#might share it might not if they turn out horrendous

[frownartic]

I've been seeing a lot of redesign on the clock app and kinda wanna try my hand

Disclaimer: I do not mean redesign as in "these designs aren't good, I could do better" but as in "I love these characters and I wanna show my interpretation and headcanons in visual form"

[ronearoundblindly]

Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior. 

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.” 

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock. 

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “…maybe…dinner tonight?” 

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

[icarusallusion]

One of the main reasons I've been so fond of Otasune since I first knew it was a thing was because I think they're genuinely one of the purest forms of love in Metal Gear.

Throughout the series we see horrible relationships between horrible people trying to get by and then that relationship gets dragged through the awful scenarios they live with, be it war, internal struggles, infidelity etc. Despite this common place struggle with so many other characters, we see Otacon and Snake steadfast loyal and healthy throughout every struggle they go through.

They may not be an official couple, but they will always stay the most communicative relationship even outside of shipping. I see people joke about how Otacon kind of bosses Snake around (especially in MGS4), but I always saw it as refreshing. In the series, there is so many times where x character does something horrendous and y character just sits aside and silently sulks about it.

But this doesn't happen, like at all, with Dave and Hal. There are many times where Snake doesn't think about consequences to his actions as a general rule of soldier, however Hal has never been a soldier. So when these things happen, Otacon tells him off and it's something Snake genuinely needs to hear. It's something human, away from combat. Because Otacon is one of the very few characters that talks to Snake as a person, as a human, not as a soldier or fucked up clone baby.

Snake has gone his whole life scrapping the bottom of the barrel to stop feeling so lonely, he flirts with every woman he sees, he attaches himself very easily onto superiors, etc. Snake is a man who has spent his whole life trying to appeal to people, to get the praise he was never allowed as a child. Otacon gives him the comfort he never got. While any military superior can say Dave is the best of the best. None will look him in the face and tell him he has to live to just live.

Hal also opens a lot of doors to Snake's own discovery about himself. While this next point might sound a little cringy, stick with me. People may joke about the anime interest Snake and Otacon share, but it always came across so genuinely sweet to me. Snake's only interests up until he met Otacon have been, stop feeling lonely and war. I think even part of his musher life and interests within sledding can contribute to part of this. I mean come on, not even a regular musher keeps 50 dogs in their house and dogs are a natural remedy to loneliness. But in all seriousness, David refers to the huskies as his only family and I don't see him connecting with any other mushers he works with, it reads as him wanting to not be alone while also still being so lonely. As well as how mushing is considered a more normal interest than being an otaku, especially in the early 2000s. Mushing is a sport, and being an Otaku was pretty much unheard of or hated. Watching this guy who has been stuffed full of war propaganda scream a dorky "falcon punch" and "ninjutsu" with his best friend is so heartwarming in a way.

As well as Otacon's whole meme turned question of "do you think love can bloom on the battlefield?" Is something that I think Snake needed to be asked. It's probably been something he's been thinking about. It is also one of the most human things Snake asked throughout the game. About finding love in fear. Otacon constantly prods into Snake's heart and brings out the good in him.

Not only does Hal open up a space for Snake to have genuine unashamed interests and show true pure humanity. He also shows off their childhood. Both Hal and David never got proper childhoods. They connect that with each other through cheesy animes, talking about uncertainty in love, finding out what life is all about, navigating feelings, and through that damn cheesy handshake hug. It's all genuinely pure and wholesome love that connects what they didn't get to explore in childhood with one another. When Snake opened that piss covered locker and saved Otacon, he brought his own salvation into his life without knowing it. The very presence of Otacon saved Snake. It's why MGS4 felt so depressing for me especially, the strain between Snake and Otacon left a hole in my little heart and made Snake feel even more hopeless.

I also want to talk about how Snake benefited Otacon.

Otacon begins as cowardly and timid, he's an incredibly insecure character that struggles to connect with others, probably stemming from the issues in his younger life. When he meets Snake, he's faced with someone he could relate to that has an outward appearance that makes him seem so much more confident than he is. Snake is not this, he's as insecure as Otacon. Indirectly, Snake is the whole reason Otacon gets on his feet to take action against terrorism, takes action to become a better person. Snake shows Hal that he doesn't haven't to be strong to do the right thing. Throughout time, Snake helps Otacon come to terms with his own self worth and issues.

In MGS2, it has one of my favorite examples. The infamous bro hug scene.

Before it, this is when Otacon allows himself to open up about his childhood, not even just Infront of Snake, Infront of Raiden too. This showcased such a development in his character because he's proudly talking about it, while even through tears he doesn't hide it anymore.

Did you know that during that scene if you pan the camera to Snake, you can see that he is crying too?

When Hal has a breakdown over his sister's death, Snake is there to comfort him as well as tell him how it is in bluntness with a hand on his back that he needs to save people. It isn't cold or callous, it's letting Otacon know that he has something worth fighting for after a loss like that. Then when they face one another, they embrace each other and Snake tells Hal that he believes in him. Hal spent a lot of time as a scientist, hoping for someone to believe in him, while Snake puts all of his belief into Hal.

I can never forget the iconic "You're the only god I can pray to, Otacon" line. Snake has a deep loyalty, love, and belief in Otacon that Otacon has never been truly given before.

They both, in turn love each other till the end of their lives. Their love was one of the most heart wrenching and beautiful things in Metal Gear Solid and it's no surprise it captivated so many people. Their relationship, whether you ship them or just see them as a bromance. There is no denying the love they feel for one another as friends or lovers is one of the most iconic and sweetest bromances out theres They have impacted so much pop culture and I love them forever, as I'm sure many of you do who read all the way to the bottom.

[muniimyg]

TO BE (yours) // KNJ

he'll give in... right?

+

oc has always had a crush on her bodyguard, nam joon. when her monthly family dinner goes to shit, she turns to him for comfort. tonight, it was different. tonight, he just might give her exactly what she wants

navi | m. list | ask me !

pairing: bodyguard nam joon + heiress oc 

au/genre:

bodyguard au

one shot

porn with(out) plot

warnings: oc has some grandma issues, oc is insanely unhinged (oc makes nam joon watch as she pleasures herself), masturbation/fingering (oc makes him hold her hand while she fingers herself), nipple play, blow job (oc chokes), slapping (of face and ass) and riding... name calling (joon calls her a slut, whore, and bitch), cockwarming ?? making out,, yeah idk ! find the rest out for urself ;)

note: happy birthday @joonsjuice LMAO

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @defzcl @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main @ellesalazar

“I hate this fucking life!” 

Before you can slam your bedroom door shut, a foot is placed to prevent you from doing so. 

You huff, knowing exactly who is following you.

There was no point putting up a fight. Regardless of what you do, you know exactly how he would handle you. So, you move on. You focus on your feelings and the stress wrapped around it. As you take off your skirt and unbutton your blouse, he makes his way to his regular position.

Nam Joon stands beside the door, feet firmly planted on the ground, his hands placed in front, and his gaze straight ahead. If this was any other bodyguard, their presence would irritate you and ignite your anger even more… But this was Nam Joon. 

It’s different. 

Oddly enough, there's a sense of comfort when he's around. It feels like it's okay for you to be angry and throw a tantrum. He'd cover for you. He'd protect you. He'd deal with you.

Regardless, this is routine.

Once a month, you attend your infamous grandmother’s family dinner. There, you’d share your company’s progress and plans, and receive criticism.

No praise.

No empathy.

No encouragement.

It is never good enough for her. Even though you have a more successful business than your siblings and cousins—it meant nothing To your grandmother, it didn’t matter.

It always better.

To do better.

To be better.

After these horrendous dinners, you’d go home in tears. The pressure she’d put on you is often unnecessary, but you feel it. To your very core, you feel how intense the need to please her is.

Sometimes, you were angry. Often, you were sad.

For comfort, you’d typically contact your family friend, Jung Hoseok for some… Release. Sometimes, it was talking things through. Other times, it included fucking… But those nights were rare.

During those times, Nam Joon would wait outside the door. It made you wonder that night if he liked what he heard… Or if he felt jealous…

If he even gave it a second thought at all.

You see…

You’ve been unhinged since birth. By your grandmother’s orders, she hired a bodyguard service for you. To keep you in check or whatever (as if you’re this wild child that isn’t running the biggest company in your family). To keep you safe. To keep an eye on you. To keep you from doing bad things.

Sucks to suck because the only bad thing you want to do is your bodyguard. 

Thank you, Grandma!

When Nam Joon came into your life, it felt like Christmas. He’s tall, handsome, smart, and funny in his own ways. If anything, he’s perfect for you. Aside it being his job, you really feel like he knows you. Your next moves and even your feelings—he’s good at predicting and protecting them.

It’s like not you could hide your intentions and attraction either. No, you take any and every chance to flirt with him.

Truth be told, you really need him to dick you down.

“Crazy how I’m literally changing in front of you and you would rather look at the wall,” you tease, as you unclip your bra and throw it at his head. 

Nam Joon removes your bra from his head and continues to stay silent. Him ignoring you is something he does when he knows your emotions are high.

Rolling your eyes, you open your closet and grab your pajamas. You chose wisely, of course… You noticed Nam Joon’s eyes linger a little longer when you wear flimsy things. So, that’s exactly what you wear tonight.

A little ditzy floral pyjama set.

The fabric itself is thin and tight, making it easy for your nipples and the curve of your breast to be outlined. The shorts are practically panties… Guess you won’t be needing underwear either, right? 

Once you put on the top, you bend down to take your underwear off. You throw it back, aiming for his head again. Perfectly, it lands just where you want it to.

“Oops! Sorry, I meant to get that in my laundry bin.” You explain, laughing as you put the shorts on. 

You see Nam Joon’s shoulders rise and fall. He sighs, as he takes your underwear off of his head and places it in your laundry bin for you. 

Cutely, you bump into him as you make your way to bed. Nam Joon purses his lips at you, almost feeling the need to choke when he sets his eyes on your pajamas. 

You were doing this on purpose.

He knows it.

Tilting your head at him, you ask, “Do you like it?”

Nam Joon clears his throat as he stands to the side. Gestures at your bed, he ignores your question but replies with; “you’ve had a long day, Ms. ___. Please go to bed.”

“You know what else is long?”

“Ms. ___—”

“Oh, come on!” you whine, as you drop to your knees. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve asked.”

“It’s also not the first time I’m saying no,” he chuckles. Then, he bends down, grabs you by the waist, and lifts you. 

Your heart begins to race as he carries you.

He’s done this only a couple of times—more because you were having a temper-tantrum and he had to remove you from the environment. There was also this one time when you were crying so much at your grandmother’s dinner table that he swooped in like a knight in shining armour. That was probably the day you felt something for him…

A feeling beyond your wet pussy, that is. 

Nam Joon sets you gently on your bed. As you lay, you reach for his hand. He turns to you and blinks.

“Joon…”

“Did you need something?”

“You.”

He squints his eyes at you.

“Go to sleep, Ms. ___.”

“Awh, come on!” you cry as he leaves your side. You miss your heart fluttering already. “You don’t even have to make me cum—”

With a warning tone, he interrupts you. “Goodnight, Ms. ___.”

Annoyed, you shift around your bed and attempt to make yourself comfortable. Unfortunately for you, all you can think about are your grandmother’s harsh words from tonight's dinner and the silence of your siblings and cousins whose lips did not even twitch to defend you.

Your grandmother’s invasive words begin to consume you. The feeling is… Horrible. It was rough, to say the least. Maybe, instead of distracting yourself… You could use Nam Joon for something else. 

“Do you think my grandma hates me?” you ask with a weary tone. 

Nam Joon reaches over to dim your bedroom lights and takes his time to walk back to his placement. As he does so, he thinks about it. This was also routine of you….

To hit on him, to get sad and look for comfort, and then finally go to sleep. It wasn’t every night—just the family dinner ones. On the regular, it would just be you making one or two flirtatious commentaries and then falling asleep as soon as possible. 

Moments where you look for validation and comfort he thinks these are the purest moments of you. The fact that you’re about to rest, but can’t because you’re reflecting on the things that make you feel uneasy… Well, let’s just say that it’s on the list of reasons why he hasn’t quit his job. Aside from liking his profession, he also likes you. 

There’s never a dull moment. 

“I think she just wants you to be the best.” He answers plainly. “She just doesn’t express it well.”

You sigh. “So that means what I do right now isn’t the best? It’s not good enough? Is that it?”

“No,” Nam Joon shakes his head. “I think she expects more because you are more. The potential she wants from you is real because it lives in you. She’s impatient about seeing it, but business is all about growth and building. Ms. ___, you know you’re amazing, right? You’re perfect. Your grandmother could never hate you even though it may feel like it.”

Snickering, you cross your arms. “Are you just saying that because you’re on her payroll?”

“No,” he assures you. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth. Besides, you’re smart enough to know when I’m lying anyway.”

His words hit you. 

Suddenly feel better. There’s no other way of explaining why. Sometimes, all you really need is a friend… But being friends with Nam Joon?

You hate that. 

“... So, you think I’m amazing?”

Nam Joon doesn’t respond. 

So, you try again.

“If I’m so amazing… Then, why don’t you want me? No one’s here, you know! It’s just you and me. Nothing bad is gonna happen… You don’t need to protect me—”

“Ms. ___—”

“I’ve wanted you for so long… You know it too! Come on, I know you just as well as you know me—“

“Highly doubt that, princess.”

“I want to know you… All of you,” you confess, quickly getting out of bed. You stand in front of him and look up at him. Batting your eyelashes, you try to sound as innocent as possible. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

Nam Joon feels a shiver.

He gulps as you place your hand on his chest, slowly moving it around to feel him. In an even slower motion, you begin to slide your hand down from his chest to his abdomen. He lowers his gaze at you as you give him pleading eyes. Gulping, he watches your hands make their way to his belt. 

Then, he stops you. 

Just as you’re about to unbuckle it, he grabs your wrists and pulls you up. 

“I don’t want you.”

His words cut deep and his tone is harsh. 

Too harsh. 

There’s a look in his eyes that you’re well aware of. In that understanding, you don’t feel so awful anymore. So, you keep your head high. If he wants to play like this, then so be it. 

Let’s play. 

“Good thing I’m smart and I know when you’re lying.” You then place your hand on his cheeks and squish his lips together. Tiptoeing, you place a small kiss on his lips. 

Nam Joon is caught off guard. 

This never happened before! It never went this far…

He thought he was immune to you. In a cliché sense, he didn’t this would happen. He’d be an idiot to not recognize that sexual tension between you two since the very beginning—but he never pictured it like this. 

He never pictured his dreams to come true. 

Just as Nam Joon is about to give in, you pull away. 

It’s then that he hates himself. He wishes he spent more time memorizing the way your lips felt against his. Who knows if you’d ever do this to him again, right? This was a once-in-a-million for him. 

You’re his one. 

“Since you want to stand there and watch… Fine. Stand there and watch.” 

Without saying another word, you twirl his tie in your hand and gentle tug him to follow as you make your way back to your bed. Nam Joon doesn’t really move though. He stays still, only letting his head turn as you let go of his tie. He watches with lustful eyes as you crawl onto your bed. Positioning yourself, you lean your back against your headboard and sit up in a way where you can comfortably plant your feet. Nam Joon’s eyes almost fall out of his head the second you suck on your fingers, open your legs, and shove your lubed fingers inside your shorts. 

Nam Joon feels stuck.

He should look away, right? For some reason, he can’t. He has looked the other way every time you changed or tried to kiss him… Tonight, was different.

Tonight, he was weak. 

As you let out a breathy moan, you begin to rub yourself. 

Feeling the way your soft pussy is against your fingers, you whimper at the thought of Nam Joon caving and taking his place in between your legs. You apply some pressure and rub circles on your clit. Doing this begins slowly, but as you stare at Nam Joon in his suit, you can’t help but feel sensations in your pelvis. You rub yourself faster, feeling your legs tighten as you do so. 

You rub yourself for what feels like a good 5 minutes. Noticing how quiet it suddenly became and how he’s not making any comments, you take this opportunity to tease him. 

With a small voice, you ask, “N-Nam Joon… A-are y-you watching?”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Can y-you look at me, p-please?” you stutter through the sensation. “I’m touching my pussy for you… So you have to be watching, okay? This is for you.” 

Expecting silence, Nam Joon surprises you with his words. 

“I’m watching, princess.”

You feel a relief. 

In an even softer tone, you whine, “Good. D-do you like it? Do you like what you see? Am I doing it right?”

“Yeah,” he confesses. “Doing so good, princess. Don’t stop.”

Biting your lip, you spread your legs out even more. As you rub yourself, you squirm from the feeling of this not being enough. 

Meanwhile, Nam Joon feels like he’s stuck in a trance. He can’t keep his eyes off of you as you pleasure yourself. He wishes to do it for you… But not yet. A part of him is curious to see how far you can push yourself. How much can you take? How far will you go? He wants to know when he’s needed… He wants to wait it out and let you have this. 

“My pussy is leaking through my shorts… Is it pretty?”

Nam Joon’s breath hitches. “Yeah. It’s pretty.”

“I’m glad you think so… I’m thinking of you. You made this mess.”

The truth is, he’s afraid when you give this to him… He won’t be able to quit. He’ll be selfish. He’ll have you any way he wants and ignore what you want. So, this is him being considerate. This is him being patient. This is him letting you have your fun. 

“Should I stick my fingers inside?” 

He utters a hiss... Yet, with a soft tone, he encourages you, “Do what you want.”

“I need help.”

Nam Joon huffs. “You can do it yourself. If you can start this, you can finish.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “A-arghh, fine… Can you hold my hand though?”

He raises a brow. 

But he also picks up his feet and makes his way to you. 

He stands on the side of your bed and offers you his hand. Gladly, you take it. With your other hand, you split your folds open. Tugging on his hand, you pout. 

“Can you spit on it? I would do it but… Your spit would help me cum faster.” 

Too stunned to speak, Nam Joon sucks his inner cheek, runs his tongue along his teeth, and gathers spit from the back of his throat. He then leans over and—

“Mhmm,” you moan, massaging his spit in your pussy. “Fuck, that got me so horny. Are you horny?”

Nam Joon glares at you. 

“Hurry up and cum,” he hisses. “ I’m supposed to be watching—”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Nam Joon gets the feeling you’re alluding to something completely different from his job. It makes him sick to his stomach that he’s fucking into it. God, did you have to be this compelling? All he can do is push you away… At least, try to. 

“This is getting ridiculous.”

You let a small laugh escape your lips. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. 

“Nam Joon, you’re holding my hand, spitting on my pussy, and about to watch me finger myself… Me asking you if you’re horny is where you’re deciding this is ridiculous—”

“___, just fucking cum already.”

Instantly, you roll your eyes at him. 

The attitude.

He needs his dick sucked or something.

In response, you wiggle your fingers at him. He gives you a blank expression and turns away for a moment. You take that as your sign to start. With one finger, you insert it inside you. Your pussy clenches and your reaction extends to you squeezing Nam Joon’s hand. As you finger yourself, you try to focus on hitting your climax. 

It’s much more frustrating than it is easy. The man whose cock you desperately want inside of you is just fucking standing there while your fingers do you no justice. 

So, in the silence of your dimly lit bedroom, you shut your eyes and imagine him more intensely. You imagine Nam Joon’s fingers inside you. You imagine how his lips would feel against your skin. How his soft tongue would feel like giving your clit kitten licks. You moan at the very thought, and get excited over the fact that he’s actually here. Even though he’s not touching you the way you want right now, at least he was here. 

He was watching.

Listening to every whimper.

Every breathy utter of his name. 

Then, you feel the sensation in between your legs take over. You pump your fingers faster and lazily begin to rub yourself to finish off. You squirm, murmuring his name in between breaths.

Nam Joon can’t stop watching the way your pussy spreads and how tiny your fingers are. Every time you squeeze his hand, his eyes dart to the way your pussy gets more swollen. On top of that, he loves the way your chest rises. Your nipples are so fucking hard right now. 

He’d kill to lick them. 

To bite them. 

To suck on them. 

Fuck it.

Maybe he should fold. 

So lost in thought, he misses it. In a blink of an eye, you cum and let out a lewd moan. As you catch your breath, you let go of his hand and massage your pussy. 

“Are you finished?” Nam Joon asks. 

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I guess. It was fun but honestly? I’m still horny.”

“Not good enough?” 

“You tell me,” you grab his hand and tug him to your pussy.

He didn’t expect it.

It’s too late for him. By the time he registered what you were doing, his fingers were already inbetween your folds. You hold his wrist and control the way he touches you. Dragging his hands up and down, you feel tingles begin again. 

“See? I came, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Nam Joon stutters for the first time tonight. “So wet.”

You scoff. “I usually cum more than this… This is so weird! I don’t get what I did wrong. I thought of you as usual—”

“Princess…” He takes his hand away, signaling you that you’re crossing the line. Shrugging, you offer him an innocent look. “Don’t.”

“Taste me,” you suggest. “If you don’t like the way I taste then you can go back to your little spot over there and do whatever you want. You can keep listening and watching me pleasure myself… But just know, I won’t cum for a long time. I’m horny as fuck but I just can’t get off all by myself! It’s too hard… Deal?”

“Deal? You’re insane,” he grumbles. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I do…” you assure him. “Do you hear me? Because it doesn’t have to be like that. You can stand over there—hey, I’ll even let you jerk off—or you can do it yourself. Make me cum. Fuck me as hard as you can. Take what you want. Your choice.” 

Nam Joon gulps as you sit up and wrap your arms around his neck. Tilting your head at him, you look into his eyes and wait for his decision. 

Nam Joon waits for a second too long. 

Your gaze softens as you take his silence as a no. That’s okay. You can just keep touching yourself and drag it out longer. It’d be fun for you anyway… This was his loss. 

As you pull away, just as you’re about to lay down, Nam Joon cups your cheeks and crashes his lips against yours. He kisses you deep, slipping his tongue in. You waste no time, finding his tongue and sucking on it as he pull away for air. You smile against his kiss, and continue to make out with him. His hands travel from your cheeks to your breast and holy shit.

You’re so fucking happy.

He palms your breasts and pays special attention to your nipples. They’re so hard and sensitive. He knows it. So, he takes his time.

First, he pitches them lightly. You gasp and he laughs into the kiss. Mumbling, “sorry, sorry… my bad, princess,” into your kiss. He runs his thumb over your nipples, stimulating your drive evn more. He then twists them and earns another gasp from you. This time, a moan follows. Next, he cups your entire breast with his hands and squeezes them. Pulling away from the kiss, he scrunches your top over your breasts and dives in. 

He licks your nipples, slaps your breasts, and bites them. 

God, when he bites them—

“O-okay, okay,” you stop him, “gonna need you to start fucking me or else I’m gonna cum with you just doing this.”

“Like me that much?” he teases.

You glare at him. “Might lose interest after seeing your dick though.”

With that, Nam Joon folds. 

He towers over you, as your hands instantly make their way to unbutton his shirt. Midway through, he kisses you. It’s deep and desperate—like he has wanted this for so long too. 

When his shirt is off, you move on to unbuckle his belt. You do it as quickly as possible, ever so happy to finally be able to see his length. Taking his pants off, he tosses them aside.

You can’t believe it. 

His cock is so perfect. 

It’s chiseled like it’s meant to be art. 

“Okay, y-yeah,” you choke. “I’m interested.”

Before he can even respond, Nam Joon throws his head back from the pleasure of you sucking his dick. Holy shit, you just went for it. 

As your mouth wraps around his tip, you take in how he tastes. The precum that sat in the crease of his tip was a little salty. He tastes even better the more you suck. His cock in your mouth is so big. It’s full, girthy, and long. Without needing to try, his length hits the back of your throat multiple times. With teary eyes, you gag, choke, and slobber all of his fat cock. 

Like a fucking dog. 

Like a fucking bitch. 

Like his fucking whore. 

Nam Joon loves the sight. 

He takes a handful of your hair and fucks himself deeper in your pretty mouth. This time, when his cock hits the back of your throat, he holds you still. You breathe in through your nose, sucking as much of him as you can. When you let out an intense gasp for air, he pulls away and feels his stomach twist as strings of your saliva drip. 

Nam Joon repositions you.

He lays down on his back and places you on top of him. There, you let your hands roam his chest as he helps you take your shorts off. His pecks are large and rock-hard. You love the way they feel and as he takes heavy breaths in, you note the way his abs flex.

It’s such a beautiful sight. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” Nam Joon scoffs, as he reaches for his dick. He pumps himself lazily before placing it at your entrance. “Want me so bad? Let’s see how much. Do you think you can last bouncing on my cock? You barely lasted 10 minutes fingering yourself. You were thinking about me too, right? Holding my hand and shit? Have you always been a fucking whore?”

You pout, nodding. “Yeah. I am such a fucking whore for you… I’ve been so patient. Did I wait well?”

Without warning, Nam Joon slaps you in the face. 

“This is about me,” he growls. “You want me. You have me. You get to fuck me. Get that? You waited, and you got the prize. Me. Shut the fuck up and do your fucking job, slut. I’ll praise you when I want. Don’t ask for it. Understand?”

You nod. 

He slaps your face again.

“Answer me, bitch.”

You bite your bottom lip. “I understand.”

“Good,” Nam Joon says, satisfied. “Whenever you’re ready…”

You purse your lips, asking for one more kiss. He kisses you, and as he does so, you take his cock and try to put it in. For some reason, perhaps because of how wet you are, his cock keeps slipping or your hole is just too fucking small for him. When he realizes what’s going on, he sits up a little. 

In a low tone, he offers, “Here, I’ll help you put it in.”

You look at him as he guides it in. You watch how soft his gaze turns the minute you sink into his member. You swear he feels the butterflies too. As you adjust to his size, you begin to move a little. Rolling your hips, you also add a little bounce. For stability, you place your hands on his chest. 

“That’s it,” he moans, “my slut is such a good girl.”

“Mhmm,” you breathe, “s-so good. You fill me up so good, Joon.”

As you ride him, you begin to feel more and more desperate for his cock to fuck you. This entire time, you had been doing all the work and goddamn it’s fucking exhausting. You slam your pussy onto his dick visciously, picking up the pace and trying to catch your orgasm—but you get so fucking tired.

It’s so annoying. 

“I—” you cry, “a-agghhh!”

“I got you.”

Suddenly, Nam Joon wraps his arms around your body and holds you tight. It’s like a hug, but as he does it, he drills his fucking cock into you. Like never before, you feel his length reach spots you missed as you rode him. Nam Joon drills like there’s no tomorrow. It’s so rough and intense, he slaps your ass while he’s at it. You’re constantly moaning, and at this point—

“You like it like this, little slut? Such a fucking whore for wanting it like this… Gonna take my cum? Gonna get so fucked up you can’t walk tomorrow?”

“Mhmmm,” you sob. “Yes, I want it like this. J-just like that! Fuck yes, yes, yes!”

“You think about this, huh? Always imagining how it’d be like for me to fuck you? Are you happy now? Are you fucking happy? Greedy little bitch always gets what she wants, huh?”

“So happy,” you gasp. “I love your cock. You’re so good to me, Joon.” 

Something inside him flips. He loves the way you say his name. He loves the way this feels and is even more in love with the way that it’s with you. With that being said…

He fucks you harder.

Rough, sloppy, messy. 

It’s so fucking good that you grip onto his hair and let out a few sobs. You murmur his name into his ear and your pussy clenches every time he kisses you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and concentrate on how blissful this all is. After a few moments—

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—” 

You cum. 

But it doesn’t stop there. 

Even though you came, he didn’t. 

Nam Joon continues to fuck you through your orgasm as he reaches his. Feeling the sensation, he curls his toes and digs his cock deep into you as he releases. Nam Joon stuffs his cum inside you, and pumps in and out a few more times. 

Then, he leaves it inside. 

As his cum spills, he keeps his cock inside you. Too tired to pull out, but also too in his head. He wants this to last longer than it has. He wants it again if possible… But that’s asking for too much. He knows it. 

Without exchanging any words, you lift your face and lean in. You and Nam Joon make out, nice and slow. It’s so opposite from what you two were just doing… But it was nice. You even play with his hair as you two kiss. He likes it. You know he does because he smirks against your lips. 

When you pull away, it’s like a wave of emotions hit Nam Joon. 

What the fuck did he just do?

He isn’t sure what to say or to do… All he knows is that it was good. It was fun. He had wanted this moment for a while too. Is that something he should regret? Getting what he has wanted and waited for? He doesn’t know. 

As you two lay beside one another, you reach for him and curl into his embrace. Quickly, you fall asleep. The entire thing tired you out. Nam Joon contemplates if he should get up and resume to his usual service… Or should he just lay here? Be with you? 

Was that an option?

Either way, he knows one things for sure…

He’d be here in the morning. 

To protect you.

To fuck you.

To be yours.

[schoenpepper]

Intro: You choose one seashell earring and one mushroom earring.

Warning: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, Jade and Floyd are warnings of their own, very suggestive but not NSFW

A/N: I only turned 18 this year so I'm safe for at least the next two years (Romeo and Juliet law iykyk). One of my favorite endings because they're two of my favorite characters like actually really no cap ong

Masterlist

You have two pairs of earrings in front of you. One looks luxurious and elegant, pure gold seashells with crystal starfish on top, and the other set is rather simple, but with its own charm. The tiny crystal mushrooms clash horrendously with the seashells, but you put one half of a pair on each ear and call it a day.

You feel it would probably be better to satisfy the twins, lest you pick one person and end up squeezed like a tube of toothpaste by Floyd or used as a mushroom taste tester by Jade. Your other seniors would surely understand, right?

Uh, maybe you shouldn't have done that.

"Shrimpy, you're so greedy~ I like it."

Your face may as well be on fire with how bright red it is, you're sure it rivals even Riddle's hair. One pair of strong arms is wrapped around your shoulders, another pair curls possessively around your waist, and you've found yourself shamefully trapped and at the whims of two predators. "Greedy?!" You deny it as you try to escape, but you're unable to move another muscle when Jade whispers into your ear. "Of course. You were only supposed to choose one, you know? And yet here you are, asking for both of us..." His fingers brush delicately against the shell of your ear, making you shudder and curl into yourself to try to separate from them.

"Such a greedy little thing. No matter, I don't mind sharing with my dear brother."

"Yeah Shrimpy, we'll have tons of fun together!" You think Floyd might be a little too energetic for the situation, but honestly, you're forced to stop thinking at a certain point and all intelligent thought is wiped from your mind when four hands are constantly roaming your body. Only soft whimpers leave your lips, until even those are swallowed, captured and taken from you along with your breath.

"Stop, we have to get back to the ball—" You try to squeak out a reminder before their hold on you gets even tighter.

"Now now, Y/N," Sharp teeth graze your skin.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Try Again?

[nyrandrea]

No because he is as well, I adore the way he was written!! I was the same gigglin n kickin my feet each n everytime 😭

But can I ask for a request then, so say reader n Astarion ( plus two others ) are in an fight and reader just gets badly injured n knocked out and he just loses it killing anyone in his path to get to reader caring about them agshdudisowowi

Thanks so much for the request! I had quite a bit of fun writing this prompt.

Few warnings for canon-typical violence, blood, injury and animal death. Yyyyeah it is quite the doozy.

Word Count - 1.9k

Hope you enjoy!

xxx

The moon hung low in the starlit sky, its pale light casting ghostly shadows upon a narrow, winding mountain path. You and your party had been travelling all day as you wanted to cover more considerable ground to make up for time lost due to camping. However, the physical toll it was taking on everyone was starting to show as you all moved cautiously through the rugged terrain. 

Lae’zel was understandably the most resilient of the group, her tough demeanor betrayed only by the beads of sweat that trailed down her knitted eyebrows as she focused on conquering the path ahead. Shadowheart seemed to be driven purely by spite just to keep up with the githyanki; you almost had to fight her a few times just to get her to stop and catch her breath before she keeled over.  

You were feeling pretty run down yourself, every step felt heavier as time dragged on and your muscles were screaming at you to stop, but if you made it to that rock, to that tree, just over the hill, across the river, only then could you rest. 

You said that about ten rocks and five rivers ago. 

“That’s it!” A familiar voice shouted out from behind you, and you instinctively rolled your eyes. “I can’t take this anymore.” 

Turning around, you were greeted with the sorry sight of Astarion collapsing onto his knees and huffing for breath, and it seemed as if he wasn’t going to get back up anytime soon.  

“Astarion-” 

“Don’t you ‘Astarion’ me with that... little disappointed pout of yours,” the vampire said. “I am literally on my knees begging here, darling. We need to stop for the night.” 

“As sad as your little theatrics are,” Shadowheart walked over to the two of you and smirked down at him before turning to you. “He does have a point. We’ve been walking all day; I think I lost all feeling in my feet about half an hour ago.”  

“And you say he is the dramatic one?” Lae’zel cut in, sneering down at you from a higher ledge. “Look at you all, complaining like children. This is nothing compared to-” 

“Yes, yes, you have endured a horrendous array of training throughout your arduous upbringing on the Astral Plane that has transformed you into the fearsome warrior you are today; we get it,” Astarion said sarcastically, earning a snort of laughter from Shadowheart and a scowl from yourself. “But I for one am not made of pure titanium and would like to rest.” 

“Fine,” Lae’zel growled. “But if the ghaik tadpole decides to turn your insides out because of your time wasting, then I shall be all too happy to end your life.” 

“It’s a deal, darling.” 

With everyone in agreement, you relieved yourself of your heavy backpack and quickly got to work on setting up a makeshift camp. Dinner was a small, cooked rabbit to share, while Astarion waited patiently for you to finish until you let him drink his fill. You didn’t miss the concerned glance shared between Shadowheart and Lae’zel but said nothing. 

As the darkness deepened and the others retired for the evening, you decided you didn’t quite want to go to sleep quite yet— a decision you were probably going to regret come morning. Regardless, the stars were out tonight, and you weren’t certain when you might next get to enjoy them during this treacherous journey, if ever. 

The tadpole behind your eye wriggled slightly, and you were worried it was going to waste your night with a migraine and unwanted whispers, but instead it settled down. You huff a sigh of relief; you were spared, for tonight anyway. 

Despite the sky above being a sight to behold, your eyes couldn’t help but keep wandering down. Astarion was sitting across from you, his eyes creased and lips in a tight line as he concentrated on the ghastly book spread across his lap. The Necromancy of Thay had been his focus of attention for these past few nights, and you were honestly starting to worry a little for him. Sure, it was you who had given it to him in the first place (after he practically begged you for it), but the way he hyper focused on it at times was... concerning, to say the least. 

You clear your throat, hoping to catch his attention. 

It doesn’t work; you try again. 

“Oh, do shut up...!” 

His sharp tone makes you recoil slightly, and the vampire mirrors you, glancing between you and the book with widened eyes. 

“O-Oh no, I didn’t mean you, my dear. It’s this blasted book,” Astarion says, frowning down at it like a disappointed parent. “I can’t make heads or tails of the damn thing.” 

“Do you... need some help?” You meekly offer, even though you didn’t know the first thing about necromancy; some things were just best left untouched in your opinion. 

“You’re a sweetheart,” he breathes out a little chuckle. “But no.” He allows the book to close with a heavy thump before his eyes trail back up, lingering on you for a moment. “But I could do with a... little distraction.” 

As the fire crackles and pops, your cheeks flare up as Astarion slowly crawls his way around, not stopping until he is only inches away from you. Not quite knowing what to do or where to look, your body goes stiff as he slowly leans in towards you.  

“What do you think, hm?” he purrs, his knuckle softly caressing your cheekbone as he brushes away a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Shall we have a little fun?” 

You nod shyly and allow him to draw you in as he cups your face and brushes his lips against yours, only to suddenly stiffen and pull away. A surge of panic jabs up from under your ribs as you’re worried that, somehow, you’ve done something to hurt him or put him off. 

“I-I’m sorry!” You blurt out. “Are you okay?” 

He eases your fretting by smoothing down your arms with an almost amused expression. “No, it’s not you, never you, I can’t stress that enough but there’s... something-,” he frowns and sniffs the air.  

Oh Gods, did you stink? You knew it had been a while since you last washed but… 

No, his attention was away from you as he quickly got to his feet and focused on what appeared to be a large boulder of sorts, about ten feet away from where you lay. 

Astarion’s eyes widen, and for the first time in a long time, he looks terrified. 

“Shit, he’s found me again. We’ve got to leave, now!” 

Suddenly, like vipers striking from the shadows, a group of monster hunters descended upon you, the night erupting into chaos as they sprang into action with ruthless efficiency. Swords and daggers glinted ominously in the dim firelight as you and the others desperately tried to defend yourselves. 

Fear and confusion gripped the group as you fought back against your assailants, but the element of surprise was with the ambushers. They moved with a deadly grace; their tactics honed through countless skirmishes. The clash of steel and cries of anguish pierced the night air.  

Desperation fueled your resistance, but they outnumbered you five to one, and that was without including their attack dogs, who had taken to separating you from the rest of the group as their personal prey. You jab your sword at their snapping maws, shout and try to make yourself look big to fend them off or, at the very least, make them think twice about attacking you.  

However, none of it seems to work as one takes a lunge at you and sinks their jaws into your arm. The jolt of shock quickly wore off to the searing heat of pain as the dog tugged and shook you like a rag doll, the beast spurred on by the snarls and barks of the others before they joined in on the mauling. 

You tried to scream but it hurt to even breathe, reducing you to mere gasping as your limbs throbbed and your head pounded. You thought you heard screaming, but the chaos of the battle muffled your senses as if you were being held underwater. You fall flat on your back as you’re pinned down to the ground, your eyes fluttering as something hot, wet and slimy drips onto your cheeks. Your eyes are met with a row of fangs; you shut them quickly, unwilling to look your death in the face. 

In that moment, an anguished cry cuts through the noise, and your eyes snap open. 

The next few moments are a blurry, bloody mess; primal and violent as you can just make out different voices—the hunter’s voices— crying out in pain along with the sound of wet tearing, of fangs ripping into flesh and blood splattering across the ground. You can only stare ahead, eyes wide with fear and body numb as the heavy weight on your chest is suddenly lifted. There’s a pitiful whine and a crunching snap, and the carnage finally stops. 

After a few moments of unbearable silence, your jumbled thoughts immediately go to your teammates, and you try to push yourself up to go help them. They were probably hurt, or worse, dead. You had to get up. Just... get up! 

‘Get up!’ 

“Get up goddamn you!” 

Your blurred vision slowly cleared as you blinked away your tears, and a familiar, blood-splattered face came into view. Gods but Astarion looked so afraid; his red eyes were wet, and his bottom lip quivered ever so slightly as he gently slid his hands under your broken body to help you sit up. 

“Oh, thank the Gods,” he whispered. “He... he will not take you away from me. I won’t let him.” He looks over his shoulder and shouts, “Cleric, get over here now!” 

His lips curled into a snarl as Shadowheart dropped to her knees beside you, as if he was frustrated that she wasn’t healing you quick enough. As if to confirm, he snaps at her to hurry up. 

“Shouting at me isn’t going to make the process go any quicker, I need to concentrate,” Shadowheart bit back, before her gaze softened upon you as a golden light washed out from her hands and over your body. “Just hold on a little longer, okay?” 

“She is right, you must calm yourself,” Lae’zel softly ordered Astarion as she knelt by your other side. “You have already taken your rage out on the enemy, do not let it overtake you.” 

Astarion said nothing as he focused solely on you, whispering hushed promises and honeyed words that got jumbled through your dazed state, but you appreciated them all the same. You tried to show him this by curling your stiff fingers around his, the coolness of his skin bringing a brief respite to your burning hot hands. He breathes out a sad, broken chuckle and reciprocates your gesture with a soft kiss to your fingers. 

The moon bore witness to the tragedy, casting its cold, indifferent light upon the scene, but you thought it shone beautifully, all the same. 

xxx

[cameronsprincess]

Idk if you can make this into a fic (if you can please do so) but I just wanted to share this thought: so it’s starting to get colder outside and the pogues suggest going in the hot tub but you don’t get and just sit on a chair nearby and then you’re offered a drink and you decline and then you’re offered some weed and decline and someone is like “y/n not going in the hot tub, not drinking, not smoking, you pregnant or something” in a joking tone but then you just smile at jj and everyone realizes that you are and you tell jj that you were gonna tell him tonight before you guys went to sleep.

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of alcohol and weed, jj fluff!🥰

loved this request, unsure how i feel about my execution of it, hopefully i did it justice, i loooove me some jj fluff 🥺🤍

“It’s cold out here, who wants to get in the hot tub?” you hear John B ask.

All of your friends had excitedly nodded at the idea, rushing inside to get themselves ready, no one noticing that you had remained seated. You crossed your arms, rubbing your hands up the sides of your arms as you waited on your friends to return.

JJ was the first to emerge back outside, his face pulled into a frown when he noticed you hadn’t moved from your spot.

“What’s wrong princess, don’t wanna join us in the Cat’s Ass?”

You giggle at the horrendous name he’d given the hot tub, shaking your head as you lift your head to meet his blue eyes.

“No i’m okay”

JJ frowns more, plopping in the chair beside you and placing a warm hand on your clothed thigh.

“Is somethin’ wrong?”

You give him a small smile, placing your hand on top of his large one.

“No ‘m fine, promise”

He nods his head, ultimately letting the subject go and hopping into the hot tub, all of your friends joining him shortly after.

-

“Y/N are you sure you don’t wanna join us?” Sarah asks, her arms tossed over the side of the tub.

“No i’m okay Sare, thank you though”

Your friends glanced around at one another, their eyes finally landing on JJ who just gives them a small shrug.

“I’m gonna go grab some beers, J, you still rollin’ up?” John B asks as he pulls himself from the tub, quickly wrapping a towel around himself.

“Yeah already got some rolled, we’ll light one up when you get back”

John B grins widely, giving a small nod and rushing into the chateau, reappearing minutes later with 6 beers in hand. He begins passing the beers out, slowly walking toward you last, offering you the final beer.

You awkwardly cough, shaking your head ‘no’. “ ‘M good JB, thank you though”

John B narrows his eyes, his head tilted slightly to the side, “What’s up with you Y/L/N? You’ve never been one to turn down a cold beer, or time in the hot tub”

You awkwardly laugh, unsure of what to say to that. You did have your reasons for declining everything so far, but you weren’t ready to speak on it, not until you talked to JJ first.

“I’m just not feeling the best” you lie, but it wasn’t a complete lie, you hadn’t been feeling like yourself lately.

“Well are you at least gonna smoke with us? That might help!” Kiara chimes in, the joint in her hand as she takes a small puff of the substance.

“No, I-I’m okay”

Your friends were beginning to make it very hard to keep your secret, offering you all the things they knew you loved but couldn’t partake in at the moment.

Pope chuckles, “What, are you pregnant or something? No hot tub, no beer, no weed”

His tone was joking, but the smile on your face and the soft look you’d given JJ was confirmation enough for everyone.

“Wait- You’re pregnant?” JJ asks, hopping up and out of the tub, rushing to your side quickly.

He drops to his knees, his arms flying around your waist as he rests his head softly on your stomach.

You run your fingers through his soft blond locks, “Yeah, I just found out today. I was gonna tell you before we went to bed tonight, but I guess now works too”

You hear the whoops and hollers from your friends, everyone rushing from the tub and surrounding you and JJ. You felt your eyes well up with tears, the happiness surrounding you making your heart swell.

JJ chokes out a laugh, his eyes filled with tears as well as he runs his hand over your belly, “My girl is having my baby”

You giggle, letting a tear fall from your eyes, “Yes, we’re having a baby, J”

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[soobnny]

winter wind — lee minho.

trope. best friends to lovers. pining. minho is astronomically down bad.

synopsis. a look into lee minho’s realization that maybe he is eager for the affection of someone else featuring the menaces, seungmin and jisung

word count. 1.5k words

warnings. curse words and nothing else i think

note. this idea just suddenly came to me so please enjoy tsundere minho and this silly little fic

Lee Minho sighs out in relief when the pair of you finally make it to Chan’s apartment, immediately being greeted by a warmth in sharp contrast to the weather outside.

The winter wind was unforgiving, as it always is, nipping at Minho’s skin and harshly blowing a deep shade of red on his nose and cheeks. It’s a sight that elicits teasing from his friends, and he tries to shut them up right away before you can hear anything.

You’re still by the doorway, struggling to take off your winter boots. With the information that you’re out of earshot, verified by a quick glance your way, only heightens their teasing.

Heavy on Seungmin. He’s the only little fucker that isn’t easily intimidated by Minho’s infamous glare.

“You’re practically naked, hyung.” Minho wants to wipe the smirk off of his face so bad, but Seungmin isn’t technically wrong, only confirmed further upon double checking his appearance from the huge fucking mirror decorating Chan’s living room.

A sweatshirt and some pants — a pretty fucking terrible choice considering the temperature outside.

“It wasn’t that cold.” He dismisses.

His shivering hands and runny nose deeply contradict with his statement, and Seungmin all but laughs at how persistent Minho is at defending his case. Though, he is having an awful time trying to justify his friend’s clothing choice when he knows Minho usually walks to Chan’s place.

Lee Minho is far smarter than a sweatshirt and some pants.

Seungmin, and the rest of the boys, can only share glances in understanding when you come stumbling into the living room wearing almost all of Minho’s outerwear. His favorite puffer jacket is on you, engulfing your entire figure and that scarf sitting on your neck looks awfully like the one Hyunjin had gifted the boy a few birthdays ago.

So you’re the culprit as to why Minho’s quietly made his way to stand by Chan’s heater to catch a glimpse of his normal temperature.

“Coldcoldcoldcold—“ You pause your conversation with yourself when you see the boys all smiling at you in the living room. As if they know something yoh don’t.

“Hi.” You mumble, trying your best to show a smile as you puff out a breath of winter air. They greet you back right away with accompanied squeals and pinches in the cheeks.

The scarf looks adorable covering half your face, and Seungmin has to physically bite back his laughter when you raise your hand and Minho’s (too big for you) gloves greet them. His friend is horrendously in love with you, and it’s so obvious that Seungmin’s dumbfounded as to how you haven’t realized it yourself.

It doesn’t help that Minho is absolutely useless and won’t confess first — refuses to, even. It’s come to the point where Chan, always the one to tell the boys not to meddle, has practically begged the boy to confess.

The boys probably can’t count with all their hands combined the number of times they’ve told him to confess and he outright avoided the question.

Though, despite being the most straightforward in the group, it seems his feelings for you has made him turn a complete 180 (at least when it comes to the part of his brain reserved for romance). They can’t blame the boy though. It might as well be his first time experiencing the overwhelming tides of feelings and everything that comes with it.

Lee Minho has never been the type that was eager for the affection of someone else either. Among the eight boys, they’d say he was the one who didn’t really have the time for intimacy.

And then you came, in the form of the biggest contradiction to everything Minho had established about love.

Now, the poor boy is falling over, pupils dilated as he silently makes his way to stand by your side to ask you — in the softest tone the boys have ever heard from Minho — “you weren’t too cold from outside?”

There’s a faint smile on his face when you shake his head. And the scene playing in front of everyone would perfectly fit in one of the sitcoms they watch together when they’re bored from how fast Minho’s fond smile changes into a look of feign annoyance when he turns his attention to his other friends in conversation.

Perhaps they just aren’t lucky enough to look behind the scenes, to bear witness to his gentle voice and sweet smile and the way he (without a question) stripped himself off of his outwear as you tread against the white blanketed ground minutes earlier.

He simply shrugs his jacket off and slips it on you, dropping the scarf on your neck and tying it to make sure it’s secured on your neck. Quiet scoldings leave his lips as he does so, eyes focused on taking his own gloves off to put on your hands. If he was too much of a coward to hold your hand, he would have to sacrifice his gloves and bear the cold.

He’d take the harsh winter wind over a call in the morning telling him you’d caught a cold from the winter. Nevermind that there’s a higher chance he get sick instead.

The coming scratchy throat and runny nose are nothing compared to the grateful smile you had directed to him and the way you look clad in his clothes. He almost feels guilty for thinking he could get used to that sight, for hoping to be subjected to your beauty everyday for the rest of his life.

Almost. He was nothing if not a boy who was willing do anything just to see you in his clothes again.

Of course, he hides it well. He’s practiced enough from the months of his dawning realization to the present. So, he keeps the abundance of his teasing remarks high in hopes that they continue to work.

He tells you his hat is too big for you that it makes you look silly or how your height matches that of a 12 year old compared to him which is why his clothes are swallowing you whole. And he tells you that the red on his ears are definitely because of the sandpaper wind and not because of the warmth he felt when you hugged him — it shocks him to the point that he had to push you away and you almost fall on your butt because Lee Minho doesn’t think he can hold back the confession bubbling in his throat if you kept holding him like that.

“You seriously need to tell her.” Jisung is the one who breaks Minho out of his reverie.

The boy can’t just catch a break.

Minho had just settled on the couch, watching you intently as you laugh with Hyunjin at one of Seungmin’s jokes, when Jisung decides to add another tally to the number of times they have failed to get him to confess.

The unconscious grin from watching you laugh turns into a scowl as he directs his attention to Jisung.

“No.” He says pointedly. Han Jisung doesn’t need to clarify for Minho to know what he’s talking about.

“I don’t like her like that.” Minho adds as a weak attempt to get the boy to stop trying to meddle but he knows he isn’t being truthful. And he knows Jisung knows too.

“Sure you don’t.” Jisung snickers, playfully nudging the boy’s side. “We’re not blind, you know. We can see the way you look at her… and the way you’re looking for her right now.”

Minho’s heart thumps at being caught. He simply groans in response, begrudgingly grabbing the brownie in Jisung’s hand and shoving the remains down his mouth.

“She’s in the kitchen, by the way.“

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you were thinking it! You are soooo down bad that it’s actually kind of funny now.” Jisung giggles to himself. “You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you? So stop being a pussy.”

Minho would’ve lunched his friend to the living room ground if not for your voice calling out his name from Chan’s kitchen. Han Jisung is saved another day from Minho’s wrath.

(He’ll thank you later.)

“Min?” He’s quick to give up, and he closes his eyes in surrender because Han fucking Jisung was right, he would do anything for you, and Minho can already hear the boy telling him he told him so.

Perhaps Lee Minho isn’t as immune to love as he thought he was. There’d have to be a new rebranding towards the part of his brain he had thought was repulsed by the idea of romance. Especially when you had introduced to him the feeling of beating hearts and sweaty hands.

So this is what love is. Now, he knows of the fondness he used to think he could only direct to his cats. He knows of the romance he used to laugh at when watching romantic comedies.

And maybe Lee Minho isn’t so opposed to the idea after all. Especially upon walking in to the kitchen and seeing you smile up at him with a new batch of brownies Felix had saved up for you (that you’d happily share with Minho).

Despite the cold, Lee Minho feels warm, and he looks at you like he does with the little things he loves — a small grin tugging on his lips and his eyes focused on you, diluted and relaxed. Genuine.

Perhaps there is time for intimacy, and perhaps he’d have to put an end to that tally and finally fucking confess.

(If he didn’t, the boys will have owed Seungmin a lot of money).

[kym-m]

His biggest regret

Ft. Ayato, Childe, Kaeya, Zhongli.

Ayato:

He had ended things with you because rumors had spread, his reputation and his families reputation could go down the drain completely. He loved you but he just couldn't risk it, you were a mere.. Commoner.

In the battlefield he was, with ayaka a few meters beside him, he and a few others had fought against the army. He was about to defeat one of the generals when, he saw a glimpse of you from the side of his eye.

He saw you mouth his name, as you were about to step a bit closer, a polearm had pierced your stomach, ayato's breath hitched. No. No.. You couldn't be? Right? How did you even get caught up in the fight? You were supposed to be safe, you were supposed to be alive.

The war was finished, he lifted your tired and cold body, he tracked all the way to the estate.

He could now care less about his reputation, he was being absurd, and selfish. Hell who was he kidding? You were his family.

Childe:

He never did confess his love, being stubborn and putting his feelings aside for his fatui duties. Running errands and clearing some camps and killing enemies.. You know, fatui stuff.

However.. When he had seen a commission hanged up on the billboard of the adventurer's guild, he felt as if celestia has dragged him up and threw him back down.

It was a picture of your face, MISSING

It was written on bold. He immediately grabbed it and ran, he heard Katheryn yell at him but he ran so fast he lost her voice in less than 5 seconds.

He went to the exact location on where you were last seen.

Only to be greeted with the foul smell of blood and rotting flesh. It was disgusting, but something else that was horrendous was your head plowed on a stick buried into the ground.

His name was written on your forehead.

Kaeya:

He never really shared much about his oast, besides the times with crepus and diluc, he was old enough to recall his origin for sure but every time you would bring it up he would chuckle then avoid your questions.

But.. How you react when you see he was the reason all of this happened.

Mondstadt was burning to the ground, he was smiling proudly. One nation down, he thought.

He turned his head to be greeted with your pale and lifeless corpse inside of a bubble of the abyss mage, his smile dropped.

"YOU! LET HER OUT. LET HER OUT!"

He yelled at the abyss mage, they got scared and put you out of their bubble, dropping your corpse.

Kaeya regretted this moment immensely, why did it have to be you?

He got what he wanted but in exchange. For you.

Zhongli:

Maybe it was his fault, his fault his polearm was sticking out of your chest.

Maybe if you had not interfered you would be ok,, but it is not you to blame, is it.

It was all on him, from the moment you threatened him with a knife, because he was going to kill a child. A cursed child who was beyond salvation might i add. Though you were persistent,, he had no choice. Now.. Both the child and your corpse lay on top of a bed of flowers.

Glaze lillies.

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (05)

chapter five: say what you mean

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; mentions of sex, kissing, we’re starting to dip our toes into angsty territory !!, less edited than i’d like but what’s new lol word count: 2.8k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip, just so I can adore you I want the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you Now go when you’re ready My head’s getting heavy, pressed against your arm Just to adore you, I adore you

Adore - Dean Lewis

Whenever Minho asks if you two could hang out together at your place, it usually means that you will end up in your bed.

Tonight you suppose is no different.

Even though you often cap off the night having engaged in activities that could make the Victorian lady in Hyunjin faint, it’s not all that you do. Both you and Minho never let yourselves forget that you’re friends first and foremost. Sex is the added benefit that should never take anything away from your friendship. He is still one of the people you’re most comfortable with, one of the few people whose company you enjoy.

You’re sprawled out on the couch in your small living room when Minho returns from the kitchen with a plate of freshly peeled tangerines, the same ones that he brought over earlier. You push yourself to half-sit up so he could squeeze himself between you and the armrest, before you go back to laying your head on his lap as you two resume watching a bad movie that you put on.

“I hate this so much,” you comment, your eyes glued to the TV screen.

“You picked the movie,” Minho says. “It’s not that bad. The plot is kind of decent.”

“I’m not talking about that. Jeez, if they wanted to make a movie where the main character is a graphic designer, you’d think that they would at least consult someone who knows literally anything about visual art. Look at that horrendous typography job, the text isn’t even aligned with the edges and corners. This is hurting my soul.”

Your cushions (Minho’s thighs) shake lightly as he laughs at your dramatic outburst over something as trivial as a fictional character’s poor standards of digital art. But you really aren’t kidding; the way the woman on screen is butchering the text alignment is quite literally making that very particular part of your brain want to shut down for the next five to seven business days.

“They should’ve consulted you first, is that right?” Minho asks.

“They really should have. I could’ve done wonders for them,” you say matter-of-factly. “I almost majored in graphic design, y’know.”

You have a habit of biting your tongue around others because you know that people don’t really care about the same things you do. Whenever the opportunity arises for you to share tidbits about your interests, excitement would tumble out of you only to be quashed soon after when no one wants to listen to your silly little rambles. It’s disheartening, you’re used to it.

But you never feel that way around Minho. He always lets you babble on about anything and everything, even if he might not know what the hell you’re talking about. He indulges you. He never makes you feel neglected or ignored.

“Hmm, my little genius artist.” He taps your cheek once, and when you turn your head to glance at him, he tells you to open up before he slips a slice of tangerine past your lips. “You’re right. Even I can tell that it’s horrendous.”

You hum appreciatively when the sweetness of the juicy fruit floods your tastebuds. Minho’s hand trails down your arm to rest on your stomach, just below your ribs where he fiddles with the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. If he moves his hand up, he would be grazing your bare chest underneath your shirt. You didn’t bother with a bra because, well, comfort above all else, especially within the four walls of your own home. Besides, it’s nothing that Minho hasn’t seen anyway.

He keeps on feeding you tangerines in between your complaints about bad design standards until the movie ends and the plate is cleared. The only sound in the room is the soft music on the TV as the credits start to roll.

You turn to lie on your back, staring up at Minho. “That was deeply disturbing.”

“You chose it,” he reminds you. “You went in knowing what the premise was.”

“Yeah, I have no one to blame but me. I had too much faith in humanity.”

“And you call me weird.”

“You are weird,” you say. “But I like weird.”

Minho looks down at you and for a moment, he says nothing. His fingers trace something on your stomach. A heart or an odd circle, you don’t know; you’re always bad at deciphering those. His eyelids fall a bit, softening the usual sharpness of his gaze.

Then he’s pulling you by your shoulders, guiding you to sit up and before you know it, you’re situated on his lap with one of his hands on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. Minho tugs you closer, meeting your lips in a kiss in which you waste no time returning.

He’s sweet, like the tangerines that you were sharing all evening. It tends to start like this - sort of randomly, whenever it feels right. He squeezes your side in a comforting gesture as his tongue slips into your mouth. There are times where it’s more urgent, where one of you is needy and desperately seeks the escape and release that can only be found in the other’s embrace. Other times, it’s slower, more gentle, where you can really focus on making each other feel fully satiated.

This, right now - you would pinpoint somewhere in the middle. There’s no fiery clothes-ripping urge, nor a need to lay the other person bare and knead every single knot of stress from their system. Today, there’s just languid wanting; an unhurried inclination to be close.

Him and his tangerine flavored kiss, you and your resolve built on shaky foundation.

You start rolling your hips over his, tugging on his shirt because you want to feel his skin against yours. Minho stops you though; he puts both hands on your hips and pulls his lips away from yours. You blink, dazed, confused.

“I...” he starts, trying to even out his breathing as he finds the words. “I don’t want to have sex tonight.”

Embarrassment instantly washes over you. The rejection is a little humiliating; it’s the first time you’ve ever felt like this around him. Your cheeks catch fire from the mortification, and you’re very aware that you’re still sitting in his lap, right over his crotch.

Wanting to climb off of him and just fucking bury yourself in a ditch, you start stuttering like an absolute fool, “Oh... Y-yeah, no, of course! Shit, shit, I’m sorry. Of course we don’t have t-”

Minho holds you in place, one of the hands on your hips goes to cup your cheek to make you look at him. It effectively shuts you right up.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” he says, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in an earnest apology. “I just want to keep kissing you. Is that okay?”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s holding your face, your waist, so delicately. He looks drunk on your presence alone even though neither of you have had a single drop of alcohol tonight, so sincere in his simple request that you feel your heart swell tenfold.

You want it too. You’re more than okay with just kissing him.

You don’t answer him verbally. Instead, you just nod and move to kiss him again, your hands tangled in his soft hair. The sweetness of the tangerines grows more and more distant as you chase his lips, but you can taste his smile. It’s infinitely more saccharine, and it only grows sweeter when he holds you close and knocks the breath out of you.

When you pull away for air, you slump against him, hiding your face in the crook of his face, shy all of a sudden. He keeps you there but continues with his onslaught of kisses - on your hair, your cheek, your neck, anywhere his lips can reach. Like he simply can’t get enough of you.

“You really like kissing,” you comment, giggling quietly as you do. “Even when we… y’know, bone.”

“Bone? You’re so romantic, babe.” You feel the rumbles of Minho’s chest as he lets out a hearty laugh, the sound of which fills the space of your modest home, embeds itself in every nook and crevice, in between every minuscule crack in your walls until the whole place feels warmer, brighter somehow. “Are you complaining?”

“No... just pointing it out.”

“Well, I like kissing you,” he says. “You’re not a terrible kisser, I guess.”

You sit up straighter and catch the teasing grin on his face before you roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“Says the girl who uses ‘bone’ to describe sex.”

“It’s a perfectly good euphemism for ‘sex’.”

“You might as well just say ‘boink’.”

“Literally shut up.”

“Sure.”

Then he’s pressing his mischievous smile against your mouth once more, and you can’t really wrap your mind around how it’s even possible that he keeps getting sweeter and sweeter. His sugary kisses send warmth tingling up your spine, make a fluttery sensation erupt in your stomach. You’re lightheaded, and not the kind that can be remedied by a sufficient fix of blood oxygen.

Even though you’re perfectly content with kissing, there’s a certain implication that comes with only kissing that you’re not sure what to do with. He’s literally inside of you on a weekly basis and yet, this feels much more intimate than anything you two have ever done.

Because friends don’t kiss each other the way he’s kissing you right now. Friends don’t kiss each other the way you’re kissing him back.

A chime from your phone breaks you two apart, the intrusion forcing a mildly frustrated grunt from Minho. You find the mobile device hidden between the cushions of your couch, and after you quickly scan the notification on the screen, you tell him, “It’s Hyunjin.”

“What did I say? It’s always him at the scene of the crime,” Minho mutters, speaking in the same tone that one would when their sibling interrupts a round of their favorite video game. “What does he want?”

“Just wants me to send him a photo of the sample portfolio from our class.”

“Ignore him. He can wait.”

“He’ll call me if I don’t reply.”

“He’s so annoying,” Minho grumbles but loosens his hold on you nonetheless. “Hurry back.”

“It’ll only take a minute, you big baby,” you chuckle, pressing a swift peck to his lips before you get up from the couch and head toward your bedroom with your phone in hand, searching for the binder that Hyunjin is asking about.

Once you’ve snapped the picture and sent it to your friend, you return to the living room. When Minho hears your footsteps, he holds out an arm, silently beckoning you into his embrace again. And you do. You slide into the space next to him, slotting perfectly against his side.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace along his forearm until they reach his wrist. “This is pretty,” you say, touching the thin link bracelet that he always wears, the one with a small charm hanging off the center in the simple outline of a dove.

“You like it? I’ve had it for ages.”

“Mhmm, it suits you.”

A moment passes where you both sit in silence as you fiddle with the gold jewelry, and you can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time. After a while, he pries your fingers off his skin, only to swiftly take off the trinket.

“No, Min. What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer you. You attempt (in vain) to pull your wrist back but Minho is stronger. He holds it in place as he clasps the chain around your wrist.

“Minho, you are not giving me your bracelet.”

“Relax. It’s not like it was passed down from my great-great-grandfather. It’s just a random bracelet I bought when I was 18.”

“Why would you even give me your bracelet?”

He shrugs, as though he’s merely doing something as simple as letting you borrow you a pen. “It looks good on you.”

You look down to where his hand is still on your skin, his thumb gently sliding over your pulse point as he admires how the dainty gold reflects the dim lighting in your home.

And he’s right. It does look good, but he probably doesn’t mean it in the same way that you’re thinking of right now. You think it looks good because it’s something that belongs to him that’s now wrapped snugly around your wrist, like some sort of affirmation spoken in a language that only the two of you can understand.

Minho leans over and presses his warm lips to your forehead. It takes you by surprise, the way he does it as if it’s second nature to be this affectionate with you. It’s a tipping point, then suddenly your thoughts are running rampant.

The instruction has always been plain and simple: No strings attached.

But...

The chaste kisses with no expectation of sex, being protective when you’re in the presence of other guys, even giving you his bracelet to wear just because you said it was pretty.

Why do all of these sound an awful lot like strings?

You hesitate, then you ask, “What are we doing?”

“Hmm? You wanna watch another movie?”

“No, that’s not... What are we doing?” You don’t even know what word to put more emphasis on.

Minho looks at you and loosens his fingers. What he can’t understand through your words, you think he sees it in your eyes. “Say what you mean.”

“Are we friends?”

“Of course we are.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Do you not want to be friends anymore?” He cracks a smile, but you can tell that he’s just doing it to lighten you up. “You have terrible timing. I literally just gave you a bracelet.”

“Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t give each other bracelets?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”

Minho seems a bit taken aback, though he regains his composure in mere seconds, his voice calm as he tells you, “Friends don’t have sex either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. What are you saying? You brought it up.”

You open your mouth, only to subsequently close it because your thoughts were never really that coherent in the first place. You look away from him to glance down at your wrist.

“You’re being confusing,” Minho says quietly, honestly.

“I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

“Did anything change for you?” he asks.

“No,” is what you tell him after a long minute, when what you really mean to say is I don’t know. You can see it as it happens, some stars fading from his eyes, some light growing more faint in his irises. Though the despondence on his face disappears so fast that you’re not sure if it was even there at all, or if it was only a figment of your imagination.

Then you throw the question back at him. “Did anything change? For you?”

Minho’s answer is the same as yours - a clear No - and yet, it makes you feel like you’ve been punctured by something sharp. You don’t know why your heart drops upon hearing him say the exact same thing that you did, but you try not to let it show on your face. Your poker face isn’t anywhere as good as his, but you hope that it’s enough.

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod a little.

“Then nothing’s changed.” He strokes your hair, emphasizing his point with a soft smile as he reassures you, “And nothing has to change. It’s a bracelet, don’t overthink it. We’re good.”

Sometimes, the decisions you make are bad because you can foresee the outcomes, or at least, you have an idea of the consequences will be later on and yet, you still choose to go through with it anyway.

Just like how you chose to watch a movie you knew would drive you crazy with its trivial details, you choose to accept the feeling of Minho’s bracelet around your wrist. You choose to believe him when he said nothing has changed, and that nothing has to change. You choose to sweep under the rug the thoughts that you’ve been having about him lately. You choose to overlook the reason why you’ve been having those thoughts instead of facing it head-on because you’re terrified of what you’d find if you dig deeper.

You choose to let the conversation end here though it still lingers in your mind, and you choose to let him kiss you goodnight when he leaves because tonight has already been a series of bad decision after bad decision anyway.

And when you fall asleep, it’s the soothing coolness of the golden dove against your skin that lulls you to slumber, like he’s here right beside you to hold you through the night.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom (italicized = can’t tag)

series taglist: @eyesforlino @armystay89 @nuronhe @becomingmina @astro-doll-the-star @hyuneyeon @jisunglyricist @yoontaethings @thisisnotjacinta @cupidcure @wyzminho

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 18.02.2024]

[adventuringblind]

Oscar The Matchmaker: Chapter Four

Summary: Lando wants answers, Charles gets more then he bargained for, The trio surprises in many ways

Warnings: Lando and Charles are in the room hiding, PinV, Porn with minor plot, oral, Dom/Sub, Established dynamics (Kind of), sub space, cock warming, marking, bruising, overstimulation

Notes: pure, filthy, shameless smut.

Previous <-

Masterlist

The following work is for 18 and older. Minors, please DNI.

Lando had wanted to surprise his teammate. The horrendous season they’ve had thus far was taking a toll on the rookie and he wanted to cheer him up. He’d grabbed Charles and somehow managed to nab his room key. He’d planned to take the Australian and his ‘best friend’ out to the bar.

Everyone knows him and the AlphaTauri rookie are dating. It’s obvious. What he couldn’t get his mind around was Max. His friend who’d been spending an awful lot of time with the two.

Max had done well to avoid his questions and change the subject. And his motivation to take his teammate out and get alcohol in him definitely wasn’t to get to the bottom of it.

It’s not long that the two are waiting. Charles absently scrolling through instagram and Lando texting Pierre and Carlos to meet them there later. The door handle starts jiggling and Lando is up and ready to do.

What he was not expecting was three voices. One of them very clearly Max’s.

Lando grabs Charles and they dive into the closet.

“I’m confused.” Whispers charles urgently. “Aren’t we going out?”

“Yes but this is better.”

~

“I still can’t believe I lost my room key.” Groans an unpleased Oscar.

“Yeah, kept us waiting a whole extra five minutes.” The female teases and tosses herself onto the bed. “You’ve already been teasing me all day. I thought you might have done it on purpose.”

“Careful with that attitude.” Max is already hovering over her.

“You were the one getting handsy in the hall, Max Emilian.”

“He’s just inpatient.” There’s a hunger and lust in Oscar’s voice the makes her flush hard.

~

Charles is tapping on Lando’s knees rapidly. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Shush, I’m finally getting answers!”

“Pretty sure you’re going to get more then that.”

-

“I am inpatient because you two and your race suits tied around your waists does things to me.” Max smirks. His lips press soft kisses to the females collarbone.

Oscar is quick to get behind Max and rid him of his shirt. Tossing it somewhere in the room to be found later. “Glad you’re enjoying the view. But I Reckon you’re probably on the cusp of giving up tonight.”

Max groans. “Please tell me you weren’t winding me up as well so I’d give you control.”

Oscar lays wet kisses to Max’s spine. “You’re to pretty for that. I think you like when I take it.”

~

“Holy shit.”

“No way.”

“Did you know your teammate could do that?”

“How would I know that Oscar has the ability to make Max fucking Verstappen weak in the knees?”

“I don’t know mate. Sometimes teammates just know things.”

~

“Plus I’m pretty sure you were in charge last week.” Reminds the female.

“This is a true fact. I couldn’t walk on Monday.”

“My hips were bruised and we both were covering the stupid rope burns.”

“And yet neither of you were complaining.”

“Doesn’t matter it’s my turn.”

“… now look who’s inpatient.”

Oscar rids himself of his own shirt and the helps the female out of hers. The room is filled with heavy pants and muffled moans and they kiss each other with no hesitation. Their clothes being discarded in intervals.

~

“I don’t want to be here for the next part.”

“Fifty bucks says Max ends up on top.”

“Can’t believe I’m doing this. Fine.”

~

“We could always share the role.”

“Maxy, you are far to stubborn for that and we both know it.” Oscar lands another kiss to his collarbone. “Plus I quite enjoy the look in your face when you come undone.”

She was on top of Max. Him already inside her. She’d been told not to move and she was keen on not getting in the middle of their feud lest she become a victim.

Max is already a mess. Oscar knows exactly what he’s doing. It has been a half hour and he’d successfully brought the Dutchman into some reluctant form of submission.

It’s a game played between the two. Another race of sorts to see who could get control first. She was privy to whatever happened and always ended up on the other side blissfully fucked out.

Both of them like having it. Neither of them like letting it go.

Oscar sets himself in between Max’s legs right behind her. His hands reaching down the front of her to toy gently with her clit.

She blames it on the fact that being good with their fingers is part of the job and that’s why it’s an addicting feeling. She bites into her lip to suppress a moan.

“Nu-uh, you sound to pretty. I want to hear you.” And then she can’t hold it back. The sounds he’s pulling from her are soft and gentle whines.

Max is once again getting inpatient. He’s attempting (and failing) at thrusting his hips into her. Alas, Oscar is pinning his waist with his free hand. The weight stopping Max from really getting anywhere.

Oscars fingers are speeding up. He lets go of Max’s waist to guid his hands to the females hips. She can already feel the bruises forming. It’s Max’s only way of attempting to restrain himself from losing any sense of control he has left over his actions.

Her rapidly approaching edge is only being escalated by the feeling.

Then somehow they both move. Oscar makes to attack her neck and shoulders with his teeth and Max’s leans upward and attaches his mouth to her tit.

It’s overwhelming. Every nerve in her body is being stimulated. Their skin rubbing agains hers intensifying every feeling. Their names roll off her tongue like it’s the only things she knows how to say.

“Cum for us, love.”

Every thought in her brain disappears. A silent scream falling from her mouth as she falls off the cliff. Her body goes rigid and the boys are continuing through her high.

She almost collapses into Oscar, but his body keeps her upright. Her ears are ringing and her chest heaving.

But she is well aware this is far from over.

~

“Mate we are definitely invading their privacy.”

“Well it’s to late to go now.”

“So far, you still owe me fifty.”

“I highly doubt they are finished.”

~

She regains her breath eventually. Neither of them have moved since she came down aside from gentle touch’s and the whispers of sweet nothings. She can actively feel Max relaxing and melting at Oscars flowery words.

Oscar set the pace of how she moves. Complete control over her body and actions. He’s calculating the timing of everything.

Max has officially given in. His hands are now bruising her thighs but he’s past the point of fighting anymore. He just lets Oscar guide them through it.

He’s grinding her body into his. Max is a moaning mess beneath her. Quite pleas grace her ears as Max begs for anything more then this.

Oscars moans are also picking up. He’d taken to moving her in such a way the her body also presses against his. He’s essentially grinding into her ass as she moves.

“Fuck- your two are so hot.” Oscar breathes into her skin. He quickens the movements, slamming her hips down into Max. She can see the Dutch losing his grip on reality. Her finger dig in his shoulders as his dig further into her thighs.

Then Max is beginning again. His back is arching forward and he’s tipping over the edge. Somewhere she can hear Oscars approval and his broken moans as they both finish.

Warmth floods her body and coats her back. It’s times like this she wishes condoms were not a necessity at that he actually finished in her so they could do things with it later.

Regardless, she’s yet to finish a second time and she thinks that the boys will pull her off. She is wrong and instead Max is finally getting his wish and thrusting up into her.

She can’t even warn them as she falls over the edge again. Her brain now empty of anything except feelings and sensations and her attraction to the males in the room.

~

“How many rounds do you think they’ll go?”

“No idea. How many have you gone before?”

“When I have the stamina for it, maybe six. You?”

“Maybe five, that I can count.”

“What do you mean that you can count?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never lost track before?”

“Unless I was drunk, never.”

“We should definitely change that.”

~

Oscar’s turn with her now. Her thoughts are completely lost and her body feels floaty. Almost as if someone gave her laughing gas. It only increases her sensitivity.

She can barely register what’s happening. Oscar is inside her and Max is down her throat. She suffocates and chokes on him but the feeling of the Aussie pinning her down with his weight and his hips snapping rapidly counteracts it.

Max keeps placing her hand on him somewhere so she can tap out of he’s fucking her mouth to hard or just needs air. But it keeps falling. Her brain to foggy to control her own actions.

It’s not long until she’s at the edge for a third time and the other two are still chasing their highs. She registers their praise in there somewhere. ‘Good girl’ and ‘perfect’ can be heard leaving their lips in between pants, moans, and swear words.

Oscars hips stutter agains her and Max is leaking down the back of her throat. The sensation is almost as if they are conducting a symphony of highs and lows. It’s mesmerizing and she could get lost in it forever.

~

“He still hasn’t been on top and honestly, I’m shocked.”

“I really didn’t think Oscar had it in him.”

“I think you just hate the idea that you’re the bottom between you two.”

“I am not! Why would you even think that anyways?”

“I don’t know, you just radiate bottom energy.”

~

Normally, they’d start with oral. Tonight, it’s how they are winding down.

Max is between Oscar’s thighs sucking him off. Oscar is between hers lapping unceremoniously at every fluid coming out of her. And she is just a writhing mess.

She’s lost her words and her brain. Reduced to a pile of flailing limbs and floaty feelings. Her hands are searching for a body she knows is there but can only find soft brown locks and the hands that are prying her legs apart.

She's lost count out this point how many times they’ve tipped her over that edge. She knows Oscar must be getting close again as well. The moans vibrating her core getting progressively stronger.

She's hitting the wall in her brain where she can't go any further. "Osc, I can't." She slurs. She could stop them if she wanted to. But then the floaty feeling goes away, and she doesn't want that yet.

"One more, love."

Oscar digs his fingers into her as Max brings him to his breaking point. She follows after him. The look is his eyes sending her fave first once again into the abyss of pleasurable fire.

She does scream this time. Her body contorts in ways she didn't know were possible. She doesn't register the tears sliding down her cheeks or Max's lips on hers, trying to get her to calm down. The taste of Oscar is still fresh on his lips.

Her whole body aches. All three of them are panting heavily, collapsing onto the bed ungracefully to catch their breathes.

She looks between them. How did she get so lucky? And how on earth are they both so damn pretty?

"Next time, I'm in charge."

"Must we go another round to show why that's not happening?"

Their voices are pretty, too. Swimming in her ears as she continues to look between them.

"We gotta get you cleaned up, lovely."

Her body spasms once again at the touch of her lovers, and she violently shakes her head no. She doesn't want to leave this head space. She wants to stare here in this blissful state.

The bed shifts as the two males get up. She whines in disapproval is attempts to get her body upright.

She fails miserably.

Then come back with rags. It's a normal routine for them, getting cleaned up the reassuring and cuddling and spending time with each other.

"I think we bruised her pretty good." Oscar admires his work and caresses her skin thoughtfully.

"Os, are there extra towels? You have like two in here that aren't already used." Calls out Max from the bathroom.

"Should have extras in the closet, I think "

~

"Of fuck."

"Maybe he means a different closet?"

The two males anxuisly await what could be their demise. The heavy footsteps of Max make its way closer.

"Do you want your sweats, love?"

"Yeah, actually."

The two waiting for their doom are so grateful that Max at least will be covered while he kills them.

Then the light from the room is burning their retinas, and the two are shielding their eyes.

"What the fuck?!" Max slams the closet doors back on them. "We're going to put clothes on, and then you are going to explain yourselves and hope I don't kill you both."

"Can I have my fifty bucks before I die because if you?"

"Absolutely not."

[pinkanonwrites]

So I absolutely love your writing and was wondering if I could suggest Riddle, Leona, Jamil, Azul with an s/o who had horrible scarring and doesn’t talk about it. So naturally the boys would assume it’s a sensitive topic, and treat them delicately… But turns out that those scars are from something stupid like getting into a fight with a raccoon.

Sure thing! As expected, this ended up being a bit silly. Hope you enjoy!

GN! Reader

The first time Riddle saw your scars was when you rolled up your sleeves while helping Trey bake for the next Unbirthday party, simply trying to not let your cuffs dip into the sticky batter. Both his and Trey's gazes lasered in on the horrendous scarring up and down both your arms, but neither of them said anything besides sharing a small, worried glance. He wanted to ask you about them but knew this was neither the time nor the place to do so.

Other Heartslabyul members can tell from a glance not to bring them up, lest they risk a swift and merciless collaring by their housewarden. Whenever your arms are revealed Riddle's expression tightens, surveying the room as if he's daring his fellow students to make a comment or ask a question about them.

When he finally musters up the courage to ask about them, reassuring you he finds you beautiful and just wants to know if you're hurting, boy if he doesn't feel a bit silly when he finds out you got them from trying to pick up an opossum when you were a little kid. His cheeks get all puffed out and his face turns red, promptly shutting himself up and turning away as you coo and thank him for being so worried about your well-being. He does enjoy the praise, as flustered as he looks.

Lazing around with Leona in the midday sun of the conservatory, you stretched your arms over your head and accidentally revealed to him a series of long, thin scars that ran over each of your sides, just above your hip. His brow furrowed as your shirt covered them once more, cupping a clawed hand gently over your hip and tugging you close to snuggle up to him.

He's always liked to wrap a hand around your hip to keep you close to him, to stake his "ownership" of you. But now he does it so gently, so lightly it almost tickles as he rubs his thumb back and forth over the soft skin hidden beneath your shirt. You do the same to him sometimes, running your thumb so lovingly over the scar on his face when he rests his head in your lap, the least he can do is offer the same comfort.

You finally mention where you got the scars when Leona comes to visit Ramshackle. As you liken the rickety house to an abandoned building you and your friends explored near your school, mentioning how cut up you got squeezing through one of the shattered doorways, it finally clicks for him. From there the teasing floodgates are opened, and every time he finds you with a little scuff or scrape he asks if you were reigniting your urban exploration fantasies.

After Jamil's overblot, when you rolled up your pant cuffs to splash around in the cool water of the oasis, that's when Azul first saw your scars. Dozens of jagged lines and puncture marks everywhere from your ankles all the way up to your knees. It made his stomach turn a bit, trying to imagine what or who might have inflicted you with those gashes.

He's often hovering around you, making sure you don't get bumped into or lose your balance. If he's not available you'll usually have one or both of the twins observing you from a safe distance, boss's orders. He doesn't want anyone else harming his precious pearl, after all.

When you finally mention that you got all those scars from the wild raspberry bushes around your childhood home, he assumes you're joking with him. He knows what raspberries are, he isn't stupid, but are the bushes really that dangerous? One small hike with Jade later serves to prove that yes, they are, especially if you're a reckless little kid wearing shorts in the summer. He chides you, warning you to not do anything so rash in the future.

Jamil had seen your scar the very first day you had met, along with just about everyone else in school. It wasn't exactly easy to miss; the curved line cutting across your forehead and down into your eyebrow was painfully obvious to anyone who looked at you for more than a few minutes. He didn't think about it much until the two of you actually began interacting on a daily basis.

He watches you a lot, only when he thinks you aren't looking (and often times you aren't). He's not the type to bring it up on his own, it's none of his business after all, but he does worry about you. He's on edge whenever you mention having a headache, even if it has nothing to do with your scar at all.

You mention it offhand one day, the stupid cause of your forehead scar. The man who was re-shingling your house roof when you were a kid knocked a metal bucket off the edge when you were heading out to school, and instead you had to get rushed to the E.R. for stitches. As you proudly regale the story of the ice cream cake and flowers the repairman bought as an apology Jamil breathes a sigh of relief, almost visibly melting into his seat. Now he'll just have to make sure nothing that unlucky happens to you again.

[blackenedsnow]

Hello! Can I play request P2 and P3 headcanons on what a night in with their s/o would be like?

p2 and p3 dude having a night in with their s/o

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Postal (2) Dude x Reader, Postal (3) Dude x Reader

NOTE: Hey dear!! Yes you can. I hope you enjoy!

P2 DUDE

You’re in his dingy trailer, which he’s done absolutely nothing to improve.

The TV is probably the centerpiece of the evening, set to whatever's on, though Dude doesn’t actually care much about what’s playing—he’s just there to chill with you.

Relaxation isn’t something he gets often, so when he does get time alone with you, he appreciates it in his own deadpan way.

He’ll throw his arm around you casually, pulling you in close without a word.

You can feel him unwind, even if he’s still staring blankly at whatever nonsense is on the screen.

Food is definitely low-effort.

It’s likely you’ve got a pizza delivery coming, and he’s already popped open a few beers.

The conversation might be sparse, but he’ll make sarcastic comments about the TV, the pizza guy, or literally anything around you both.

You share a beer or two (or three)

Despite his crass exterior, Dude shows his softer side in little ways.

He’ll ask how your day went, how are you doing, stuff like that.

He listens more than you’d think, his snarky comments spaced out by moments where he’s actually paying attention.

If you’re close, he’ll rest his hand on your thigh or give your shoulder a squeeze to show he’s content just being there with you. The evening ends with both of you slouched on the couch, the TV flickering and Dude half-asleep with his arm still draped over you.

There’s no dramatic declarations or over-the-top romantic gestures. It’s just easy—simple, dirty, and weirdly comfortable.

He might mumble something like, "I love you, you know that?" before nodding off completely.

P3 DUDE

His place is FUCKED, with random junk scattered around and nothing really matching or organized.

He’s probably thrown together some questionable dinner, but hey—it’s the thought that counts.

He’d have invited you over to relax and escape whatever nonsense is going on outside.

He can’t sit still for too long.

If you’re watching TV, he’s constantly fidgeting, grabbing snacks, or flipping through random channels until he lands on something bizarre enough to hold his attention.

He’ll crack jokes the entire time, occasionally glancing at you with a grin to see if he’s getting a laugh.

If he senses you’re stressed, he’ll be silly to lighten the mood, even if it means doing something ridiculous like pretending to narrate a dumb action scene with his best movie-trailer voice.

Dude tries to cook.

He probably throws something in the oven or makes a horrendous microwave dinner for the both of you.

The food is questionable, but it’s the effort that counts, right?

“Tastes like crap, but at least I didn’t burn down the kitchen this time,” he’ll joke, nudging you with a grin.

He’s surprisingly affectionate in a chaotic way.

He’ll pull you into his lap, wrap his arms around you, and bury his face in your shoulder while dramatically whining about something stupid.

Even if you try to push him off, he clings harder, turning it into a playful wrestling match.

There’s never a dull moment with him around.

Dude tries to be romantic but in his own awkward way.

He’ll lean in for a kiss at the weirdest moments or randomly shower you with praise, but it always comes off as a joke.

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since I figured out how to rig that soda machine,” he’ll say, giving you a cheeky grin.

But underneath the humor, there’s real affection in his words.

As the night winds down, there’s no telling what’ll happen.

He might get restless and want to go out for a drive around town just for the hell of it, or he might finally settle down beside you, arm slung lazily around your shoulders.

Either way, the night ends with him pressing a kiss to your temple and saying, “Don’t know what I’d do without ya,” before falling into a rare moment of stillness.

[nineblooddances-if]

Most to least likely to cave in if MC begs for something/just goes 🥺?

(Can you tell that I did not wanna write Alice nor Gabriels. I'm tired)

COMMANDERS MOST TO LEASTLY LIKE TO CAVE TO MC BEGGING/PUPPY EYES

MOST LIKELY: DAMEION VII VIOLENTI

As ridiculous as he is, due to his position as a commander, he's not unfamiliar with begging or pleading, but it's easy to ignore and even mock someone who you know did horrendous crimes compared to someone like MC. He doesn't like inflicting pain more than he needs, so if you desire something so much to the point of begging and puppy eyes, he's caving.

GABRIEL VI MENDAX 

You don't have to tell him twice. Though people rarely ask him for anything, cause he can't give straight answers to save his life and can barely follow basic instructions. But for you, he's tempted to tease until you use your puppy eyes and he is folding.

ALICE III GULA

She would be most likely to fold but she also loves getting something in turn. Like a hug. A kiss. A Bite. Anything and anything you're willing to share and puppy eyes simply push her to tease you more, until she gives in.

ERIC/EDWARD IV AVARITIA 

There are rare times he'll say no or even try and persuade you of something, but give him a "good" reason why you want something, and with subtle puppy eyes he immediately agrees.

LOUIS V IRA  

Re-itterating. Louis is mean and the circle of wrath but if you throw in a please and a soft touch, he's folding.

ANIL/AIDEN II LUXURIA 

Depending upon the situation. If your begging for something small like clothing for food, she gives in pretty quickly. If its something regarding you safety, she has a strict no.

LUCY OR LUCIUS VIII FICTUS

Loves to steal people's ideas, jobs, and names. Something important and doesn't care who begs.

AAPO I LIBERTAS

He might indulge merely out of amusement, but he finds begging and puppy eyes annoying and ugly.

LEAST LIKELY: TRENT IX PRODITIO

He is the commander of treachery. He is often met with people that have regrets and sorrow and beg for second chances. So it doesn't affect him. Though he might pretend that puppy eyes affect him.

ⓒ 2024 cvlutosgames — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[agaypanic]

The Fella Part 11 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

The Fella Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: As prom approaches, the girls find a strange friend in the new Our Lady Immaculate student. 

A/N: ahhhh only one chapter left!!! i usually don’t say the word count in fics, but this is the longest chapter of The Fella and possibly my longest fic to date, its almost 9k words long. So just a warning for yall. like the last few chapters, thanks to @crumpets-are-better-with-jam for writing out the script of this episode for me. Some suggestive stuff (not talking about michelle lol), but the characters are 17 and it’s not explicit. If you’re gonna be like “this surprise character you put in totally wouldn’t do this” just keep it to yourself bc i can do what i want, im the god of my creation (im so fucking crazy)

***

School formals were always exciting. At least, if you went with exciting people. And if it was a formal at the end of the year, it was even better because you could celebrate school ending and a summer of fun beginning.

One of the reasons Y/n and her friends were looking forward to the end of term was because they wouldn’t have to hear Jenny Joyce’s horrendous singing for a few months. Everyone in the assembly seemed to share their sentiment as they all stared at the stage, uninterested and displeased. It didn’t help that the girls were dressed in striped suit jackets, making them look like some sort of barbershop quartet. Y/n cringed as Jenny and her friends sang their last note, which wasn’t very good.

There was a slight pause, and Sister Michael looked relieved that this was the song’s end. “Lovely…” It was clear that she didn’t really think so. “And I believe you wrote the lyrics yourselves, is that correct?”

“It is indeed, Sister,” Jenny responded smugly.

“Makes sense,” Y/n muttered to her friends. “It was a load of shite.” They all made quiet sounds of agreement before turning their attention back to the stage.

“Do you ever think you might have too much time on your hands, girls?” Jenny and her group didn’t respond, but there was a murmur of giggles among the crowd as Sister Michael stood from her chair. “Lose the jackets.” She said, dismissing them from the stage before stepping up to the microphone. “Okay, just a couple of things. Firstly, I’d like to introduce Mae Cheung. Can you make yourself known, please, Mae?”

A few rows before the girls, a hand slowly and awkwardly rose into the air in the middle of the crowd. Everyone tried to get a good look at her, but it was difficult since most people could only see the back of her head.

“Miss Cheung’s family have recently moved here to Derry, so I hope you’ll all make her feel very welcome. It’s bound to be a bit of a culture shock, Mae. Things are done differently in this part of the world. But I’m sure you’ll soon feel as at home here as you did back in your beloved Donegal.” There was a beat of silence before Sister Michael remembered the other announcement she needed to make. She pulled out a piece of paper, looking at the crowd before reading it. “Announcement from Jenny Joyce and the dance committee: ‘The school social event for the year is fast approaching, but before you… don your glad rags… and- boogie- on- down…’” She sighed, looking at the paper appalled. “I’m sorry, I simply cannot read this.” She stepped away from the microphone, giving Jenny Joyce the paper before sitting in her chair.

Jenny eagerly went to the mic, showing too much energy and enthusiasm for a Monday morning with her big grin and little dance moves as she spoke. “But before you don your glad rags and boogie on down, we’d like to let you in on our little secret. We’re not actually gonna have a school formal this year.”

The assembly went into an uproar, and rightfully so. There were some murmurs of disbelief and booing, and Jenny waved her hands around with a smile.

“No, listen. We’re not gonna have a school formal. We’re gonna have…” As she paused for effect, her three friends started singing ‘doo-be doo’s in the background. “A fifties prom!”

That caused even more of a reaction. Michelle and Y/n were pretty vocal about this silly decision, gaining the attention of Sister Michael. “Girls!” She said, effectively quieting the large room. She addressed all the students, but her somewhat mischievous gaze was on Y/n and Michelle. “If you have any feedback, you can find Miss Joyce after assembly.”

“I know, I know.” Jenny laughed off everyone’s reactions. “But I do love a theme. Sure, isn’t that why they call me the Theme Queen?”

The girls looked at each other, confused. “Who said that?” Y/n asked.

“Do they?” Clare questioned.

“Do they fuck.” Michelle answered.

Jenny continued, not having heard their little conversation. “We wanted to have a real, old school, retro, vintage vibe, so feel free to just go for it!”

“Feel free to kiss my hole,” Michelle muttered.

After being released by Sister Michael, the girls and James walked through the hallways, discreetly looking for someone. Turning into one of the halls with a wall of lockers, Clare gasped.

“There she is.” Everyone saw the new girl, Mae, at her locker. Clare turned around to face her friends, filled with her usual frantic energy. “Okay, so, I say we just go over there and be ourselves, girls. Well, not totally ourselves. We should definitely be a bit ourselves. We could also pretend we’re sort of better than we actually are, so, I supposed what I’m saying is we could present a version of ourselves as less-”

“Shit.” Y/n finished the sentence, giving Clare a much-needed break to breathe.

“Precisely.”

“Why do we even have to talk to her?” Michelle asked, her crabby mood from having to listen to Jenny earlier still present.

Clare rolled her eyes, thinking the answer was obvious. “Because she’s new, Michelle.”

Michelle groaned. “I hate people I don’t know.”

“Aw.” Y/n cooed, putting an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Does that mean you love us?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” She answered, shoving Y/n’s arm off.

“And, in case you hadn’t noticed, she happens to be Chinese.” Clare continued. “I mean, how class would it be to have a Chinese friend?”

“We could keep her in my toy box.” Y/n and Erin looked at their cousin with alarm.

“No, we couldn’t, Orla.”

“That’s kidnapping, I’m pretty sure.”

“She’d definitely fit,” Orla said adamantly.

“That’s not the point.”

“Fine.” Michelle was clearly ignoring the strange side conversation. “But can we agree it’s on a strict one-in-one-out basis? If she joins the group, James has to leave.”

Everyone responded in agreement, except for Y/n and James, of course. The girls made their way over to the new girl, leaving the couple confused.

“Excuse me?” James said to no one in particular, but then frowned at his girlfriend. “Are they serious?”

Y/n snorted, grabbing James’ arm. “Probably.” Without further elaboration, she pulled the boy towards the rest of their friends. Despite only being separated for a short time, it seemed that James and Y/n had missed some secondhand embarrassment from Clare’s brief interaction with the new girl, Mae.

Mae stared at Clare for a moment before looking at the group. “Is she alright?”

Michelle leaned down to Clare’s ear, rolling her eyes. “Burnin’ for you, Clare.”

“It’s Cantonese.” Clare stuttered out to Mae.

“Right. Well, I’m from Donegal, and we speak English there.”

“If you say so, Mae,” Michelle said. “But I spent a summer in Killybegs, and seriously, not a fuckin’ word.” Y/n elbowed her friend in the side, making a comment about how that might’ve been more of an issue with Michelle’s intelligence than with the town of Killybegs.

Clare smiled kindly at Mae, trying to amend the awkward situation. “We just wanted to introduce ourselves and-”

“-Okay, I think I see where this is going.” Mae interrupted, holding up her hand to further silence the short blonde. “I get this a lot. Dull, white girls want me to join their gang because, well…” Mae gestured to herself to finish the point. 

“We’re not dull,” Erin argued.

“Sure.”

Y/n pointed to James. “And he’s a boy.”

“A man, Y/n.” James corrected, as if he had had this conversation many times. “I’m a man.”

“Woah.” Mae almost laughed. “She has a really fucked up accent.”

“We know,” Michelle said with a sigh.

James leaned into his girlfriend, slightly offended. “I’m not a girl; I’m a man.”

“Sure you are, Jamie,” Y/n said, patting his cheek before focusing back on the main conversation.

Mae sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder and looking the group over with a judging look. “What’s in this for me?” She asked. “What do you bring to the table?”

Orla held out her hand. “Six cream crackers?”

Y/n snatched one of the crackers and put it in her mouth, looking at Mae. “Five cream crackers.” She corrected. Mae raised her brow at the two girls.

“I’m good for cream crackers, thank you.” Her tone was filled with sass, but Orla didn’t catch it, so she just shrugged and put them back in her pocket. Mae slammed her locker closed and gave the girls one last look. “I’ll see you around, girls.”

The group disappointedly watched her walk off. Except for Orla, because the girl was an optimist through and through. “Maybe we don’t need a Chinese person.” She said. “We’ve still got a lesbian.”

Suddenly, Mae whipped her head back around. “What? Who?” She quickly walked back to the girls. Timidly, Clare raised her hand.

“Me.”

Mae didn’t look too convinced. “Really? You don’t look like a lesbian.”

Y/n put a protective arm around Clare, almost standing in front of her. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” She asked inquisitively. Mae’s sudden interest and then questioning of Clare being a lesbian was making Y/n wonder if the girls should even try to get her to be their friend.

Mae seemed to ignore Y/n, instead giving Clare a once-over. “It’s just that you’re a bit… short.”

“Well, there’s no height restrictions.” Clare rebutted before glancing at Y/n a bit anxiously. “As far as I’m aware.”

“Interesting.” Mae started looking like she was putting together a scheme in her head. “I’ve always wanted a gay friend. I mean, ideally, a fella-”

“Oh, we’ve got one right here.” Michelle laughed, pointing to her cousin. He and Y/n looked at her with exasperation.

“I’m not gay!”

“He’s not gay!”

“Howdy, folks.” The girls recognized the voice instantly, cringing at the sight of Jenny Joyce, who had now intercepted the entire interaction. Michelle made her distaste for the girl known with an eye roll and a little curse. Jenny ignored it. “I’m Jenny. This is Aisling.” She pointed to the tall brunette who seemed to always be by her side. “We just thought we’d introduce ourselves and see if-”

Clare jumped between Jenny and Mae, throwing her arms out to shield the new girl from Jenny. “Too late, Jenny. She’s ours.”

“I see,” Jenny responded, looking amused and alarmed by Clare before looking back to Mae. “Look, these girls are great, but I do have a pen pal from the Caribbean, so perhaps my circle is a bit more diverse.”

“Back. Off.” Clare seethed, her intensity starting to startle her friends.

Jenny managed to hand Mae a piece of paper with her phone number scribbled on it. “Think about it. Give me a call.” She was finally about to walk away when she remembered something and spun back around to the group. “Oh! And F-Y-I, the Prom Queen vote closes today.”

“F-Y-I, nobody gives a shit,” Michelle remarked.

Aisling held out a piece of paper, waiting for someone to take it. “Here’s the wee ballot.”

Erin snatched it quickly, rolling her eyes when she read the list of candidates. “I see you’ve thrown your hat in the ring, Jenny.”

The girl waved her hand, her humility clearly faked. “I had my arm twisted, but feel free to tick my box.” Then she finally left, Aisling in tow.

Y/n snorted. “I didn’t know Jenny was like that.”

“Dirty bitch.” Michelle added, shaking her head.

***

After school, the girls decided to go to the shopping center instead of straight home. After all, they had much to discuss. After hopping off the bus, they started their trek into town. 

“This prom is going to be a full-blown dick fest.” Michelle started, the word ‘prom’ catching everyone’s attention. “Y’know there’s not even gonna be a DJ? Apparently, Jenny’s hired this fuckin’ pensioner band.”

“Fucks sake.” Y/n sighed.

“Christ, really?” Erin asked.

Michelle nodded. “I heard the drummer is at least thirty.” Seeing the smirk she wore when dropping that piece of information, Clare’s mouth dropped in horror.

“I don’t feel so bad about missing it now,” James said, feeling a sense of relief. “It clashes with my thing.”

Y/n confusedly looked at her boyfriend, unaware of what his ‘thing’ was. But before she could ask, Michelle rolled her eyes and looked back at her cousin. “The creep convention? Seriously?”

“It’s not a creep convention!”

Michelle shrugged, clearly not convinced. “Well, I think a load of perverts gettin’ together to wank over some fella who fights hoovers and rides aliens in a telephone box, is the very fuckin’ definition of a creep convention.”

James scoffed. “It’s a Doctor Who night. Me and my stepdad used to watch it when I was little.”

“Well, someone should’ve called Social Services then, James.”

“You’re not going to the prom then, James?” Clare asked, seeming offended. He shook his head, and Clare looked over to Y/n, who was already looking at her with a confused and disappointed look.

Eventually, the group reached the shopping center. The conversation moved to the topic of dates, or lack thereof.

“I have no clue who to ask.” Clare sighed, a bit frustrated. “I’d ask James, but-” She cut herself off, remembering that she was the only one completely aware of the relationship between James and one of her best friends. 

“But you’re not desperate, Clare.” Michelle finished her sentence with a laugh. “And tell me about it. There’s at least five fellas who fancy the arse off’a me, but I just can’t choose.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely the same,” Clare responded with a grumpy face and monotonous tone.

Erin nudged the small blonde with her elbow. “I’ll be your date, Clare.”

“But, Erin, people might talk. They might get the wrong idea.”

“Let them.” She said proudly, head held high. “We need to break down these ridiculous conventions.”

Y/n would’ve commented about her sister’s somewhat fake activism, but she kept her mouth shut after seeing the hopeful look on dear Clare’s face. “Thank you.” 

Erin would have responded to Clare if she hadn’t caught sight of a familiar face. Through the window of the cafe the girls were walking to, Erin could see a boy about their age sitting at a far table with a girl, and they both looked somewhat miserable. “Oh God, John-Paul’s over there,” Erin said stiffly, turning around to look at her friends. “Christ, but it’s been so awkward since we broke up.”

“For fuck’s sake, Erin,��� Michelle said, remembering the event a bit differently than how Erin was painting it. “He kissed your cheek at Kerry Coyle’s sixteenth birthday party.”

“Didn’t he pass out in his own boke?” Y/n asked, recalling the embarrassing moment. “Feckin’ lightweight.”

Erin looked over her shoulder back at John-Paul. “Yeah, he missed that boat, alright.”

“Come on already.” Michelle opened the door, pushing the girls into the cafe. “I’m fucking starving.”

James was about to go inside but was held back by Y/n. The door closed after Orla, leaving the couple outside.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” James asked, as curious and thoughtful as ever.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the convention?” 

James cringed at the twinge of hurt in her voice, realizing that he had never told her about the Doctor Who convention and how it was the same night at prom. “I… forgot?”

“You’re really gonna go?” Y/n didn’t want to start a fight over this, but she thought her boyfriend would have debated between prom and the convention, or tell her that he had plans at the very least. James nodded. “I just thought that, you know, prom is usually a couple’s thing. And we’re a couple. I thought it might be fun to go together.”

“I can go to prom if you want me to,” James said, wanting to please his girlfriend. 

But that caused the opposite reaction. Y/n shook her head, a slight frown appearing on her face. “I don’t wanna force you to go, James. You can obviously go to the convention if you really want to. I just…” She sighed, getting a little worked up. “I just wish you would’ve told me first, that’s all.”

James nodded apologetically. “I was going to, Y/n, I swear. It just slipped my mind.”

“It’s fine.”

The two stood outside the cafe door, wondering if there was anything more to say or if they should go inside. 

“You know, just because I’m not going doesn’t mean you don’t have to go,” James said, giving his girlfriend a hopeful look. “I mean, if you want to go, of course.”

Y/n nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Another pause. “We’re okay, right?”

The slightly scared look on James’ face, like he had done something wrong, made Y/n place her hands on his cheeks and sweep her thumbs over his cheekbones in a comforting motion. “Of course, we’re okay, Jamie.” To emphasize the point, she gave him a peck on the lips before letting go of his face and grabbing his hand. “Now let’s go inside, I’m hungry.”

When they entered the cafe, James walked Y/n to the table their friends were sitting at and pulled out a chair for her to sit in before going to the counter to order for the both of them. “She is not a model!” Erin responded sharply to something Y/n had missed.

“Who’s not a model?” She asked quickly, and her friends looked at her like they didn’t realize she had just now entered the conversation.

“Cara something,” Michelle answered, not very discreetly pointing over to the girl sitting with John-Paul. “The girl that that John-Paul fella is pokin’. Heard she’s gonna be on Baywatch.”

“Oh yeah, I heard that too.”

Erin groaned in frustration, looking at her sister. “Get real, Y/n. She’s not gonna be on Baywatch.”

“It’s just what I heard.”

“Oh my God.” Clare seemed to be the only one still paying attention to John-Paul and the supposed Baywatch model. “Looks like they’re breaking up.”

The girls looked at the couple. Erin almost snapped her neck with how fast she turned her head. “Jesus, are they really?” She wondered aloud, a bit too hopefully. “Are they breaking up?” Cara got up and left the table, leaving a broken-hearted John-Paul to watch her walk away. Erin’s eyes also followed the girl, but she seemed much more gleeful about Cara’s departure. “They are. They’re breaking up. This is class!”

“What?” Clare asked, being the voice for the perplexed group of girls.

“Later.” 

As soon as Cara was out the door, Erin jumped out of her seat and sped over to John-Paul.

“What’s class?” James startled the girls as he set some food and drinks on the table before sitting in the empty chair beside Y/n.

“Remember how we were talking about that lad John-Paul?” Y/n asked, taking a sip of her drink as James nodded. “Well, him and the girl he was with, who’s gonna be on Baywatch, by the way, broke up, and she left him. So now Erin’s swooped in like a vulture.”

“She has no respect for herself,” Michelle commented, looking over the menu on the table. “And coming from me…”

“That is bad.” Clare frowned.

“Terrible even,” Y/n added.

“Exactly.”

Clare, Orla, and Michelle soon got up and went to the counter to order. This gave Erin privacy to bother John-Paul, who looked like he was seconds away from a breakdown, and allowed Y/n and James to have lunch and talk in peace. 

“Can I have a bite of your sandwich?” The girl asked, pointing at the nibbled-on food in front of James.

“If I can have a bite of your doughnut.” He responded, pointing his own finger to the sweet treat.

The couple nodded in agreement and held their food to each other’s mouths. They took a bite at the same time, mumbling about how good the food was while chewing.

“What’re you doing?” Michelle asked, her lip curling in a slight snarl as she, Clare, and Orla came back to the table.

“What?” Y/n asked, not noticing James taking a second bite of her doughnut.

“You’re looking like you’re going out or something,” Michelle explained, wagging her finger between the two teens. “It’s making me sick. Like, if someone thought I was goin’ out with James, I think I’d kill myself.”

“Hey!”

“Well, he is your cousin, Michelle.” Y/n laughed. 

Her friend shrugged and sat down, muttering about how the English thing was worse before talking to Clare about something else. With the attention off of them, Y/n reached down to squeeze James’ hand and smiled at him. But the smile was soon wiped off her face when she realized her doughnut was now half eaten.

***

Erin boasted about her new prom date the entire walk home, much to everyone else’s outspoken chagrin and annoyance. James, Michelle, and Clare were lucky, because they didn’t live in the McCool-Quinn household. So after the three dispersed from the group to go to their own homes, Y/n and Orla had to hear about Erin’s plans to get a new dress and maybe even new shoes to impress John-Paul for their date.

Then, the rest of their family got to hear about it.

“This is a huge deal.” Erin insisted to her mother that she was following around the kitchen. “This is a massive, massive deal. I’m going to the prom with John-Paul O’Reilly, for God’s sake. Come on, Mammy!”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t care if you’re going to the prom with John Paul the Second, Erin. I’m not buying you another frock. End of story.”

“But, Mammy, you don’t understand.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with your Easter dress.”

Erin scoffed. “There’s lots of things wrong with my Easter dress.”

“It matches Y/n and Orla’s.” Mary persisted, waving her hand over to the girls she just named. Orla was wearing her Easter dress and holding her mother’s cigarette while she and Y/n pinched the fabric at her waist to see what had to be taken in.

“That being the main one.”

“Honestly, Erin, I think we’ll look so cracker if we rock up wearin’ these.” Orla grinned, doing a little shimmy with her words.

Erin raised her brows and gave her cousin a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Right, well I don’t.”

Aunt Sarah pulled more on the loose fabric, grabbing her cigarette from her daughter for a quick drag. “Ach, Mary, you’d think the wain’s been dropped into it. You wouldn’t nip it in a bit for her? I’d do it meself, but sewing plays havoc on my acrylics.”

“Fine.”

“Y/n, dear, can you pin it for me?” Sarah asked, gesturing to her nails. The girl nodded and grabbed some safety pins to cinch Orla’s dress. “Then afterward, Orla and I can do yours for you.”

“Nah, that’s fine,” Y/n replied. “Don’t think I’ll wear it.”

Orla gasped in disappointment, wondering why both her cousins didn’t want to match with her. Meanwhile, Erin kept trying to convince her mother she absolutely needed a new frock.

“I really like this fella, Mammy.”

“Well, if he really likes you, it won’t matter what you wear.”

“Ach, come off it!”

“Have you a date lined up, girls?” Aunt Sarah asked her daughter and niece before taking a drag of her cigarette. 

One seemed to be more enthusiastic about the question than the other. “I do, aye,” Orla answered.

“What?” Erin gave her cousin a strange look. “...With, like, a human?”

The girl blinked before nodding, like Erin was the strange one. “...Yeah.”

“What about you, love?” Sarah looked to Y/n, who was wrapped up in making sure she didn’t accidentally stab Orla. The girl looked up when she realized she was being spoken to. “Has anyone snatched you up for the dance yet?”

Y/n shook her head, trying to not seem so disappointed about it. “Nope. But it’s fine.” She sighed, going back to picking at her nails. “I dunno if I’m even gonna go.”

“What d’ya mean you’re not going?” Erin questioned, seeming offended that her sister would even debate not attending the prom. “You have to go.”

“Why do I have to go, Erin?”

Erin made that little sort of laugh and eye roll that she did when she felt like someone had said something silly or dumb, and she was about to correct it with her obvious intelligence. “It’s prom, Y/n. It’s a big deal.”

“It’s only prom-” Y/n was cut off by a commotion in the living room. Gerry yelped in surprise as Joe banged on something, but no one seemed to care enough to look at what was happening. She shook her head and continued. “Besides, Erin, there’ll be other proms. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Y/n could tell her sister wasn’t entirely convinced. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t too convinced herself. But she’d rather lie and say she didn’t care than make James feel bad about being unable to take her.

Erin looked at Y/n inquisitively. She walked up to her and crossed her arms. “Is this because Ja-”

“This stupid prick’s broken the TV, Mary!” Joe cried out, and his daughter rushed to the living room. Gerry looked appalled at his father-in-law. “He’s been futterin’.”

“Excuse me, you’re the one that was thumpin’ it repeatedly, Joe.”

“I’ll thump you repeatedly.”

“Well, the pair of you’d better sort it out!” Mary interjected before walking over to her sister. “London’s Burning’s on in twenty minutes.”

“God, Mary, but them poor fellas are flat out with fires, so they are. Jesus, but they never get a minute.”

Behind Mary, Joe started to slam the television even harder than before, and Gerry cringed with every slap. “Aye, it’s a good job they keep themselves in such great shape.”

“Don’t, Mary.” Sarah gasped. “That Greek fella…”

“He could throw me over his shoulder any day of the week.”

Y/n and Erin stared at their mother and aunt before looking at each other. They were both equally horrified and disgusted.

“They make me sick.”

“Boke-o-rama.”

***

Clare didn’t take the news of Erin ditching her for John-Paul very well, despite telling Erin it was fine. Erin was the only one who believed her, too wrapped up in her and John-Paul’s revived “relationship.” But Clare pretty quickly found a new date: the new girl from Donegal, Mae, who was going dress shopping with the girls and James when she heard about Erin’s little betrayal. 

After Clare’s date problem was solved, the girls had to solve their dress problem. But Michelle came to the rescue—or rather, her mother’s credit card that she stole came to the rescue. Despite Clare’s very vocal opinion about committing a crime, the rest of the girls were on board on account of having no money.

“What do you think of this one?” Erin asked, coming out in a very tight, turquoise dress. 

“It’s very…” Y/n trailed off, trying to think of an appropriate word. “Different.”

“I’m not sure it’s you, really,” Michelle added.

“Good,” Erin said, in a bit of a struggle as she walked over to a mirror. “I don’t wanna be me.”

Clare walked up to the group, holding two dresses. “Which of these do you like best?”

“Definitely the pink,” Erin answered.

But Clare didn’t care much about Erin’s opinion. “Has to be the blue,” Mae said, and Clare glared at Erin.

“Yeah, I thought the blue.”

“What about you, Y/n?” James asked a bit quietly, holding a pile of dresses that all the girls had thrown at him. “Don’t you wanna look for a dress? You are going to the prom, right?”

He knew her answer before she said it, because she gave him a bit of a frown and a shrug. “I don’t think I will.”

“Y/n-”

“It’s fine, really! I was thinking of helping Daddy fix our TV.” She looked around at all the clothing racks before giving James what she hoped was a convincing smile. “Besides, nothing here’s really my taste.”

“Although, I have heard he’s really good with his hands.” Michelle talking about one of her possible dates reached the couples’ ears. “And when I say he’s good with his hands, I’m not talking about puttin’ up shelves, girls. I’m talking about-”

“Everybody knows what you’re talking about, Michelle.” James interrupted, hoping it would be enough for her to move on. But everybody also knew there was no stopping Michelle from her vulgarity.

The curly-haired girl smirked. “Fingerin’.”

James cringed. “Honestly…”

After much decision-making about what dresses to get, the girls went to the front to pay with Michelle’s stolen card. Mae, who didn’t find a dress she liked, gasped and pointed behind the counter to a red dress that was hung up. 

“Oh my God, that’s the one! Can I try that one on, please?”

“Sorry, love.” The shop owner said apologetically. “That’s being left over for someone.”

“What?”

“Hiya!” In came Jenny Joyce, holding a couple of balloons. “Sorry girls, can’t stop.”

“Don’t worry.” Y/n smiled. “No one asked you to.”

“I’m just grabbing a few wee bits for the prom.” Jenny continued while the owner started bagging up the red dress. “Sure, you know how it is.”

“I was actually about to try that one on,” Mae said, pointing to the dress Jenny was now paying for.

“Well, I left it over, so…”

“It’s just that, red’s my color.”

“Yeah, mine too.”

The rest of the girls backed up a bit, surprised by how hostile Mae and Jenny were becoming towards each other. “No, you don’t understand. I really, really suit it.” The shop owner placed the bag on the counter, and Mae inched her hand towards it. “Garnet’s actually my birthstone.”

“Well, ruby’s mine, so…” Jenny grabbed her bag, and Mae slammed her hand on the counter. She looked at the Joyce girl menacingly. If Jenny was intimidated, she definitely didn’t show it.

“I want that dress, Jenny.”

“Well, you can’t have it.” Jenny left the store, leaving the girls to deal with Mae, who was cursing her out and beyond livid.

***

Prom night had finally arrived after much anticipation. Erin was upstairs in her room getting ready on her own while Aunt Sarah was doing her daughter’s hair and makeup in the kitchen. Mary watched while sipping her tea because Erin didn’t want her help, and Y/n decided to help her father fix their busted television set instead of going to the dance. Granda Joe was nowhere to be found, which relieved Gerry a bit because it meant his father-in-law wasn’t criticizing him.

“Now, close your eyes,” Sarah said, picking up two giant cans of hairspray. “I’m just going to give you a wee light mist, just so it holds for you.”

Y/n could smell the fumes from her spot on the floor in the living room, so she could only imagine what it was like being her mother or cousin in the kitchen. A cloud of hairspray surrounded Orla, making her cough a bit, and Mary covered her tea.

Finally ready, Erin came down from her room and into the kitchen. It took her a bit of effort because her dress was so tight that she had to take baby steps in her heels. “What do you think?” Everyone looked at her, all seeming to have the same reaction.

Mary looked the most surprised by her daughter’s appearance. “God, aye. It’s…” She trailed off, wanting to be honest but nice about it. “Different, isn’t it?”

“Different?” Erin asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well… it was nice of Michelle to lend it to you, love, but it just doesn’t look…” Mary grimaced, trying to choose her words carefully, “very comfortable.”

Erin rolled her eyes a little. “It’s really comfortable, actually.” She said, walking closer. “It’s like a second skin.”

“I don’t think that’s a good thing, Erin,” Y/n called out, handing Gerry a screwdriver. “I dunno if a second skin should be turquoise and… Well, squeaking when you walk.”

“It does not squeak,” Erin replied, squeaking as she hobbled to the table. 

Erin looked forward to see Orla looking at her grumpily. “I wish you would wear your Easter frock, Erin. When we were wee, we always went to parties dressed the same.”

“We’re not wee anymore, Orla.”

Orla grumbled in agreement while Erin handed her mother a piece of paper. Mary unfolded it and looked it over, and Aunt Sarah did the same from over her shoulder.

“What’s this?” Mary asked.

“It’s some guidelines,” Erin answered. “Things you are and aren’t allowed to say to John-Paul when he gets here.”

“Right.” Mary stared into her daughter’s eyes, not looking away as she crumpled the paper into a ball. Erin looked a bit disturbed but decided it was best not to say anything.

“What time’s your date arriving at, Orla, love?” Sarah asked, doing the final fixes on Orla’s hair.

Granda Joe waltzed into the room, wearing a white suit with a yellow rosette pinned to it. “He’s already here.” He said, doing a little spin before walking the rest of the way to the kitchen.

“You asked Granda to the prom?” Erin asked, smiling a little.

Orla’s grin was the widest in the bunch, eyes staying on her grandfather. “Well, everyone kept sayin’ you have to ask a fella you really like, and this is the fell I like the most.” Joe beamed, bowing down and presenting another yellow rose from his pocket for the girl.

“That’s so sweet, Orla.” Y/n said from her spot next to the TV. “Granda’s a lucky lad, that’s for sure.”

“Why, thank you, love,” Joe replied, turning to fully show his granddaughter the happy smile he had been sporting.

“Aye, you’re looking well, Joe,” Gerry added, taking a small break from trying to repair the television to weigh in.

“Oh, it’s not all shite you talk, Gerry.” Gerry gave his daughter an unimpressed look, making her giggle as he went back to the task at hand. Joe turned back to Orla. “Should we head?”

“John-Paul’s picking me up at seven,” Erin replied. “You go on; we’ll see you there.”

Joe looked back to Y/n, waiting for her answer. The girl waved her hand. “Oh, I’m not goin’. Don’t have a date and all that. Besides, I dunno what I’d wear.”

“You could wear your Easter frock, Y/n,” Orla said, trying to entice the girl once more into matching with her. But she just laughed and shook her head.

“No thanks, Orla.”

While Orla said goodbye to her mother and aunt, Joe walked over to Mary and whispered something to her. They looked over at Y/n, who didn’t notice their eyes because she was looking for a tool her father had asked for. Mary nodded at Joe for an unknown reason, and soon, he and Orla were off to the prom.

Erin sat down, struggling quite a bit because of her dress’s tightness. When she was settled, she looked at the clock. Only fifteen minutes until John-Paul arrived.

***

When twenty minutes had passed, Y/n knew John-Paul wasn’t coming for her sister. She couldn’t say she was surprised, but she was still saddened for her sister. “I’ll be right back, Daddy,” Y/n whispered before standing up and sneaking to the entrance where the phone and some privacy were.

Y/n knew she had to call someone, but was racking her brain on who. Everyone she knew was either at the prom or busy with something else. 

Suddenly, she jumped as if the idea that came to her had shocked her. She quickly dialed and held the phone to her ear, listening to the rings.

Then, someone finally picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“David?”

“Y/n?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” She peered out the door, seeing Erin still staring at the clock. “How’ve you been?”

“Same old stuff, really,” David answered. “Band’s picked up a few gigs this month, it’s been pretty-”

“That’s great. Listen, can you do me a favor?”

David couldn’t help but laugh at the interruption and how urgent Y/n sounded. “Uh, maybe? What d’ya need?”

“Remember my sister, Erin?” He made a small hum of confirmation. “Well, she used to have a massive thing for you until that whole thing at Jenny’s party a few months ago.”

“You mean when she called that Russian girl your fella was going out with a prostitute?”

“She was Ukrainian, but yes. Anyway, she pretty much gave up on you after that because the whole thing was so embarrassing. But…” Y/n looked to the kitchen again. She could see Mary looking at her daughter a bit sadly, as if she also knew John-Paul wasn’t coming for her. “The prom’s tonight, and her date’s not coming. And… as annoying as she is, she’s my sister and all. So I was wondering if maybe you’d be willing to-”

“I’ll be there at 7:30.” David cut her off, feeling it was only fair since she had interrupted him just moments ago.

Y/n had to keep herself from squealing, not wanting to give Erin the idea that something was going on. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

After saying a quick goodbye, Y/n hung up the phone and snuck back out to the living room. David would arrive in twenty minutes, and she just had to count on Erin being hopeful enough to wait that much longer. 

Nothing much had really happened in those twenty minutes. Y/n assisted Gerry in fixing their broken TV, Mary and Aunt Sarah played a card game, and Erin sat and stared at the clock. The only time she moved was to go to the phone in the kitchen, but she was so quiet and far away that Y/n had no idea who she was calling. 

When the clock struck 7:30, Erin sighed. “He’s not coming.”

“Ach, love.” Mary frowned.

“I’m gonna go and change.” That made Y/n panic, and she scrambled off of the floor.

“What?” She said, walking over to Erin and slightly shaking her head. “No, just give it a few more minutes.”

“I wanna get out of this thing.” Erin teared up, struggling to get out of her chair. With how tight the dress was, she started to waddle towards the stairs.

Y/n was hot on her sister’s heels, which wasn’t hard because moving was so difficult for her in that tight dress. “Erin, please. Just-” The doorbell rang, and Y/n let out a breath of relief. She scooted past Erin and went to the door. “See! I told you! Now, I know you were hoping for John-Paul, but I think-... James?”

Y/n was stunned to silence. James was standing right in front of her, dressed up as the Fourth Doctor from Doctor Who, smiling right at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“David?” Erin waddled over to the door, and that’s when Y/n finally noticed her friend David Donnelly standing next to James, dressed in a suit with no tie. 

“Erin.” He replied with a nod.

The two girls looked at each other, confused. “What’s he doing here?” They asked in unison, pointing to the boy that was in front of them, who both laughed at their reactions.

“I called David for you because I knew John-Paul stood you up.”

“I called James for you because I knew you wanted to go to the prom with him.”

Y/n looked up at her boyfriend. “Wait, what about your creep convention?”

She laughed when he rolled his eyes. “It’s not a creep convention, and you know that. And it’s not important. I just…” James sighed, toying with his long, colorful scarf. “I knew the prom meant a lot to you, and Erin calling me just gave me the push I needed. Besides, I didn’t want to miss a chance to dance with my girl.”

“Ach, Jamie.” Y/n sighed endearingly, cupping his face. She gave him a soft, long kiss that he eagerly returned.

Erin and David had their own little conversation, trying not to look at the couple that were sucking face. “I’m surprised you’re here. I haven’t seen you since… Well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” David laughed a little, thinking back to that night. Then he shrugged. “But Y/n called tellin’ me your date stood you up and… I dunno, you’re kinda cool to talk to and whatever.”

“I am?” Erin asked excitedly. 

“I said ‘kinda’.”

“Wait.” Y/n finally pulled away from James, looking down at her attire. “What am I gonna wear?”

“I’ll take you wearing this,” James said, seemingly serious as he looked at his girlfriend’s ripped jeans and oversized sweater that she had stolen from Granda Joe’s closet. The three other teens gave him unimpressed looks. “What? So what if it’s not a formal dress, she still looks nice.”

“I have something better.” Everyone jumped in surprise as Mary poked her head in. “Come over here. I’ve got somethin’ to show you.”

Y/n pulled Erin to their mother, giving the boys a final glance over her shoulder. “Go ahead and talk, we won’t be long.”

Mary led her daughters to the kitchen, where two big boxes they’d never seen before sat on the table. Mary gestured for the girls to open them, which they did.

“Oh my God, Mammy.” Y/n pulled out a pink dress with layers, ruffles, and small arm straps. Erin held a similar styled dress but in blue. “Where on earth did you get these?”

“They were my mother’s,” Mary answered, looking at the dresses fondly. “Your Granda said to bring them out, in case you changed your mind about the dance. Heard it was fifties themed and all that.”

Both of Mary’s daughters now had tears in their eyes, but they were not from sadness. The girls rounded the table to hug their mum tightly.

“You know, the dress is nice and all but-” Erin cut herself off with a sniffle. “I think I wanna match with Orla.”

“Well, one of you better be wearing my Mammy’s dress,” Mary said, deadly serious with only a tiny hint of amusement in her voice. “I didn’t dig these boxes up for nothing.”

“I’ll wear it.” Y/n laughed, grabbing the box with the pink dress. “Come on, Erin, let’s go change.”

***

“You look lovely.” This was the fifth time James had said this to Y/n in the past thirty minutes. But he meant it every time he said it.

And Y/n knew he did because he couldn’t stop staring at her. “Thank you, Jamie. You look just as handsome.” The couple walked to the school doors arm in arm, Erin and David a few steps behind them. “Although…” James opened the door and looked at his girlfriend curiously. “Are you sure you didn’t want to leave the scarf at home?”

“I think it completes the look,” James said with a bit of humor, toying with the piece of clothing. “But if you want, I can leave it in the car.”

“Nah.” Y/n shook her head, giving James a peck on the lips. “How else am I gonna pull you to the dancefloor?”

The two couples went into the decorated gym, quickly spotting two of their friends. Clare was talking frantically to Michelle, who honestly looked like she couldn’t care less.

“Look, there’s a guy here; he knows Mae-” The four heard Clare say before Michelle cut her off, looking over the blonde’s shoulder to see them.

“What’s going on?” Clare turned around, a bit spooked by the sudden appearance of her friends. Michelle grimaced at Y/n and James standing together arm in arm, but opted to comment on Erin’s new date instead. “Oh, don’t tell me. Wank-features stood you up.”

“Yeah.” Erin shrugged it off like she hadn’t cried over John-Paul standing her up about an hour before. She nudged her sister. “But Y/n called David Donnelly here, so I wouldn’t go alone.”

“What can I say? I’m a sweetheart.” Y/n smiled.

Clare put a hand on Erin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Erin. About John-Paul, I mean.”

“No, I’m sorry. You were right; I was jealous. Mae’s just so cool and exotic, and you liked her so much-”

“She’s deranged!” Clare blurted out with wide eyes, taking everyone aback.

“What?”

“Who’s Mae?” David leaned back to ask Y/n and James, who said they’d explain later. He tsked, tapping Erin’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“Get me some punch.” She said before turning back to Clare. “What d’you mean, Clare? You were crazy about her yesterday.”

“She’s the one who’s crazy, Erin!” Clare squealed. “I met this guy that went to her school. He said she had to leave for, like, being a bully. He said she’s seriously unhinged! I think he’s a bit pissed off with her, to be honest, and I can’t blame him, ’cause she’s given the Chinese population of Donegal a really bad rap.” Clare’s friends would always be surprised over how much she could say without taking breaks for breath.

Michelle rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Typical Donegal man. Always moanin’.”

“There she is.” Everyone looked to where James was pointing. Sure enough, Mae was on the other side of the large room, going backstage.

“What’s she doing?” Michelle wondered, and everyone started walking closer to the stage to try and get a better look.

“She was talking about how she wasn’t going to let Jenny get away with the whole Prom Queen thing,” Clare answered.

James gasped. “Jesus Christ, look. Above the stage, look!” He pointed again, and everyone followed his finger to the tin buckets rigged with rope above the stage.

“Is she doing what I think she’s doin’?” Y/n asked.

“I think she’s gonna do a Carrie.” The couple looked both concerned and impressed, now both very glad they decided to come to prom.

“Fuck-a-doodle-do!”

“What’s a Carrie?” Clare asked frantically. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve never seen Carrie?”

“No.” Everyone said something about what a good film it was, but Clare wasn’t looking for film critiques. “Expand and explain! EXPAND. AND. EXPLAIN!”

“So, Carrie is voted Prom Queen, and this bully pours a bucket of pig’s blood on her.” James quickly explained.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Well, a lot of other stuff happens. But, you know, that’s the relevant bit.” Y/n said, but before she could go more into the movie, the band on stage finished playing.

Aisling stepped up to the microphone, some feedback echoing through the gym.

“Can I have your attention, please?” She said with a smile. The girls looked terrified. “And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. It’s time to crown our Prom Queen.” Mae waited for Aisling to announce the name everyone knew would be said. She held the rope tightly, waiting for the moment she could finally release it. “And now… our Prom Queen is… Jenny Joyce!”

The girl looked completely surprised, and the girls wondered, against their better judgment, if they could just let this all play out. 

“We have to do something!” Clare yelled over the celebratory music as Jenny went up on stage.

While Jenny started to give a small acceptance speech, everyone started running. Except for Orla and Granda Joe, who were more than content with eating popcorn and watching the scene. David joined them, holding two cups of punch and wondering why his date was rushing the stage.

Michelle and James joined Erin to try and get Jenny off the stage, while Y/n went with Clare to stop Mae. It was a struggle, but it didn’t help as much as the girls thought it would. The only good thing was that Mae wasn’t crazy enough to use pig’s blood and instead soaked everyone on stage with tomato juice.

Erin tried to tell Jenny that her friends weren’t to blame, but Jenny, of course, didn’t believe her. The two girls started fighting, soon being joined by Michelle and Aisling. James just stood back and watched, not really wanting to intervene, and Y/n would’ve laughed if she wasn’t caught up in trying to break Clare and Mae apart. The rest of the audience seemed to enjoy the spectacle, laughing and having refreshments as it all played out.

***

It was a good thing David had towels in the boot of his car. Erin and James were covered and sticky with tomato juice, no matter how hard they tried to get it off them. Y/n was eternally grateful that she decided to go with Clare to stop Mae, sparing her grandmother’s dress. She didn’t think Joe would be too happy about it being covered in red, no matter how amused he was by tonight’s events.

“Jesus, the street’s packed.” David grimaced as he turned onto the sisters’ street. It was crowded with all their neighbors, whooping and partying for an unknown reason that they would surely hear about tonight or early tomorrow.

Y/n sighed, poking her head out the window. “I dunno if I wanna go home.” She settled back in her seat and looked at her boyfriend. “Wanna go to your place?”

“Sure.” He answered.

“Want me to drive you there?” David asked, but James shook his head.

“No, mate, it’s fine. I’m only a street over.”

“Yeah, take Erin home for me.” The Donnelly boy seemed to miss the sly wink Y/n gave her sister in the rearview mirror.

After some goodbyes and teasing comments, Y/n and James got out of the car and started walking down the street, weaving through all the people out and about. Surprisingly, Michelle and her parents weren’t home when the two arrived. Michelle must have still been panicking over how she was going to return her tomato-soddened dress, and James’ aunt and uncle were either at work or celebrating whatever was going on with their friends.

With the house empty, Y/n and James unwinded and relaxed. James took a much-needed shower, putting his clothes in a plastic bag so they wouldn’t stain anything else. Meanwhile, Y/n shimmied out of her dress and put on some of James’ pajamas.

“So, what do you wanna do?” James asked as he entered his room, a towel wrapped around his waist. Y/n was a little surprised by his boldness, remembering how shy he was some months ago when he didn’t have any clothes at her house and had to stand in his boxers while Y/n grabbed him a sweater.

“Maybe a movie?” Y/n suggested, watching James rifle through his dresser. She was filled with a sudden feeling of not wanting him to put on the clothes he was grabbing. “Carrie would be pretty fitting.”

They laughed, James shaking his head as he slipped his boxers on. “Oh, I don’t know.” He tore the towel off and sat down next to his girlfriend, pulling a shirt over his head. “I think there’s been enough blood, or blood adjacent, covered people tonight.”

Y/n laid back, humming in thought. “Well, there is… another thing... we could do.”

James looked down at Y/n, waiting for her to elaborate. She reached up his back, lightly tugging on his shirt until he laid down beside her. Y/n hooked a leg over James’ waist and brushed some wet curls away from his forehead. As her other hand slowly traveled down his chest, he started to get what she was hinting at.

“Only if you want to, obviously.”

James pushed Y/n off of him only to hover over her, kissing her deeply. He helped her shimmy up his bed until her head was resting on a pillow. Feeling brave, but mainly horny, James pulled away and took off his shirt before slipping his hand under Y/n’s.

“Are you sure?” James asked, slightly panting from how escalated the moment was getting.

“Yeah,” Y/n responded, taking a deep breath before pushing James away so she could take her own shirt off. James stared at her in amazement. Before she could tease him for his reaction, he gripped her bare waist and pulled her against him, kissing her with hunger.

The prom sure was exciting. But sometimes, what happened after was much more eventful.

~~~

The Fella Taglist: @mistahjsfunnygirl @etherealdisneyvillainness @crystalsoobin-m @raggedyoldwitch @rosetintworld @regretthatsme @neenieweenie @allexiiisss @drmeghanjones @eli-com @anything-for-our-moony-toast @ilovespideyyy @eddisaurus @imagines--galore @emma-is-a-nerd @sir1usblacksgf @kaz-2y567 @spidercrush3 @miilkshakess @underthebatcape @dear-jamespotter @brithedemonspawn @acupnoodle @nevillescomslut @hantivity @slaymybreathaway @mystic-writings @thegirlwithoutaname87 @mystic-mara @st4rryhae @ljaneyx @justlibra @siriuslyinlovewithsiriusblack @elauranicolee @in-my-hoe-era @grippleback-galaxy @greensunflowerjuna @sarcasm-and-stiles @callsignwidow @qtkat @asterizee @cursedandromedablack @athenalive

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Just Like Magic

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Female!Reader

Words: 3,610

Hiccup’s got both hands full with dragon training, nevermind everything else he’s got going on in private, because, really, it’s not just the dragon. 

Hiccup’s got no one at his back- no friends, no Dad and a dead mother. He has got Gobber on most occasions, though if you asked Hiccup, he’d say that he doesn’t really count, mostly because he’s not much of a help even on the best of days. 

There is that one girl, though, with her odd appreciation for the world, colorful hems, twine and tassels- To him, she’s something new. Whenever he’s with her, it feels like things just might be turning up. Honestly, she might be exactly the kind of person he’s been looking for.  

(By some stroke of fate and probably coincidence, Hiccup makes friends with a weird girl in the woods and learns that life doesn’t have to be about fighting or proving oneself- sometimes it’s nothing more than a few stolen, happy moments shared between a lucky girl and a very unlucky guy.)

Tags: Witch!reader, optimistic/cheery reader, female reader, httyd 1, edited

- Next>

Grass tickled the bottoms of your clothed feet, your boots discarded to the side as you’d done your best to mosey up peeling, scratchy, hurtful bark. It crackled and broke off as you’d applied pressure to it, cutting into your skin through you-sized, harried trousers as you managed to throw one knee over the top of an upturned log. 

You scrambled for the most stable spot along the cut edge of a flat, good-enough-for-seating place propped up right under you.

Once you’d managed to get onto your knees, you began the careful work of turning yourself around inch by inch, moving your folded lower legs by just one small amount at a time until you were pleased again.

You stared down at a small canvas, a piece of old rag you’d sewn weakly to an uneven wooden frame, the soreness of your fingers something you could recall as if your fingers were still just-raw and not dull-raw.

Reaching with shaky, shaky hands, the wood piece below you wobbling with your wobbles, you felt cool, cool metal with small hands.

They were a normal size to you, but your hand were ones which the people around you found tiny despite your disagreements, tall as they were, as lofty as doorways and then some, with shoulders large and wide as their furs were musky, their hands and bodies full enough to reach the tops of worn-smooth-oil-sanded tables.

The sun came warmly down over your shoulders, prickling the tiny hairs there above and under hot cloth, reflecting light off of paste, a tame blue color, wholly saturated yet soft enough to not be tiring to your eyes, all encased in a small, metal tin.

It was made of leaves ground to liquid- rare as you’d been told and worth money, not that you knew the berth and measure of whatever money they had been talking about. You could only treasure the color for its own merits.

Things like worth and distance- you still had a terrible time coming to fathom what it meant to be ‘far, far away,’ not in the sense that you couldn’t imagine a world in another place. It was moreso that you hadn’t anything to fill the spaces between, your lack of experience doing you wonders in that it had then become your job to figure out what ‘journey’ meant to you and what it should mean to have to travel over many lands for small boon.

The seas rushed in front of you below the cliffs, kicking up a loud and fanciful spray, as if dancing with linked arms, scuffing hard boots against loose, dusty floor on a cool night by a roaring pit of flame. It was filled with joy, gleeful and fresh in celebration of life, wide, vast and light, calm and blue, yet no less passionate than any storm with clouds nearly dark as the invisible sky, thick and angry, with a sea so black a hand could not be seen submerged, currents crashing and roiling below it.

You stared down at the blue tin curiously, your only color, then traced your eyes over a wooden bowl with a shallow layer of clear water near its bottom. 

Your sleeves were spotted wet still, since earlier you’d jolted the bowl in a way which splashed. 

You touched the side of the wooden bowl with one shaky finger, listening as the wood clacked against the back of the carefully positioned canvas stand, borrowed politely from tall Mulch and an even more mountainous, addled Bucket.

You thought you might paint the sun and the sky, though you’d quickly realized with chagrin that your blue was your only color, perfect for the sea and the sky and yet not so fitting when it came down to much else.

More often than not, the sun was a shining white. However, you did know there was more beneath its surface. Yellow was the color that followed you under closed lids after you'd started into it for too long, filling your vision with spots and there was an orangey-red that stained your vision when you kept your eyes open just the same. Sometimes there was a green, and less often, blue.

There were no more berries to squeeze from now, though, and though slightly put off, you were not so harried as to try and force a color when there was none, scouring the land for something new and workable when your blue was so lovely on its own.

You picked up a thin brush with clumsy fingers laid next to it, wrapped with twine very, very tightly around a wooden stick, thick enough to hold string and a small tuft of brushed sheep’s wool. 

The wood was all splintered, small points sticking out everywhere, but you had found it and made it yours, and you found yourself hard pressed not to be proud of your choice. 

For the wool, you’d gotten permission to take some nice bit off of a sheep with shears, which you’d watched Johannes do with pride, your fingers clutching onto wood fencing and your toes on their tips. 

You had woven it tight to the body using twine in a way that had your fingers twinging and needing help from thicker hands, with many hard, rough spots and thick dustings of hair along the knuckles and back.

With careful hands over an uneven handle, you pressed your brush into the blue paste and lifted it with nary a wet, sudden pulling noise.

Very carefully, you pressed it against a beige-green rag, the wool bunching like the hem of a dress pooling along the floor. After, you were careful not to move it for a very long moment.

When you finally lifted your brush, the stiff muscles in your wrist loosening, there was a spatter left behind vaguely in the shape of the sun which made your mouth slip and half a pleased huff leave your lips, the effort you expended to hold the rest of it all in causing the sideways cut-log below you to wobble.

The dear sun shone across your canvas, past the casted shadow, once again reflecting off the wet of your paste.

As you dipped and dipped your brush curiously in the water of your small bowl, paint danced in thin, disappearing, transparent whisps, turning from blue to a careful sun white-red-yellow-orange in the light, nearly glowing.

Blinking, the smile over your mouth growing wider, at that moment, you felt an affection that was nearly overwhelming- it was as if you reflected the world back out from within yourself, thinking of the lovely sun, precious canvas and the swaying grasses all laid out before you, strands and fronds moving with the wind and whispering all the same noises in the same directions, as loud and quiet as the ripples of the nearly-still water in your bowl.

Even stronger was your wonder as the end of your clumsy wool brush met canvas and a veritable shine of color smeared across linen.

Following that, it was with dusty fervor that you had pulled your clumsy canvas up high against your pit, huffing as you trotted quickly above dirt and floor, moving in steps that were quick and hard enough to be jarring, accidental stomps sending solid-jerking jolts up your everything as you hit uneven ground.

Each landing was met by a noise that was almost voice and not breath, an expression of your startle, yet you were too pleased to be unhappy, even as you hobbled with a canvas too large for you to carry between two hands, pressed painfully into the place between your cloth-covered side and your arm. It was a scene carefully waited for, with small, finger-shaped imprints in the face as you tested it dry.

You were excited to show what a joyous thing had happened to you, sharing your knowledge with the small hope that it would work just as splendidly for the others as well, though you had a slight inkling that it just might not.

You had always been a special child, since you’d come to see and feel through warm furs and soft, warm, musty smells, listening to the light of the fire as if its secrets could be shared with you, crackling with a feeling in your insides that was sharp-sharp-sharper and fresher than anything your heavy, dusted head could think up on it’s own, your neck too weak to move it any.

 

You laughed, a young girl of fifteen winters, a canvas held tightly under your arm as it had been so many times before, feeling light and cool even as the noon sun lay heavy across the earth after a morning of painting. 

It was a hobby you had spent time on occasionally since the first, when you were small and young, proud and curious with nothing but a blue paste and some heart.

You skittered down a large path, wide with no rails, fighting with your shoulders against the ever-present wind, the smell of salt and ocean thick against your nostrils, the thin ramp below hanging steadily above the sea.

In town, there was not as much of a need for your own paintings, especially since there was already someone who had taken up the job of portrait-making, who made your own art seem like a lesser craft. Still, though your practice was small, there was no shame in sharing it around.

Despite it all, it was something you’d spent time doing with joy, especially as your art had grown past the mindless, painted scribbles of a child and into the realm of ‘reasonably scribbled,’ experimental in terms of both lighting and setting.

The canvas under your arm was made up of yellow rays and empty, heavenly clearing- you’d not needed any subject besides what was in front of your eyes. Even in the smallest leaf, there was something beautiful, and yet somehow, for some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing.

For such a clear afternoon day, the docks were surprisingly empty, though the person who you were looking for remained there just the same- you’d always seemed to be lucky in that way.

“Hello!” You stepped around the half-rotted intestines of a gutted fish laid across the floor, the beating of wood beneath your boots stilling as you paused and asked cheerily, “Inga! Off so soon?”

Across the way, by the very end of one branch of the docks, stood a woman with red hair who was soft, and though she looked tired, she had no wrinkles to be seen, her skin young, slightly pale and freckled. 

She had a full chest and soft body, though you knew there lay some muscle underneath, unexercised as it was- she had come from the age group before yours, the one which had only just grown old enough to pass training and enter into full adulthood.

She was minding an empty set of barrels, a thick spool of rope carried over one arm, and a slightly dirtied old cloth of a murky color laying draped over the opposite shoulder.

Behind her, where every other space was empty, there was a boat, bobbing with its rope, tied to one of the logs holding up the harbor. It was a smaller thing, all thin wood, hastily made, shorter where most other ships were tall and barely affordable as it was- nothing that could handle the larger seas, though the homely waters around Berk wore it just fine.

There was a small draw connecting it to the docks, a ribbed pathway made up of old wood crate parts which you’d put together yourself when Inga had been more swollen than plain round.

You shifted your canvas in your arms as you waited so that its frame was pressed to your back, its painted face facing the far cliff face behind you, greens and yellows all pointed carefully out of view.

Straight wood dug slightly into your back past two layers of cloth, one tan and dry, more beige than gray as you found your eyes stinging slightly past the strong smell of fish and slight wood rot. The smell was magnified by the heat, coming from all the places where fishermen discarded into the ocean what waste they should give back to the earth and soil, and then some. 

There were also the few old fish left behind by the morning crowd in barrels and among crates, the too-small ones and the ones at the bottom of the barrel that had either been left too long or ones that had been touched so much by the rabble they no longer looked healthy, all too soft and bruised, too bad to sell.

You noted slightly shabby smock and borrowed trousers, ones that had probably belonged to her husband- Truly, the fishing had been poor as of late, though it was with your full heart that you wished the couple prosper, even more so since they had taken a step back from fighting to care for more gentle things. 

In the time it took for Inga to bend down and peer deeper into barrel, you took a look around, searching thoroughly yet without too much vigor

Your patience bore good fruit as, after a long moment of concern, slightly worried preoccupation and as late-received words ran past ears and into strained mind, Inga finally rose, her face going slightly lax.

She turned, then, and it was after that that you received a kind response, “Hello to you too, lass.” 

Then, without waiting for a response, she yelt back towards the waters, “Love!”

You smiled as she turned her head, directing her attention to the ambiguous space to her side, eyes turning to her back, feeling the thick sun’s heat run over your cheeks and shoulders, playing with your straining arms.

Inga sighed very quickly, before calling in a slightly firmer tone, “Come, tall man, say something!”

You suppressed a quick laugh, one that yearned to follow the sudden uptake in noise, the sound of a rapid wood’s knocking following her shout.

“Hello!” Came a muffled voice, all wood-stuffed yet surely familiar, belonging to a man of the same age as Inga with black hair and a slightly soft, yet fully built form, thin in the way most men could only be when coin was scarce, food was the same and love was in plenty, filling the stomach in the way that it tended to do after giving one's own food to one’s most hungry treasured.

“Bo!” You wanted to clap with glee, bringing your canvas out from behind your back, resting it by your side, one hand hooked under the bottom as the leather soles of your feet shuffled against wood.

Bo grew quiet again a moment after, though if you listened really hard, you could hear the gentle thump of hammering and the messing of metal against metal, still slightly hurried and yet calming.

“He’ll be occupied for a while, I think,” Inga warned slightly, “So It’ll just be you and me for now.”

“That’s blush!” You beamed, before dipping your head sheepishly and looking up at Inga with appeasing eyes, “I’d love to chat- of course, If you don’t have trouble minding me for a while?”

“No, dear,” Inga shook her head, throwing her cloth down on the rim of one of her barrels, “I don’t mind at all- really, you’re the one doing the minding and henning, With your care, one might think you were the new mother, not me.”

“Oh, I’m sure Ase’d disagree,” You hummed, “Really, it does no one any good to be sailing on an empty stomach. I must ask, how does she fare?”

“I’ve not enough to hire a nurse yet, so her burdens are still many, though she’s hardy and I shouldn’t be gone for long.”

You spent a fraction of a moment thinking of the oceans and knowing for a fact the truth could only exist in a manner that was quite contrary- Fishing was an all-day event.

“She’s a strong woman,” You said sympathetically, speaking again. “And so are you, I think, though even a strong woman deserves rest in times of trouble.”

She rolled her eyes, voice stern with play and false grim, “Don’t start with me, small lady.”

“You’ve got to do well,” You hummed, continuing anyways, rolling both your eyes and head back slightly so you could look up at the sky, reconsidering,  “The seas have got to do well for you.”

“By the by,” Inga looked at you curiously, then, “I would like to know- what’s brought you to me today?”

You smiled freely, “I came to wish you luck- and to show you something else just as nice.”

Inga shook her head fondly, “I’m glad- we always fare better when you do for some odd reason, you special girl.”

You smiled with something that was all lips and no teeth, though it split the sides of your face just the same.

“Well, let’s have it then.” Inga declared as there sounded a particularly hard, clumsy knock from the inside of the couple’s fishing barge.

You were careful to maneuver your canvas out from behind you, arms straining as you swung it around wide, before displaying it proudly, one hand on each side of the frame, paint facing Inga as you handed it to her, “Here it is!”

She held it by both sides with firm yet careful hands, a spool of rope slipping from one soft arm onto the dock floor below, something which neither of you paid much mind to.

“Why, it feels as if it’s moving on its own! What life!” Inga said, holding out her canvas. In her voice, you could tell that some of her astonishment was a nicety, but a lot of it was all genuine.

You knew she really ought to be pleased- past all the softness and that deceivingly fluffy exterior, that sly woman picked up on things very quickly. Any luck you could offer- Well, she surely couldn’t refuse.

“Oh, are those flowers?” She hummed, turning the painting to the side, looking at it in every which way, pulling it in and bringing it out, “The white bits here? And the leaves- this wouldn’t be an Elder, would it? And the heather!”

You clapped your hands, your voice squeaky, “It is!”

You listened to a slight crowing off in the distance as a seabird cheered, and after a long moment of careful appreciation, you were nearly startled as Inga made an attempt to hand it back.

Though unready to take it, you brought out your hands slightly, your smile still soft but there, though slightly strained in the way smiles were when you were puzzling or doing menial tasks, or when you were between laughs.

You felt something twinge in your chest, sharp and close to where your heart might be. It could have been the joy in giving or it could have been something else. It could have been your compass, perhaps, or just plain intuition, made up of all your nerves and bones, mashed up and pieced together like a handful of loose dials and twine and other such things.

You trusted it more than anything

“You’ve got nails?” You asked, ignoring a flash of movement at the corner of your eye, insisting more with the jerky movement of your arms, pushing it back towards her with your palms pressed gently into the top two corners, saying without words that she should have it. “It would look good in your ship- in the cabin by the front, I’d say.”

“I’d do well to take good care of your special charm,” Inga smiled kindly, lighting a feeling in you which you could definitely, surely call ‘the joy in giving’ this time, looking down at you with grateful eyes, “Thank you.”

‘Special charm’ was what she called anything you gave anyone at all, though you could find no reason to disagree with the name.

“It’s no problem for me.” You shuffled your feet bashfully, as she moved up the slim bridge into the shallow bowels of her small ship, “Tell little Erik I’ve said ‘hullo.’”

Bo and Inga- You were sure they’d do well.

Your eyes wandered as you waited, the two love birds making conversation over your painting in their small ship, your fingers linked behind your back like small chains.

You eyed the sea curiously, though your eyes were drawn to some noise off the side

The docks weren’t as empty as before, as, off into the distance, you spotted a boy in a fuzzy, brown fur cloak, dull and slightly matted from what you could tell from the distance, with the hints of a very noble green tunic underneath. 

On a crate before him lay a floppy fish of a respectable size, one of the bruised leftovers, you’d reckon, which he tried to maneuver with his dagger as if it were a utensil.

He leaned incredibly far forwards, one leg bent and the other stretched completely flat behind him, nearly dropping both it and his dagger into the sea before he had given up and grabbed it securely in the mouth with his thumb and forefinger.

You thought he might have been doing his best to be sneaky, though you were sure he hadn’t seen you at all during all the time you’d been watching him.

Absent-mindedly, you watched him hurry back towards the very foot of the ramp leading back to the village, which briefly covered him with its large shadow. Then, you slowly turned your attention back to the sound of muffled conversation and blooming praise.