh, right before Rhya cuts in and steals her from Licht.

Roses bloom upon his cheeks. “Tetia!”

“Well,” You say wryly, “It’s a good thing I know how to cook.”

Lemiel stares. His shoulder muscle tightens under your hand and his skin almost feels warmer. “What?”

“I know how to cook,” You repeat, your footsteps slowing to a halt. You have to tilt your head back to stare at him, and his eyes are so blue that you could almost drown in them. “And I know how to bake, too.”

He catches his breath. “You're sure?”

“About my cooking skills? Yes, I'm sure.”

A slow smile blooms across his face, spreading up into his eyes, making them smolder. You feel your pulse quicken and smile back.

Nothing else needs to be said.

Wrapped up in the sky blue silk of his cloak, your nose crinkles on a tired yawn as you lean over and kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his shoulder, just above his shirt collar. “Will you be coming to the wedding tomorrow?”

“I’ll be late,” Lemiel says. His fingers are tangled in your hair, combing through the strands idly. “My father wants to see me.”

“Late to your own sister’s wedding,” You tease, propping yourself up on your arm. “I’m shocked.”

Lemiel laughs and rolls you over so that he’s looming over you, shoulder-length gold hair tickling your cheeks as he presses another lazy, lingering kiss to your mouth. When he pulls back, you follow him a couple of inches before breaking the kiss.

“I’ll be the one in blue,” You’re looking forward to wearing your dress tomorrow, the silk cool against your skin, with aquamarine pieces sewn into the hem and neckline. You’d specifically requested the color, noting how it matches his eyes perfectly. “I’ll even save you a dance. As many dances as you want.”

It hurts so much, you think. Lemiel, Lemiel, everyone’s dead . . . Please, please, Lemiel, please make it stop hurting.

Your whole body feels on fire, your limbs are leaden, and your mouth seems to be clogged with warm mud. Blood runs hot over your fingers, staining the skirts of your gown.

And you think, I wanted Lemiel to see me in blue, I wanted to dance with him forever, for as long as I lived.

Then something sharp pierces through your body, and its bite is cold and red.

[maywoodrpg]

WELCOME TO MAYWOOD’S ANNUAL BOXES FOR CHARITY!

This event is put on every year by Camila Kapoor to raise money for the various charities and hopefully push some people out of their shells. Each person will be paired up with one of the mystery boxes below. Now I’m sure you all are wondering how this will work. 

You will read over the boxes if you are a bidder, then place your bid below in the comments. YOU MUST BID ON 3 BOXES. From there you will wait until Wednesday when boxes are announced and go on your date. 

EXAMPLE: Alex bids on box 1, 10, and 12 <--- this would be in the comments. 

If you have any QUESTIONS PLEASE ASK!

The outside of the box is covered in black and white photographs from Maywood back in the 1800s. Inside the box there is a box of twizzlers because it is their favorite candy. Next to that there’s a picnic blanket, apple pie, a bottle of wine with two disposable glasses and a piece of lasagne to be shared, all on top of white linnen. Lastly there’s a disposable camera to be used whenever they want.

The outside of the box is covered in black background, with green binary computer code printed on top. On the inside, it’s lined in black velvet. The contents include: a single key, it looks like a regular car key, but it turns out to belong to a boat. Two premium steaks. Two bottles of wine; one white, and one a sweet red. A triple chocolate cherry coke cake for desert. A captain’s hat, and a securely wrapped candle that’s labeled ‘Ocean Water’.

Box consists of an unused cardboard box that was part of a gift from Christmas — 6x6 with a big rope tied into a messy bow. Beside the rope bow, he stuck on a Christmas bow, yes the red velvety kind. Inside, it has a six pack of beer ( freshly bought the day of ), a red and white frisbee, and a keychain of a longboard as a small reminder of the date. They purposefully packed these things into an unusually large box as to originally throw off the participants.

The box is covered in green fabric, silver ribbon encircling the rim of the box to help keep the fabric in place. Inside there are two wine glasses and a bottle of the Fortier wine circa 1991, a great vintage. Take out meals from a local Italian restaurant are inside wrapped up to keep warm as well as breadsticks. For dessert there’s a box of different colored macarons. A toy horse is nestled against the wine.

The outside of the box is a colorful array of glitter and marker, clearly decorated by a child. A good deal of space inside is taken up by a soccer ball and a jersey shirt. Next to it is a container of handmade Nacatamales, two beers, and a couple pieces of chocolate cake that’s been iced in an adorably messy way.

The box is a simple one, wrapped in solid light blue wrapping paper. Inside contains a boxed set collection of the Golden Girls, a handwritten invitation to Sweet Tooth Candy Shop, a picnic blanket, a copy of the Velvetten Rabbit, and an new, unused notebook. Situated on top of all of this is an envelop addressed to “my date.” The envelop contains a letter handwritten by them which thanks the bidder for choosing them and invites them to spend a relaxing day with them in the location of their choice, where they can chat, write a bit, eat some sweets, and just generally enjoy hanging out together.

The brown box was covered with a world map depicting where each major war had been fought. Inside the lining was fabric with the mayflower compact printed on it. A small copy of the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King is in the box along with a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses. There’s an envelope sealed with a wax stamp that reads “free history classes” on it. Also inside is a little box with twine tied around it with a note attached that says “inside is your first clue."

The brown box has a dusty rose ribbon tied around the base of it along with cute glittery flowers covering the outside of the box. The inside is lined with a jewel tone blue fabric. There’s a blanket settled at the bottom with a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses set inside. Twinkle lights are spread throughout the box and little seashells are set around the wine glasses. Assorted sushi and chocolate covered strawberries are also inside along with a little hand written card that says “Meet me at the beach.”

The outside of the box is simple yet classic. Wrapped in silver and gold wrapping paper. Opening the box uncovers the sides and the bottom of the box are covered with a nice lace pattern. Within the box, there are two old fashioned glasses of cola, hamburger with all the fixings and two cartons of ice cream geared toward each other’s favorite flavor for dessert. Other items contained in the box include a movie and a fake movie ticket.

The outside of the box has a different image on each side. The first is a red rose growing out of what looks like a hill. The second is a cream colour with small yellow circles and stars. The third is a fox on a grassy field. The fourth is white, with three circles shaded to look like holes, with “what is essential is invisible to the eye” written in cursive. The top is sky blue, with what looks like a yellow scarf blowing in the wind. Inside the box, is a bottle of wine with two wine glasses, fresh bread, spreadable cheese, and homemade chocolate croissants. Underneath everything is a copy of the children’s book, The Little Prince.

On the inside of the box, it’s filled with a few layers of tissue paper rotating between the colors of blue and green. Placed on top of the paper is a picnic blanket. Placed on the blanket are two silver metal coffee mugs, a variety sushi platter and a scrumptious serving of fresh strawberry shortcake for dessert. Other items found in the box is a blow up beach volleyball and a small music speaker to listen to to some tunes.

On the outside of the box is a mod podged sealed collage of a variety of photos — playbill covers, concerts stills, printed off art images, etc with a white bow superglued to the top. The sides on the inside have a continuation of the collage but on the bottom lays a black velvet cushion, just big enough to fill the bottom of the box. On top lays a ticket that is plain white with gold lining with the words “MCC Theater Presents” spread across the top. It’s taped to a menu detailing several dishes, and drink options. Beneath that is red flyer for a band performance at Lucky’s, and a hand made ‘credit card’ with ‘tab on me’ sprawled where a name would typically be.

The outside of the box has been cushioned, covered with a blush pink satiny material. Little matching tulle buttons adorn the top. Meticulous; time was taken on the top of this box. Inside the box is the same satin fabric, no cushioning. Inside is a bottle of Rose, chocolate-covered strawberries, brie and crackers, figs covered in a balsamic sauce, prosciutto, salami, marinated olives. Inside also lies a white picnic blanket and a candleholder with two long candles. It’s about the romance.

THE FOLLOWING BIDDERS ARE: 

@zahraammun

@lucieoconnor

@jadexramirez

@daphnee-a

@mrantonydaniels

@nikhailkohli

@nataliaflcres

@avatorres

@alexandrademir

@elenakapoor

@corinnaburke

@edgarfortiers

@diegoxalvarez & @riskylindy (who will host but can also bid if they choose)