#misadventures of the misfortuned

[world-hopping-traveler]

Hah! I'm not dead yet, bitchboy! Alright, for real this time, the reason why I was away for so long was because of complications I met. The marketplace needs some sort of proof of identification, to avoid any funny business, so I said I lost mines, and told them to ask someone I knew who would lie to them.

They backed me up, so I was able to do my little presentation.... yesterday. A snowstorm closed down so many of the dinky little paths. And I was tired too :p

More updates later~~~

[da-millerrrrr]

saw that one misadventures ask from riza, got any more?

There was the time Temenos tried to coerce information out of someone and got absolutely clobbered. Does that count?

[anarchyrefined]

My Misadventures

Brace yourselves, folks, because I'm about to spill the beans on my wild and wacky journey so far - a rollercoaster of misadventures that even Hollywood would struggle to concoct. Now, before we dive into this thrilling saga, let me remind you that although I've replaced names like a secret agent would, chances are the characters involved will probably recognize themselves. Yep, buckle up, because what follows is a completely factual and candid retelling of events, told from my perspective

[vixstarria]

'Erotic misadventures'

Hello, I wrote this for an April Fools challenge, and now it is your problem.

Challenge terms: The challenge is simple - write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts, and so on!

AO3 link

So I've always had this headcanon that Tav and Astarion perform readings of really bad erotica for the group at camp. This is a depiction of one such evening.

All origin characters.

18+, humor, banter. Is this actually smut? I don't know. I hope not.

Content warnings: ...Yes.

Approx. 1,800 words

It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best piece of fiction they’d ever come across.

Meticulously handwritten in a tidy script, the text filled a sizeable journal. “Her Highness’s Erotic Misadventures” read the title. “Thank you for beta reading, Harpy Quinn”, it said at the bottom of the title page, whatever that meant. 

Despite both of them having a professional interest in lewd literature, neither Astarion nor Tav had ever come across this piece before - they doubted it had ever been published. They doubted it could ever be published, for that matter. However, it must have gone through many hands privately - on flipping through the journal it was discovered that the end contained a multitude of little gushing reviews in other people’s writing.

The author must have been one strange individual, with even weirder friends. How embarrassing.

The gang had called it a day and were gathered around the campfire. Astarion and Tav had been taking turns reading from the manuscript, to their companions’ amusement (and, in Gale’s case, vexation).

Despite being seasoned experts in the genre, Wyll and Shadowheart were visibly perturbed (albeit also intrigued) by the piece. Karlach hung on to every word, and even Lae’zel had stopped tending to her weapons to listen to the strange tale spun by the anonymous author. Volo, whose unwarranted presence continued to be tolerated, although no one could quite pinpoint why, was silent, furiously scribbling notes in his own journal. And as for Gale, well…

“This is deplorable,” said Gale, weary disappointment and disdain in his voice. “The only reason I am still here is because none of you can be trusted with the pot.”

 Astarion ignored him and continued to pace around the fire, reading aloud from the journal.

As the title suggested, the story depicted a series of obscene misfortunes which had befallen a hapless princess and her loyal knight. After several chapters of delving into the princess’s tragic and salacious backstory in (frankly bewildering) detail, the narrative had at last moved forward to a scene in which the princess’s knight came to her rescue after she had been kidnapped and taken away to a cave by a dragon. The knight faced the said dragon (who had then taken a dragonborn form for some reason) and its two harpy henchwomen.

“‘Its weak spot is its bussy’, the princess cried out from the cave,” read Astarion. “What in the hells is a ‘bussy’..?” he asked, lifting his head to seek counsel from his companions. 

Everyone around the fire just shook their heads, equally perplexed. 

“Hmm… Well, it seems our hero doesn’t know that word either...” Astarion continued reading.

“‘Puzzled, the paladin took a shot in the dark, cramming her manhood-’ Wait, what? I could have sworn...” Astarion shuffled through the pages. “…Oh she’s got both sets. How convenient… Anyway. …‘Cramming her manhood into the dragonborn’s meatgrinder’.” Astarion frowned again, sitting down next to Karlach.  

“Is the ‘meatgrinder’ the dragonborn’s mouth, or..?” asked Shadowheart.  

“I… think so? There’s not many contextual clues here, it just says that the ‘meatgrinder swirled around her pork sword, stunning her and nearly making her forsake her oath of propriety’.” 

“Well keep going, we’ll figure it out,” Karlach said, impatiently.

“The two harpies swarmed the stunned paladin. A hand deftly shed the paladin’s breastplate, exposing her pearls, whilst another grabbed her by the neck, clawed fingers shredding the remnants of her clothing, as two hands groped and teased her milkbags. She felt a hand creep up the back of her thigh while another hand pulled on her hair, as another crept to her moistening oyster-” Astarion stopped, with an exasperated sigh. “How many hands do these bloody things have?! I’m losing focus.” 

“And the mention of pearls…” Wyll said, thoughtfully. “It’s peculiar, you would think a pearl would be inside the… never mind”.  

 “Shadowheart, could you and Tav assist us with a visual, perchance,” asked Astarion. “I can’t be the only one who can’t keep track.”

“Perhaps I could also be of assis-” started Wyll.  

“Perhaps you could sit right back down,” Astarion warned with a glower. “I'll step in if needed. Where was I..? Ah yes, the err… the milkbags. So there’s definitely two hands there.”  

Both Tav and Shadowheart giggled as Shadowheart stood to join Tav by the fire and reached around Tav to lightly place her hands over the other woman’s breasts.

“Nice,” said Karlach. 

“The harpy pinched her pearls, and pulled her into a deep, ravishing kiss,” Astarion read, looking up expectantly at Tav and Shadowheart.

“Uh… That is not in the book, soldier,” said Karlach, reading over Astarion’s shoulder.  

“Spoilsport,” muttered Astarion. “I was just trying to set the mood before moving forward - the author’s pace is almost too relentless even for me. But fine.” 

Astarion cleared his throat and continued. 

“Then one of the harpies used her hands to pry open the paladin’s clam.” He looked up again. “Well come on, Shadowheart, pry open Tav’s clam.” 

Shadowheart simply laughed and returned to her spot across the fire. 

“If you’re not sure how - we could show you later tonight, if you like,” Astarion called out after her. 

“I’m sure I could give you some pointers on dealing with clams, Astarion,” retorted Shadowheart. 

“Is that so..?” he purred. “Interesting… What about you, Karlach, are you adept with clams?” 

“You know I haven’t had any clams in a decade, fangs!” Karlach groaned. “But before that… They used to just fling themselves at me, already opened, yeah.” 

“Fascinating. Lae’zel?” 

“There are a number of women who have survived bedding me,” the githyanki responded, deadpan. 

“I am… in equal parts concerned and aroused at the thought,” Astarion mulled over her words. 

“I wish anyone could survive bedding me,” grumbled Karlach. 

“There there, darling…” Astarion reached out to carefully pat her on a horn. “Now we all know Gale doesn’t know the first thing about clams…” 

“I’ll have you know, in my ethereal relations with my goddess, our connection was so profound that not only have I experienced her ‘clam’, I have interconnected with it on such a sublime and intimate level, been woven so deeply into it to myself have become part of the clam.” 

Gale’s outburst failed to have the effect he had desired, as the group struggled to contain themselves, wheezing and huffing for air. 

“Thank you, Gale, I don’t believe I’ll be able to get that image out of my mind anytime soon,” Astarion continued, trying to maintain his composure. “Wyll..? How fare you with prying clams open?” 

“Well…” The warlock began, with a smile. “I find, that the best way to go about it is to allow the clam to open of its own accord, from heat. From it getting sufficiently… steamy, if I may. I would never simply invade one with my blade.” 

Astarion was about to say something but just chortled instead. 

“Wyll, you rapscallion, every time I think I have you figured out-” 

“What happens next with the harpies?” Came an impatient call from Lae’zel. 

“Yes, give me that, you’re taking too long,” said Tav, snatching the journal back from Astarion. She continued to pace around the fire as she recited: 

“The dragonborn stood before the browbeaten paladin, reveling in her anguish. Even had the harpies not had a firm grasp on the paladin and her unmentionables, she would not have known how to approach the dragonborn – the loathsome creature was covered in impenetrable scales. Its mouth sported rows upon rows of sharp teeth – the only reason it allowed the paladin’s mutton machete out unscathed must have been because it had worse yet torments in mind for it.

The creature turned its back on the paladin, to roar tauntingly at the princess somewhere in the cave. 

‘Behold, as I turn your valiant saviour into naught but a pathetic cumdumpster!’

As it turned its back, the paladin glimpsed a narrow, pink orifice beneath its tail.” 

Karlach and Wyll gasped in unison.  

“The bussy!” Lae’zel hissed in a hushed whisper. 

“The paladin drew on the last of her divine power to throw the harpies off, smiting them unconscious, and plunged her hand into the dragonborn’s puckered hole.” 

“I am going to be sick,” moaned Gale. 

“The dragonborn cackled and flexed their beef ring, tightening its grasp on the paladin’s hand. The paladin reeled in horror, as the dragonborn’s poop chute seemed to suck the paladin’s hand further in, like fleshy quicksand, whilst threatening to snap her wrist.”

A tear of anguish slid down Gale’s cheek.

“It cannot be! Was the bussy a trap?!” came an outcry from Lae’zel.

“No! It could not end this way. Her entire life and all her training had been preparing her for this,” Tav read. “What in the hells, really?” she muttered, before continuing. “In that moment, she knew that the only way out - was through. The paladin took a deep breath and PLUNGED her arm deeper into the dragonborn’s vile cavity,” Tav exclaimed, throwing her own fist in the the air, to the sound of Astarion’s uncontrollable giggling and everyone else’s gasps.

“The dragonborn yelped and tried to expel the paladin’s arm from their pulsating dirtbox, to no avail. The paladin was now elbow deep in the mud dungeon. The two continued to wrestle, the paladin’s arm pumping deeper and deeper into the dragonborn’s dank portal.”

“I fear I may need to tap out soon,” warned Wyll.

“Weakling!” Lae’zel and Shadowheart said in unison, before glaring at one another.

No one, including Karlach herself, could tell whether she was laughing or crying.

“At last, the dragonborn seemed to accept its fate, quivering and taking the paladin’s arm nearly shoulder-deep. The creature grunted and groaned, before stilling, only to unleash an earth-shaking roar, finally forcefully expunging the paladin’s arm in a spray of gooey, milky spunk, as it collapsed on the ground, convulsing, clearly too incapacitated to be of any further threat.”

“Supper is ready,” wept Gale. 

“Shall I take over while you eat?” Astarion asked, to Gale’s immediate renewed protestation.

“That’s alright, I think we should take some mercy on Gale and pause here for the day,” said Tav. “Although let me peek ahead, perhaps it’s tame enough.” She took the journal and flipped forward a few pages. “Oh my…” came a surprised murmur from Tav. “You’ll never guess what happens to the princess and her knight… This may be a problem if we want to continue to visualise this masterpiece properly.” 

“Oh? Dare I ask..?” Astarion was giddy with anticipation. 

“Well… There are now… Five… Six… No, seven! Seven dwarves, who have appeared in the cave.” 

“Goodness gracious,” lamented Astarion. “We will never keep track of all the body parts… Perhaps if Withers steps in to help..? Would you prefer to be the princess or the knight, darling? You can choose, I’ll take the other role.” 

“I am going to use that journal for kindling tomorrow,” said Gale. 

“NO!” came a collective shout from the rest of the group. 

~~~~~

Sorry about the psychic damage, come check out my other work if you dare.

~~~~~

Tagging the usual plus some people who I think might also be doing / were interested in this:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @pursuitseternal @comatosebunny09 @kittenintheden @bardic-inspo @tavyliasin

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

you're a bad idea (i'll never say no to)

Summary: After an awful one night stand, you find some comfort (and more) in an unlikely source

Pairing: Nick Miller x fem!reader

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: 18+, oral sex (fem receiving), sexual innuendo, alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating

A/N: i remembered i had this draft lying around and it was not as bad as i thought, so here it is for y'all to enjoy!!

Tagging: @tripleyeeet @elfinbloodbag @fictionobsession (not sure if you care about nick miller, but if you do, i hope y'all enjoy!! if you don't want to be tagged, let me know <3)

\_/

Entering the loft, you found Nick laying on the couch in complete darkness. You only noticed him because of the dim light that shone through the windows. His eyes were stuck to the ceiling, his hand wrapped around a bottle of booze that, in the darkness, you couldn’t entirely make out.

“Hey, Nick.”

He groaned, raising his bottle in what you imagined was his way of greeting you home.

“Anyone else home?”

He answered with another —negative— groan, putting his lips around the bottle and taking a long sip. You sat down on the other end of the couch, reaching out for the bottle that, after a scowl, he handed to you.

“So, what are we drinking for?” you asked, after gulping down some of the liquor. Probably whiskey, given the burning taste it left in your mouth.

“I’m drinking,” he started as he sat up on the couch, “because life sucks.”

“Preach.”

You took another sip under Nick’s tipsy but inquisitive stare.

“Why are you drinking?”

“Can’t I just drink because I want to?”

Nick raised his eyebrows, scoffing slightly and raising his hands in surrender. “Trust me, I won’t be the one to stop you.”

You nodded, lowering your gaze on the glass bottle in your hands as you pondered pensively if it was wise to drink more of that. You had to show up at work the next day, you couldn’t miss another shift without a reasonable excuse.

“Didn’t you have that big thing tonight?”

Your fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle.

“Yeah, you had that date with the guy you met a while back at the bar.” He turned towards you, his elbow resting on the back of the sofa. “How did it go?”

You didn’t answer. You just took another swing of the liquor —definitely whiskey, your burning throat confirmed— before giving the bottle back to Nick.

“Wow…” he chuckled as he placed the whiskey on the floor, “that bad, uh?”

“I mean…” You threw your head back on the couch. “It wasn’t going that badly but then…” You groaned in frustration, covering your face with your hands.

Nick scooted a little closer, the leather of the couch creaking under him. “Well, well, color me intrigued.”

Your arms fell to your lap as you skeptically looked at him. “I don’t think you really want to hear anything regarding my misadventures in dating.”

“You underestimate me, I love hearing about other people’s misfortunes.” He took the bottle once again before handing it back to you with a smile. “Makes me feel better about my awful life.”

You snorted as you gladly accepted his offer.

“Well, then you’re really going to enjoy this.”

-

“His mom?!”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes through the embarrassment. Your hand moved on his own and brought the nearly empty bottle to your lips; some more booze to hopefully quiet down those memories freshly ingrained in your brain.

“And she did not only walk in on us having sex, but she also started giving both of us a lecture on protections, trust and cheating…”

“Don’t tell me he has a girlfriend,” he murmured, already in a fit of giggles.

“He has a girlfriend! Good job, Miller!”

You clapped as you watched Nick almost rolling with laughter. His head was thrown back, his body incredibly close to falling flat either on the couch or the ground, depending on which direction he swayed in. Every time you thought he was about to fall face-first into the floor, and every time he managed to balance himself at the last moment and not break his nose.

“That’s the LA experience right there, little Day.” He gave you a fist bump and stole the bottle from you. “You haven’t lived here unless you’ve had at least one weird hook-up.”

As he downed what remained of the whiskey, you realized how cute he looked when he smiled. In the two weeks since you had ‘moved in’ with your sister, crashing in her shared apartment while you looked for one of your own, Nick Miller hadn’t exactly been Mr. Sunshine. The moment you had set your foot through the door of the loft, he had made clear he didn’t love the idea of you staying there —or at least, that was before you said you were going to help with the rent— and since then, whenever you were around he acted more like a robot than a human.

Answering in monosyllables, sometimes even ignoring you when you were in the room, it was almost logical that you had come to the conclusion that Nick Miller hated you.

“He does not hate you,” Jess had assured you despite your skepticism. “He’s just not the biggest fan of change.”

Telling the truth, from what you had seen so far, Nick wasn’t the biggest fan of anything. He spent most of his day complaining about everything he could think about. The half-broken sink. The socio-economic injustice that plagued the US. Pants with tight crotches.

But most of all, something that he avoided like the plague itself: talking with other people. Sure enough, he and the other three roommates talked all the time: always fighting, bickering, gossiping, bothering each other in that irritating but loving way that you —as a sibling— could understand. However, when it came to opening up and communicating without filters or jokes, it seemed like he would’ve much preferred jumping off the roof of the loft than to actually say how he felt. He could do it, but he always seemed about to puke when he had to.

After the cold shoulder he gave you for two weeks, you were surprised that you were able to have a civil conversation with him at all. Obviously there were no feelings or any other deep emotional stuff, but it was still baffling how easy it was to just be with him like that.

Maybe it was just the booze.

“I bet you’ve had many weird hook-ups,” you teased him, poking his leg with your shoe.

“I’ve…” Nick trailed off for a moment, his eyes following the shape of your leg —from the ankle to the knee— before clearing his throat and looking away. “I’ve had my fair share.”

You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head as you watched Nick in the dim light. It might’ve been the booze, but he looked incredibly hot. Since you had arrived at the loft, your eyes had always been drawn to Nick, one way or the other. You often found yourself lingering on him as he walked by, replaying every interaction you two shared in your head for hours before letting it go.

His scruffy attractiveness wasn’t a subjective matter, it was a fact. But at that specific moment, there was just something more to him. Perhaps it was his hair, all messed up and going in all different directions, or his cheeks, slightly flushed because of the whiskey… or perhaps —you thought— because of you.

When he looked back at you he scoffed, shaking his head and standing up, his gaze glued to the ceiling.

“Don’t look at me like that, little Day.”

“Like what, Nick?”

He didn’t answer: he just stepped away from the couch, heading to the kitchen while chanting no to himself. You followed him with your eyes as he opened the fridge and took a beer. The condensation glistened on the glass as Nick opened the bottle and brought it to his lips. You swallowed as you watched him drink, transfixed by the movement of his Adam’s apple with every gulp he took.

He came back to the couch, sitting on the other end of it, putting as much distance between you two as he could. Despite that, he kept glancing at you before looking away immediately after.

“You’re Jess’ younger sister.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“She will kill me if I…” His eyes darted to your face, falling to your mouth and then lowering even more. “If we…”

“If we what?”

He shook his head and took another long sip of beer, avoiding your piercing stare.

Frowning in annoyance, you stood up and plopped on the couch next to him. You took the beer from his hand and put it on the shelves behind the couch. When you did, your fingers brushed: despite the cold bottle in his hands, his skin was warm. You blamed the booze for the thoughts that started filling your head, wondering how his fingers would’ve felt on you.

“If we what, Miller?”

Nick took a deep breath before turning towards you with a wry smile. “It’s the rules of the loft, little Day.” He moved one arm on the back of the couch, just behind your shoulders. “As roommates, we vowed not to nail each other or each other’s siblings.”

You raised your eyebrow with a smirk. “So you want to nail me?”

“I never said that,” Nick pointed out immediately, shaking his head with a smile, “and I’m ready to deny these accusations in court.”

You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“So…” you started again, shifting on your seat until your shoulder was pressed against his side, “you don’t want to nail me?”

The smile on his face faded, leaving behind just a hint of softness in his features. “I never said that either.”

He stood still, looking into your eyes while someone shouted in the streets below and a far away car alarm kept ringing. A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers moved on the back of your neck, brushing on your skin and leaving behind a trail of fire. You held your breath for a moment, getting used to the sensation and keeping your tipsy mind from roaming too far away.

“I see,” you whispered as your fingers moved along his jaw, the rough stubble grazing against your fingertips. “It must be a very hard decision for you.”

He nodded, his mouth opening ever so slightly when you pressed your thumb on his bottom lip, still damp from the beer. You leaned in, stopping just a couple of inches from his face. So close that you could feel his breath on your face.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

You pulled away with a smirk, quite amused by Nick’s annoyed face. “So you can make up your mind without any distractions.”

You pushed yourself up, headed to Jess’ bedroom. You were already dreading sleeping once again on the air mattress that she had kindly lent you when a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you back on the couch.

As you fell across Nick’s lap, one of his arms wrapped around your back and the other held your waist. His mouth was on yours before you could say or do anything, and when his lips started moving your brain melted just as much as your body did in his hold. It was unexpected, a mess of crashing limbs and lips that tasted of alcohol and poor decisions, and a warmth almost too intense for your fogged mind.

When you pulled away, breathless after just a few seconds, you found him staring at you, his lips parted as he inhaled shakily and a longing glimmer in his eyes.

“I think I might’ve made up my mind.”

You snorted, gently holding his neck as you ran your thumbs along it. “Took you long enough.”

Your back soon met the cushions of the couch as he cupped the back of your neck —tugging ever so slightly at your hair— and dove back onto your mouth, deepening the kiss when you parted your lips again. Gripping his scratchy flannel, you pulled Nick closer as you kissed him back, wrapping your legs around him. When you felt his crotch pressing against your core, a groan of desire left your lips, silenced by Nick’s mouth while his hands wondered along your thighs and towards the hem of your shorts.

“Jess can never know about this,” he stressed as he pulled away, just enough for your eyes to meet. “Ever,” he added, your lips brushing when he spoke.

“I’ve lied successfully to my sister thousands of times.” You nudged your nose against his with a smirk. “What about you, sweaty-back? Will you be able to hide it?”

Nick rolled his eyes, half a smile gracing his face before you pulled him back in for another kiss. Despite the stubble, his lips were soft and gentle, even when you were eating each other’s mouths. It might’ve been the booze that still lingered on them, but the more you drowned in their taste, the more intoxicating it got and the harder it was to pull away from them, even to just breathe.

“Maybe-” you gasped, moaning softly while Nick left a trail of kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, “maybe we should go to your room. Before anyone-”

He shoved those few words back in your throat with another kiss, pushing your shirt up as his hands glided along your skin. His warm palms pressed against your bare waist created a loud cacophony of sensations which made your guts twist all around.

“Yeah,” he nodded as he pulled away, his cheeks flushed and his lips ever so slightly glimmering with spit in the dim light. “Let’s do that.”

It took you all of your self-control not to drag him back on top of you.

He clumsily stood up, his legs all tangled in yours, and then helped you to your feet. Before you could take another step, Nick placed his hands on your waist and pulled you into him. His mouth was back on your neck, almost tickling as he kept kissing and sucking your skin.

“Nick, I swear to God,” you muttered between a giggle and a moan as he dragged you both to his room, “if you give me a hickey I-”

His mouth moved from your jaw and sloppily closed around yours. His tongue moved on your lips, that opened to it without any resistance. You threw your arms over his shoulders, pulling him in as he blindly opened the door and then closed it.

After hearing the lock click, you felt the plywood pressing against your back while his mouth wandered even deeper into yours. Your hands tightened on his hair, gaining a moan from Nick that died in your throat.

When he finally pulled away, the only sound in Nick’s bedroom was your heavy breathing as your lungs slowly filled.

“As I was saying,” you sighed with trembling voice, “I will not hesitate one second to throw you under the bus.”

“God.” His whisper brushed onto your numb-kissed mouth, his fingers cupping your jaw and running on your bottom lip. “Do you ever shut up?”

You threw your head against the door, eyebrows cocked and a smirk gracing your glistening lips.

“Do you want me to shut up?” With your eyes glued to Nick’s, you hooked your finger to his jeans and pulled him in. “Or do you want to hear me scream, Miller?”

-

“Fuck!”

The moan left your mouth louder than you expected as Nick curled his fingers inside of your cunt, reaching the deepest part of you before pulling them out and then thrusting them in at an agonizing pace.

“Do you like this?”

His whispered question hit your inner thigh, followed by the grazing of his beard as he let his lips run over your skin. His warm breath brushed on your core, tingling on the wet and sensitive skin between your legs.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding quickly as you watched him pushing his fingers in again, both of them disappearing inside of you up to his knuckles. “Can you go faster?”

Nick chuckled against your leg, curling his fingers once more —almost touching that soft spot inside of you— before slowly pulling them out. You groaned, throwing your head back on the pillows, while he moved the sticky fingers up and down your thigh.

“You don’t have a grain of patience in you.”

“Well, at least I’m not edging someone who’s had a terrible-”

You took a sharp breath in when his tongue lapped your folds, his hands grabbing your legs and pulling you closer. Before you could even think about anything else, he wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking onto it, stealing another loud whimper from you.

“God, you’re so loud.”

His words rumbled against your slick, twisting the knot in your abdomen that was aching to be released. You bit down on your lip as you felt a flush of warmth growing on your face, suddenly too aware of yourself, too bare in front of him. Then a soft tapping on your thigh drew your gaze back between your legs. Nick was there, looking back at you with a smirk pulling upwards his lips damp with your slick.

“I love it.”

Your throbbing core sent one last aching pulse before Nick, his eyes still stuck in yours, dove right back into it. When his tongue slithered inside you, lapping your folds and walls, you closed your eyes as your mouth started letting out the most lewd sounds you had ever heard.

He kept fucking you with his tongue, moving it back and forth as you bucked your hips towards him for more friction, chasing that release you’d been looking for all night. Then Nick turned his head ever so slightly —an accident, probably just trying to find a position that hurt less for his neck— and, with every thrust inside of you, his nose started nudging your clit. Over, and over, and over.

Your hand jolted to his hair, keeping his face in place as you bucked your hips again and again, as much as you could despite the rush of pleasure that was starting to overcome you, the same rush that had transformed you in a whimpering mess, unable to form one single word.

“Fuck- I-”

Whatever you wanted to say, it died in your mouth as his tongue curled inside of you and his nose nudged once more against your clit. That was the last push you needed; soon after you were writhing in the bed, your hands tightening around Nick’s hair as the knot in your abdomen finally loosened and a sudden warmth rushed to your face, and every other inch of your body.

As your muscles and grip eventually relaxed, you felt one final lick running along your sensitive and over-stimulated folds before Nick sneaked out of the nestled spot between your legs.

“So.”

He crawled to the spot next to you, his fingertips roaming along your sternum as your chest kept slowly raising and falling with each breath you took. With the rush of adrenaline and desire still running through your veins, even his ghost touch was enough to make your insides tremble.

“So what?” you breathed, turning your head to meet that annoying, attractive grin — still glistening with your cum.

“Was it or was it not the best oral of your life?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“I see, you’re speechless.” He nodded to himself. “Understandable, I’ve trained a lot for this.”

“Ah, yes…” you chuckled lightly, taking his hand in yours and playing with his fingers. “Nothing more romantic than to hear about your previous one night stands.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Was this supposed to be romantic?”

“This? God, no! But next time…”

Nick scoffed. “You’ve already decided there’s going to be a next time?”

“Why not?”

“Little Day…”

Before he could say more — before he could try and convince you how that was a really bad idea — you pushed yourself up and sat on his abdomen, legs spread on either side of his body.

“I mean, at least let me ride you before you decide.”

His mouth hung open for a few seconds, a couple of terrifying seconds. Then his hands slowly crept along your thighs, taking hold of your flesh with a mischievous grin.

“I would never say no to that.”

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Locked Out (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content, language, mentions of blood Word count: 4.2k

Summary: When you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, Anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

Author's Note: Inspired by true events that involved all the frustration but none of the fun 😜 This was just an idea that rooted itself. A silly little fic outside my usual style. Thanks to @faye-tale for chatting with me while I waited for a locksmith. 😊 And thanks to @colettebronte who always has the right JB pic for the job. 💜

You knew this would happen. You had never trusted the smart lock ever since Anthony had installed it. Either some criminal masterminds would hack the whole network of them, or the battery would die and leave you precisely where you were now, standing on the stoop in the chilly air as midnight approached, the moon and your phone as your only light sources. Again you wondered what was so bad about traditional locks as your phone flashed the error message. But Anthony had to get his way, as usual. One news story about a burglar three towns away and the next day he had bought every ‘smart’ home security device on the market.

Well now the stupid lock didn’t work. The first time you had pressed the button you assumed you had tapped something wrong, given how distracted you were. Anthony was crowding against you, one hand slithering over your backside while the other moved to wrap lightly around your throat. He was breathing heavy in your ear, licking your neck with his untamable tongue, a move that always made your eyes cross a bit. But now you had tried three times to unlock the door and it clearly wasn’t working.

“Anthony…”

He just rumbled in response, biting your lobe.

“Anthony!” You nudged him back with your hips, trying to snap him out of it. “The damn lock is broken.” 

“What?” Of course he then had to inspect it himself for a full five minutes, trying every trick on his phone that you had, to no avail.

You stood with your arms crossed. “Where’s the spare key?”

Even in the dim light you could see his jaw set with aggravation. “Inside.”

You scoffed, “You didn’t hide it outside like you said you would?”

“I don’t want to leave a key to our property lying around for anyone to find. This thing was supposed to be top-of-the-line.” He growled.

You couldn’t help your eyes from rolling. “Anthony, that’s why you hide it…”

“Let me try the back.” He jogged off the steps and around the house through your garden gate. You both knew full well that he had rigged your back door with the same space age lock as the front and wasn’t likely to have any success. All you wanted was to get inside, to get warm and have a glass of wine. You looked up at the glare of the full moon. That must be to blame for your misfortune.  

You weren’t going to wait forever and searched the number for a 24-hour locksmith. You were just about to dial when the sound of shattering glass echoed over your lawn followed by a loud curse. Oh good lord…

Before you could even detect which side of the house it came from, Anthony stepped out of the shadows, holding a forearm aloft.

“Anthony Bridgerton, what the hell did you do?” You hissed as loud as you dared, mindful of disturbing your neighbors.

But you knew exactly what he had done when he drew closer and you could see the bloody pulp that now constituted his knuckles. More alarming was the long, jagged tear in the sleeve of his shirt through which you could see the matching slice on his skin, blood already seeping out to darken the fabric.

“Broke the side window,” he grumbled. 

“And how did that work out for you, genius?”

His eyes flashed. “The damn latch is too high. I couldn’t reach it inside.”

Excellent. Now you would need to replace your window as well as hire a locksmith. Your simple date night was turning into quite the misadventure. The cold was starting to seep in. Not expecting to spend time outside, you wore only a dress and no coat. You were so tired and irked you were bordering on a tantrum. But your husband was bleeding, quite a lot, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ream him out while he was injured.

“Jesus,” You huffed, taking his good arm and pulling him over to your car in the drive. Fortunately this piece of your property had a keyfob, making it your only form of shelter at the moment. “Sit down,” you ordered, opening the driver’s side door and pushing him into the seat. You crouched next to him and turned his wrist to inspect the damage. It was ugly, the whole sleeve from the elbow down stained red already. 

Before you even suggested it, he tugged the cuff of his other sleeve with his teeth, slipping his whole shirt up and over his head until it hung only on his bloodied limb. 

“Haven’t you ever watched movies?” You chastised as you began to wind the fabric around the gash. A gorgeous knit shirt ruined forever. “You wrap your arm with your shirt before you punch through glass.”

“Well I’m sorry for trying to solve our problem.” He snipped. You responded by pulling a tight knot, causing him to hiss. 

But your frustrated energy threatened to redirect into something else entirely as you surveyed him. Even after all this time together, you went a bit speechless whenever you saw him shirtless. It really was obscene for someone to be so attractive. Broad-shouldered and muscular, with the most perfect patch of soft hair across his chest. Running your hands over him had reached the level of compulsion, beyond mere desire. Seeing as his torso was streaked with blood from his haphazardly bandaged arm, you gave in under the pretense of tending to him. You drifted your fingers up his carved abdomen and onto his chest where his movements slowed under your palm, his breaths deepening. 

“I don’t have anything to clean you up with.” You were more agitated than apologetic. How fast were you going to devolve into naked, bloodied neanderthals all because you didn’t have a house key?

“It’s fine.” He laid his good hand over yours, holding it in place. You could feel the strong thrum of his heart. He knew what he was doing. Trying to dissipate your anger by turning himself into a distraction. But you wouldn’t let him. Someone had to remedy this situation. 

You quirked a brow. “Should I call the paramedics or the locksmith?”

His pursed-lips look of annoyance was one you saw often and always relished. It was usually the only way he admitted you were right in a spat. Nudging him a few inches, you perched next to him on the seat.

“How long will they take?” he asked when you hung up.

“Half an hour.”

“What are we supposed to do until then?” You knew that silky edge to his voice and turned to look at him. His eyes, always dark, glinted most dangerously at night. Darkness suited him much more than daylight and even though you knew your husband was putty in your hands, one flash of those eyes made you feel like prey.

You shivered, due to him as much as the wind. “Whatever we do, I’m staying in here. It’s too cold.” You wouldn’t give in that easily. You stood and moved to walk to the passenger side but an arm curled around your waist and tugged you back onto his lap, then the door was pulled shut beside you. 

“Imagine how cold I am without a shirt on.” His low voice reverberated through the enclosed space and soft lips landed on your shoulder. His arm was still banded around you, holding you tight. The devil. 

You twisted to face him again, already knowing you would lose this battle. He smirked, just a glimpse of teeth in the blue glow of the fading dash lights lending fangs to your predator. Wasn’t he the wounded one? How did he gain the upper hand so quickly? You rested your hands on his chest again and knew he was lying. He was warmer than you and heating up by the second, his breath gusting over your forearms as you stared each other down. Each time you touched one another in places otherwise typically clothed, it brought out your animalistic tendencies. But seeing him like this, cast in shadow and roughed up, was causing something especially carnal to simmer inside you.

“We can turn the car on for heat.” You argued, never wanting to grant him the last word.

But then he pressed himself against you, hands spreading wide to grasp your bottom as he nuzzled his jaw against your cheek. He knew all of your buttons. One pass of his short beard across your skin and it was over. 

“Mmmm…” he hummed in your ear, the baritone he reserved to devastate you. “Bad for the environment. We can keep each other warm.”

Then his tongue resumed its journey up your neck, leaving you gasping until he traced it into your waiting mouth.

Damn him. You hated and loved how easily he made you go to pieces. If you were being honest, the feelings worked in tandem. It was often when you were the most aggravated with him that you reached the highest peaks in your lovemaking. As your tongues swirled around each other, you knew this would be one of those times. But you’d have to be quick unless you wanted to put on a show for the locksmith. This was reckless, juvenile, but you didn’t care. 

“I suppose you’re right.” You murmured over his lips then pushed him roughly back against the seat. His eyes lit with excitement as you maneuvered to straddle him, hiking your skirt up your thighs, kicking off your heels and underwear as you went. His splayed hands ran up to your back and crushed you to him for another hungry kiss. You moaned into one another, overcome with the rush of it all, with the risk you may be seen. As you held his jaw possessively, you wormed a hand down to the seam of his trousers.

“Do you have enough blood left to power this thing?” You smirked, nipping at his lower lip.

“See for yourself,” came the husky reply. Pressing down, you felt the bulge and rocked your palm against it. His responding noise caused a familiar jolt of desire to shoot through your every cell. You knew you were already soaking, aching and ready for him. In a flurry, the two of you fought off his belt and buttons and shoved his clothes down his thighs until his cock sprang free, rigid and hot in your hand. Positioning yourself, you swiped the head across your entrance, gathering the slick then swirling it around your throbbing clit. Anthony groaned, biting his lip and gripping you tight by the hips as you lined up and sank down onto him, your cry seeming all the louder in the small, insulated cab.

There was a reason you had given him the private nickname ‘Logsplitter’. Getting far too candid over too many drinks one night, you had told him how fantastically split open he made you feel. Had described that meniscus seal between pain and pleasure and how his body drove yours to it perfectly and kept you dancing upon it until it fractured and plunged you into liquid bliss. The next day you had been mortified but he eased your anxieties by making it the most enduring joke in your relationship. The bastard had even woven it into his wedding speech, announcing that he would still find joy in life’s mundane tasks with you, whether it be laundry, dishes, or log splitting. Public mentions of it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, but in practice behind closed doors it sent heat rocketing under every inch of your skin. He was so stiff and formidable, stretching you so splendidly. You began to move so that you could savor every inch.

Planting your hands on his shoulders for leverage you began to ride him at a steady clip, reminding yourself that you couldn’t dally. His fingers pressed deeper into your hips as his breath turned staccato with whispered curses. You gave a passing thought to the fact that his injured arm was probably streaking blood across your dress, but thankfully it was black and therefore might be saved. 

As much as you were enjoying yourself, this was still a ridiculous situation. Bleeding and rutting in the driver’s seat of your car like you were criminal lovers on the lam and not just idiots who hadn’t kept a spare key to the house. And you were on a timeline. Fueled by a potent blend of frustration and arousal you began to move faster, pistoning on your knees as the leather squeaked. There wasn’t much extra space on the seat for your legs and your increased pace made you slip, pitching forward as one shin fell off the side.

Anthony caught you, hands moving up to your ribs as he chuckled. “Woah. Do I need to strap you in, baby girl?”

You could have slapped him. He only used that name for you when he really wanted to get you riled. Clearly he was enjoying your little tryst, finding the fun in this mess that he caused.  You’d like to see him try and fuck you in the front seat. Glaring, you stepped on the recline controls and he stuttered in surprise as he sank backward until he was supine beneath you. Steadying yourself again you doubled your efforts, riding him hard as you held him pinned at the chest.

“You’re enjoying this too fucking much.” You ground out.

“What?” He played the innocent.

“We could be inside,” You panted, every word bouncing with your movements. “In bed. Uninjured. If you had just hidden the key…” Your breath caught as you tilted your hips and felt him strike against the deepest part of you, a twinge that increased your ache. “...and not changed the stupid locks.”

“So this is my fault?” His voice was all seduction, no remorse to be found. His eyes, what little you could see of them, gazed up at you as a hand moved to knead your breast.

“Yes.” You moaned, starting to climb the ladder as his fingers and his cock simultaneously found all the right spots to make you mindless. 

“And you’re mad at me?”

“So fucking mad.” You gasped, leaning forward into his palm and angling yourself just so, feeling the ridge of him deep inside start to massage your center of sensation.

He craned his neck to ghost his lips over yours and whispered, “How can I apologize?”

Then his hand moved below your skirt and his fingertips found your clit. Pierced with sensation, you screamed some garbled syllables of his name.

He chuckled, warm and dark. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Oh, he was awful. Driving you to delirium even when you were the one on top. You had found your rhythm, rolling your hips to sink him perfectly into place over and over. Coupled with the press of his circling fingers, you were shooting up the ladder, your blood beginning to hum with anticipation. Maybe you could pull this off in time after all. 

“Fuck you…” you hissed.

“You certainly are.”

“Anthony, shut up!” You clamped a hand over his mouth, bringing the other to claw into his shoulder. You had assumed Anthony Bridgerton, man of refined tastes, would have found this all as debased as you did, but he was evidently having the time of his life. Maybe the laugh riot was precisely because he knew you were so flustered, which just made you angrier. But the anger was consigned to your mind only, as your body delighted in him. Warm and firm beneath your palms, he started to move with you, thrusting ever so slightly while his mangled hand pulled you down at the hip, slamming your bodies together as tight as he could on your every descent. His fingers swirled faster, just where you needed them, and soon enough you reached the top rungs, everything surging within.

Anthony mumbled something against your fingers, his breath hot and short, matching yours as you hovered over him. You released him, your mind too clouded with pleasure to fight him anymore. Your thighs began to quake while the rest of you started to tense.

“It feels like you’re about to forgive me.” He purred, and all you could do was whine, squeezing your eyes shut as your hips bucked against him desperately. “Come on then,” he coaxed. “I think I’ve earned it.”

One more thrust and circle of his fingers and you peaked, crying out as your nails sank into the flesh of his shoulder and your other hand scrabbled for purchase in his thick hair. Release radiated out from the epicenter of his touch, spasms clenching around his cock which now felt impossibly huge, fanning out through every muscle. You writhed, circling your pelvis against his as you rode it out and moaned.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he growled from the darkness. “That’s my girl.”

Gasping, you collapsed on top of him, basking in the warmth of his bare skin and the caresses of his hands across your back as aftershocks curled your spine. As you floated, you trailed your fingers into his chest hair. You contemplated extending your forgiveness verbally too, but when you propped up to look at him you saw a flash of headlights through the back window. A truck was turning down your street. 

You cursed under your breath and glanced a kiss across Anthony’s lips before pulling yourself off of him and opening the door, stumbling out into the driveway, your mind still swimming. You tugged your skirt down and tried to smooth your hair as Anthony scrambled to hitch his clothes back over his stark erection. 

“Stay here,” you cautioned and closed the door.

The truck was indeed the locksmith, a very beatific fellow named Lumley. He didn’t cast any judgment as you explained your situation. He professed to having seen it all and you believed him. But you might have been added to his list of unusual encounters after he deftly popped the door lock and let you in to turn on your lights. That’s when his eyes widened and he asked if you were alright. You looked down and realized he was gesturing to the blood streaks on your exposed arms. The way he fixated on your chin, you suspected you had a streak there too.

You laughed to calm him, explaining that your husband had cut his hand (you elected not to tell him how) and that you were both perfectly fine and would clean up now that you could get inside. A little shaken, he politely wrapped up your transaction and drove away. You were too relieved to be embarrassed and went to collect Anthony from the car.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” You swung the door open to find him still reclined. His trousers were back on thankfully, but he was slumped, eyes closed, cradling his raggedly wrapped arm. “Anthony?” You put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

He blinked his eyes open and looked at you blearily. “Feeling a bit woozy.” He mumbled.

Fantastic. Not only had he lost blood, he had sent whatever remained shooting down to his cock and now there was none left in his brain. You didn’t think you were strong enough to carry him indoors if he collapsed, but you wouldn’t leave him in the damned car any longer. Tugging him by his good arm to slowly stand, you then draped it over your shoulders and steered him inside. He could walk just fine even if his head was drooping a bit. 

You kicked the door closed behind you and walked to the sofa, easing him onto it.

“Aright, sit down. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

You turned but were immediately halted by a hand around your wrist.

“There’s only one thing that’s going to make me feel better.”

The next you knew, you were on your back on the sofa, Anthony pressing you down as his lips consumed yours. He vocalized his want down your throat as his beard rasped against you. What happened to woozy? Maybe being horizontal was the only way he could function at the moment. He rocked his hips between yours, his unsatisfied stiffness insistently seeking entry. Within seconds you were ignited again, helpless against the weight of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. 

“Anthony, if you stain the couch too, I swear…” You mumbled as he sucked at your neck. Tallying the cleanup that remained between the shattered window and your ruined clothes, you would not sacrifice your plush upholstery too. Reaching behind your head, you dragged the throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and quickly bunched it under his blood soaked shirt bandage. He didn’t seem to have heard you, or perhaps he just didn’t care, as he balanced on that elbow and used his other hand to tear open his trouser buttons. You lifted your skirt and helped him, as eager for this as he was. 

You groaned in stereo as he sank into you once again, the sensation more overwhelming now that he was on top of you. His tongue dove into your mouth as well, the most delicious parts of him penetrating you as deeply as they could simultaneously. Vanilla as this position may have been in comparison, you loved it. Being completely underneath him, crushed, consumed and controlled by him. You had taken your pleasure and now you wanted to be a ragdoll in his arms. You didn’t know if your desires were romantic or perverse, but you didn’t care. The feeling of being filled and surrounded by the man you loved made you wildly aroused. 

With no pretense, Anthony went to work pummeling you, chasing his release as urgently and selfishly as you had chased yours. You opened your legs wide, locking your ankles around his back and letting him plough even deeper. You still found this entire ordeal comical, but the man deserved some relief. In the span of an hour he had been chastised, injured, exposed and now blue-balled. This was his only reprieve until you had to undertake the ghastly business of dealing with his wound. And he was bringing pleasure to more than just himself. Predictably, his every thrust teased your clit, his sizable cock pulling all of you so tight that every feeling was heightened. While he panted harsh in your ear, you ran your nails down his rippled back and pert bum, leveraging with your wrapped legs to push up into him, the two of you grinding into one another as you whispered encouragements.

He was splitting you, sending you back to that place where all of your focus zoned in on the feeling of him inside, the relentless pounding of his body into yours that promised to quell every need of your flesh. Your whispered filth turned into small cries and then into silence as he drove harder and harder, his movements frenzied as he started to growl, pushing for the finish. All you could do was hold on as your whole body shifted beneath him, wearing tracks into the upholstery under your shoulders. You held your breath as your mouth fell open, unfailingly stunned at how he could propel you to the edge so easily. He shifted to look down at you. His hair was growing damp with sweat, a chestnut curl falling beautifully across his forehead.  His dark eyes locked into yours, molten. You could read it in each other’s faces - you would come undone together.

Sparing Anthony the balancing act, you brought your hand between your legs and in seconds were breaking, tossing your head back as you succumbed. While the rest of you trembled, you clung to him with your limbs, luxuriating in all the hallmarks of his orgasm, triggered by your own. The way his back arched under your hands as his hips stuttered between your thighs. You loved how his whole body went rigid just before you felt the pulsing inside. He made the most beautiful gasping sound, so contrasted with his animalistic growls leading up to it, his mouth hanging open against your cheek, hot breath stirring your hair.

Absorbing each other’s tremors, he melted into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck and going full dead weight. You tightened your hold around him before he rolled onto the floor. You wound a hand into his hair, tracing patterns across his scalp as you both caught your breath. You looked over at his maimed arm and grimaced. It was a bloody mess. How he had been in the mood for not one, but two romps without a single complaint about an open laceration was a level of stubbornness and libido possessed only by Anthony Bridgerton. Now playtime was over. You had to be adults and handle this.

You kissed the top of his head. “Anthony.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even grunt in acknowledgement.

You felt a stab of alarm and shook him lightly. “Anthony?”

Then he groaned, nuzzling closer into you. “I think you’re right,” he slurred against your neck. “I need stitches.”

You rolled your eyes but rubbed his back reassuringly. It appeared the adventures of the evening would continue. You just hoped he could still stumble back to the car.

“Okay. I’ll get you another shirt and then drive you to the hospital. And we are taking the spare key with us.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

[narumi-gens]

Cupid's Arrow - The Set Up

Miya Osamu x f!Reader

summary: There’s no such thing as Cupid’s arrow. But fortunately for you and Osamu, you both have Atsumu. (OR: how Atsumu decided to play matchmaker for you and Osamu.)

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, pure fluff, bad dating stories, best friend!tsumu, reader is really going through it — what a champ, reader is really just trying their best, but it's ok bc you and osamu are destined for happiness and marital bliss, atsumu for best wingman 2023 (but like a sneaky little wingman who uses underhanded tricks)

notes: wanted to start a little drabble series about platonic!reader and osamu's relationship but told from atsumu's POV so here we are. this can definitely be read on its own though.

words: 1.6k

part of the Meet the Miyas series

Atsumu would find your misfortune in dating funny if there wasn’t so much of it. Actually, that’s not true. He still finds it funny. How could he not?

“Atsumu! That guy I went on a date with? He sneezed in my face and didn’t even apologize!”

“You know that guy I just started seeing? It turns out he has a wife and a girlfriend! They found out about each other and confronted him while we were on a date. Didn’t you see the video I posted? It's going viral!”

“So I thought it was a date, but actually he was trying to recruit me to his pyramid scheme.”

“Oh my god. This guy was so annoying. He wouldn’t stop fooling around with the ball at mini-golf and I ended up getting hit. Anyway, long story short the doctor said I have a scratch on my cornea and have to use these eye drops for the next few days.”

While the stories never get old, he does feel bad for you. You’re his best friend after all. These scrubs that you’ve been going out with don’t even deserve a second glance from you, let alone an entire date. 

And so finally, after hearing about your latest misadventure in single life (“Oh, can you cover dinner? That guy I went out for drinks with yesterday stole my wallet.”), Atsumu decides it’s not just his duty to step in as your closest friend, but his duty as a decent person. 

“Samu, when’s the last time ya went out on a date?” he asks his brother the next time that he sees him, only to receive the most uninterested look in response.

“Don’t get involved in my love life,” he firmly warns the setter with narrowed eyes and Atsumu scoffs with a roll of his eyes.

“What love life? Yer married to onigiri!” he cries as he points an accusatory finger directly at said onigiri in Osamu’s hand. 

He’s honestly surprised that Osamu doesn’t throw it in his face with how annoyed he now looks, but he also knows the chef would never waste Kita’s rice like that. 

“I could get a date if I wanted. I don’t need yer help,” he insists.

“Duh, you have my face even if yer missin’ my amazing hair and personality.” When his cocky grin is met with a flat look, Atsumu realizes he might need to go for a different approach — the caring, earnest, brotherly approach. “Look, I know someone I think ya’d really like.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?” The question is asked with mocking disbelief, as if there’s no universe where Atsumu could successfully play matchmaker for his brother. 

He’s only too happy to prove him wrong, so when says your name, it’s with smug pride. He prepares himself for the bounty of gratitude that Osamu is about to shower him with.

Only, that doesn’t happen. His brother scoffs and turns his attention fully back to his onigiri, dismissing the idea of going on a date with you entirely. Atsumu can’t help but feel a prickle of offense on your behalf (and his own). 

“Hey! She’s a real catch, y��know!” he cries out. And it’s true. 

You’re smart, you’re successful, you’re funny, and you both always have the best time when you hang out together. And while he’s reluctant to admit it because he never likes to think of you in that way, you’re also attractive. He knows his brother isn’t blind to it either. 

The two of you have only met a few times in passing since he’s known you, but Atsumu’s eyes are too sharp from years of volleyball to have missed how Osamu’s gaze tends to linger on your ass just a bit longer than is polite. He knows pointing that out would not go well.

“She’s the one doin’ me the favor by agreein’ to go out with a scrub like you,” he continues to argue. But, it’s that part that isn’t entirely true. 

You actually have no idea that Atsumu is trying to meddle in your dating life. However, that’s something he can easily deal with once he’s convinced Osamu to take you out. While he would never call you desperate, at least not to your face, at this point you’ll go out on a date with anyone. It’s his brother that’s the real hurdle in this scheme.

“Ya want me to date yer best friend?” Osamu asks slowly. 

“Yeah, what’s so crazy about that?” he frowns.

“First, I’d never get ya out of my life if that happened,” he says blandly and continues over Atsumu’s squawk of protest. “Besides, there’s gotta be somethin’ wrong with her if she willingly chooses to spend so much time with ya.”

“Look, would it kill ya to go on just one date?” He doesn’t mention that if things go according to plan, it won’t be just one date. It’ll be a lifetime of happiness for the two most important people in his life. But that’s something that he doesn’t think Osamu would find as compelling as he does. 

“The restaurant ain’t gonna burn down or anything just cause ya spend a couple of hours outside of it. All yer rice’ll still be here when ya get back.”

Osamu gives him the dirtiest look, but then, after a long moment, he sighs heavily and Atsumu knows that he’s cleared the first hurdle. All he has to do is clear the next one. Thankfully it’s much lower.  

“Hey, I got someone I wanna set ya up with.”

“Who?” Just as he expected, you immediately sound interested and willing. 

“Samu.”

There’s a long pause and he begins to worry that the low hurdle that he needs to clear is actually higher than he anticipated. 

“Your brother?” you finally ask, your expression wrinkling with confusion.

“Yeah. Why? What’s the big deal?” Now he’s the one confused as he watches your small frown begin to grow a little deeper.

“I don’t know. Isn’t it kind of…weird?” Your hesitancy towards going out with Osamu is a least a lot more gentle than Osamu’s was towards you. “You guys are identical twins. You have the same face and everything. Wouldn’t it be like dating you?”

There’s a hint of disgust in your tone and he would be offended if he didn’t feel the same way about the notion of dating you.

“You could only be so lucky,” he says with a snort before deciding that he’ll have to pull out the caring, earnest, brotherly approach once again. “Please? I’m worried if he doesn’t go out with someone soon then he’s just gonna spend the rest of his life alone with his onigiri.” 

This is yet another half-truth that he has to tell in this scheme. Because while he does sometimes think that Osamu’s on the path to becoming a hermit, he’s way more concerned about you. With the way things are going for you, one day he’s going to get a call about how some scumbag that you’re in love with emptied your bank account and ran off in the middle of the night. 

But the half-truth seems to work because pity momentarily flashes across your face. He just needs to push a little bit more.

“I’m not supposed to say anything, but he asked if he thought he had a shot with ya,” he sighs, trying to sound reluctant, like he’s had no choice but to reveal this made-up secret. And what can it hurt? It’s just another white lie.

“He did?” You sound baffled rather than flattered and he hopes you can’t see the spike of panic that he feels. “What brought that on? I haven’t even seen him in forever.”

“He saw yer thirst trap on Instagram,” he blurts out to distract you and he breathes a sigh of relief when you gasp at the accusation.

“I told you! It wasn’t a thirst trap! I genuinely wanted to know if that outfit was appropriate for a work event!” you whine pathetically.

“Okay, yeah. Sure,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Nothing says business like a shirt unbuttoned so low that your hot-pink bra peeks out.”

You open your mouth to protest your innocence but Atsumu cuts you off before the argument can really get started. The mission here is to ensure yours and Osamu’s eternal happiness and he intends to see success.

“Look, you deserve someone who treats ya right,” he offers, sincerity shining through in his words and expression. “Samu’s a good guy. I trust him with ya.”

“I don’t know…” you trail off, sounding much less firm in your reservations than only a few minutes before.

“Remind me what happened on yer last date?” 

You look away from him with a petulant frown.

“…he ordered his food to go and then left me at the restaurant,” you mutter under your breath.

He raises an eyebrow as if that says it all — which it does. You just roll your eyes with a huff.

“Fine!” you relent, throwing your hands up in the air before pointing a firm finger in his direction. “But if it gets weird then I’m blaming you.”

He just grins triumphantly and pulls out his phone so that he can send your number to Osamu. But then he sees you suddenly pout and groans at your dramatics.

“What’s wrong now?” he asks impatiently and your pout grows deeper.

“Y’know he could at least have liked my thirst trap,” you mumble and Atsumu’s eyes light up.

“So you admit it! It was a thirst trap!” he crows, even as he hopes that it doesn’t come out until you guys are married that Osamu only ever uses Instagram to post on Onigiri Miya’s business account.

[hufflegruff]

Chapter 4: A Knowing Look

Pairing: Sebastian x F!Reader Summary: In which Sebastian is whipped and literally everyone can see from a mile away that this is more than friendship.

“Is that… a mistletoe?” “It… must be Anne’s doing.” Was all Sebastian could say, rather lamely. He was ready to laugh it off. Tell her that it was just a silly little old thing. But to his surprise, she replied almost matter-of-factly: “… Supposedly if we don’t kiss, we’d be doomed to 100 years of misfortune.” Almost cautiously, he replied, “We wouldn’t want that.” “Not at all,” She said as she nodded.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Anne

Winter fell upon Feldcroft. Snow descended upon the Sallows’ home in soft billowy mounds.  

Sebastian had never really understood the appeal of Christmas. It was always too cold, too dark and too stifling to just stay at home. Under Solomon’s roof, he never let himself feel too comfortable. Not even the guise of mulled cider, plum pudding and ornately decorated pine trees could make him put his guard down. He much preferred the freedom of Hogwarts endless hallways. If not for Anne - well, he frankly wouldn’t have bothered to make the trip over. There was little joy to reap or use to gain from seeing Solomon’s irritable face.  

But despite Solomon’s numerous shortcomings, he allowed him to invite both of his best friends over for Christmas. And for that, he was grateful.

Glancing over to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but soften and break into a smile at the sight. Under the glow of the dim candlelight, Ominis and Anne were chatting merrily. 

Ominis normally looked so stoic, like an old man that held the entire weight of the wizarding world in the crease of his brow. That was the blight of the Gaunt family name. But as he sat listening to Anne, who was animatedly retelling one of her classic tales of misadventure, his expression was as light as a feather. Even with his perfectly pressed shirt and impeccably neat cardigan, it was such a relief to see that he could look like an ordinary teenage boy. 

And Anne… Well, Anne had her good days and bad days. Thankfully, today was one of her better ones. She’d been particularly energetic as of late. Despite Sebastian’s protests, she went out of her way to decorate the cottage with wreaths, tinsel and candles galore. Insisting that guests should not be subjected to Christmas in a house so bare.

He hadn’t seen either of them look so content in a while. Not since they were just three kids scheming mischief in the Undercroft. Not since they’ve become three weary people weathered by fate’s hand. 

The normalcy of it all gave him newfound hope. One that felt different from the kind of hope had him hunting ancient relics, ravaging the restricted section, and burning dark wizards ever since Anne got hurt.

This one was softer. Much quieter and warmer. 

Just for today, he would graciously allow himself not to worry. Not of curses or cures or hidden scriptoriums. Just Christmas. Just family and friends.

Anne’s voice broke him out of reverie, “Sebastian! What are you daydreaming about? Come here!” She beckoned him over with a wave of her hand.

“Probably best not to know,” Ominis said, “likely something despicable or unlawful.”

“Funny.” Sebastian said dryly, as he made his way over to them, “Utterly hilarious.”

“I am rather, aren’t I?” Ominis replied cheekily.

“If slander is your particular brand of humour.”

“Forget presents,” Ominis’ voice was laced with sarcasm, “Your endless wit is the greatest gift you could ever afford me.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. The mouth on this one.

Sebastian looked around the room and noticed that there was one person sorely missing. Their absurdly lovely (it’s all still very complicated) friend. After the whole Andrew Larson ordeal, he conceded that it was possible that this whole friendship thing… could potentially be more than a friendship thing. 

It was a crush - a flight of fancy. On someone who just happened to be a beautiful, smart and wickedly talented friend.

That was the only way that Sebastian could rationalise it. Crushes were perfectly normal and frivolously fleeting. Calling her a softness, or a fancy or even the object of his affection was all still manageable. It was better than the alternative. Because if he were to start calling it anything more than that… 

Well, that could be perilous.

Love had consequences, and Sebastian wasn’t sure if he was ready to face them.

The girl wonder had also been staying with them in Feldcroft these past two days. Sebastian had only been back at Feldcroft for two days and Anne had already been making terribly sly remarks his way. How could she have known? Had she and Ominis been exchanging letters behind his back?

He supposed that practically half of Hogwarts had already accused him of being infatuated with the girl wonder. But in fairness, the prying eyes of the student body had been privy of his relationship with her for the better half of two years. It made him wonder if he was being so obvious that perhaps even Solomon could sense it too.

That would be mortifying. 

And honestly, after the emotional whirlwind he’d already been on — Sebastian didn’t know how it could get any worse.

He cleared his throat, “Anyways, where’s the girl wonder gone to now?”

Anne shot him a mischievous look that Sebastian knew meant trouble. It was too devilish and deliberate to ignore, and it felt like Anne could see right through him. What was she plotting? Sebastian raised a curious eyebrow in response. 

Anne replied with a shrug, “She’s just gone to the room to grab something.”

And as if it had been planned meticulously ahead of time — the door creaked open and the sound of her footsteps approached.

He turned around and almost made an ungodly sound at the sight. A wrangled, pained sound that he was frankly quite embarrassed to acknowledge. Because this — whatever this was — was something he hadn’t been expecting. 

“Is that my sweater?” Sebastian swallowed thickly.

The girl walked out of the bed chambers in an old green knit sweater with a small embroidered flower on the left corner that looked all too familiar. There was nothing spectacular about it, but Sebastian knew without a sliver of doubt that it was his sweater that hung a little too loosely on her shoulders. Because as most nine year old boys did with their clothes, he had bought it dismissively when he was in Diagon Alley, and wore it to death in his youth. It had been chucked carelessly across fields, caves, bodies of water all across Feldcroft. It was tattered, frayed and looked worse for wear from his haphazard use.

So how in Salazar’s name did it manage to look so damn good on her?

There was nothing precious about it. 

But it was his. And she was wearing it. 

Sebastian was of two minds about it all. He couldn’t quite decide it himself — was this a gift or divine punishment from the Gods? Where had she even found the old blasted thing and was she actively trying to kill him? The niggling urge to touch her was stronger than he had ever felt before. His self-restraint was melting with every second longer his eyes lingered on her. The only thing that was holding him back from holding on to her (and never letting go) was the ridicule he’d most definitely receive from Ominis and Anne.

To his dismay, to the deep sickly pit in the bottom of his stomach — this was very likely something that would be permanently etched into his mind. There was something primal inside the diabolical crevices of his brain that just couldn’t unsee it. Some unhinged line of thinking that his brain managed to conjure up to justify it all. That if she looked this perfectly right in his clothes, he could believe that there was a universe in which she could be his.

That if people could be owned (he knew they couldn’t) — she would be rightfully his.

“Oh, I figured you wouldn't mind,” Anne said, “She was feeling a little chilly, so I gave her one of your old sweaters. You hardly wear it now anyways.”

Almost nervously, the girl wonder gave a small twirl, “Well, it doesn’t look silly on me does it?”

Silly? Sebastian thought. It was a little silly. 

It was silly that the sight of her in his old, worn and beaten sweater that he’d worn to death, made his heart scream out of his chest. How was it possible that she could even make scraps of wool look so bewitching?

It was as if being the wielder of a rare form of ancient magic hadn’t sufficed her hunger for power. It was as if she went out of her way to contrive her very own beguiling brand of magic that would render him a total fucking dunce. How else could Sebastian explain the prickling in his fingertips to reach out to her? Or the compulsion in his chest to bury his face in the crook of her neck? And that stupid sweater must’ve smelled like him. Years and years of him. By that logic — because she was wearing it — that must mean she now smelled like him too.

And the thought of that was almost too thrilling for his chest to handle. 

Merlin. All this overthinking was a testament to the steely grip this witch had on his heart.

Despite his inner turmoil, he just about managed to choke out a response.

“Not at all. It suits you.” 

It more than suited her. In fact if she never wanted to take it off — he’d gladly allow it.

Ominis gave him a pointed look. Anne smiled knowingly. Sebastian wanted to hide. He felt as if his innermost feelings were being paraded on display. Like his internal organs and his blathering heart had been sprawled across the dinner table for everyone to witness. The only person that didn’t seem amused or even remotely aware of his pining was her. She looked at him so sincerely that it was almost distressing. Delightfully doe-eyed, she smiled brightly at his compliment. 

It was so fucking endearing that he had to look away. Any longer and would probably combust on the spot into a fan of pitiful flames. Or collapse from this corny infatuation-induced arrhythmia his heart was suffering from. So he turned to look at Anne scathingly instead. 

“But thanks for asking before you raided my closet, Anne.” Sebastian said chidingly.

Anne smiled mysteriously, ignoring his accusatory tone all together.

“I was being a courteous host is all.” She said innocently.

Sometimes Sebastian forgot how conniving his sister could truly be. He couldn’t decide whether he was annoyed or proud of her shenanigans. 

The girl wonder, sensing something off in Sebastian’s tone, interjected, “Anne was just trying to help. But I can put on something else if you’d prefer—”

“No.” Sebastian said firmly, “You don’t have to. I don’t mind.”

From afar, he heard Ominis snicker.

Ominis was likely calling Sebastian all sorts of embarrassingly belittling names in his head. But that seemed unfair. How was Sebastian supposed to tell her that he would in fact mind it very, very much if she took off his sweater — without sounding like an utter fool? 

“Thank you.” She said with a smile and his heart was beside itself.

In fairness, he supposed that Ominis had been right about one thing. 

Sebastian was a fucking sap.

“I can’t help but picture a young, petulant baby-faced Sebastian running around the house causing all sorts of mayhem in this sweater,” she said full of mirth as she wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the sweater in glee. Never had he been jealous of a sweater before. That was new.

“Come off it,” Sebastian retorted, “I’ll have you know I was never a petulant child.” 

Ominis piped, “Never? That’s odd. You’re still perfectly petulant to me.”

“Okay someone put Ominis on a time out please.” Sebastian said grouchily. 

The girl wonder laughed. And like a shot of healing draught down his throat, the sound of it washed away the irritation in the nooks of his taut body.

As she linked arms with Ominis, she said “Come Ominis. I’ll save you from Sebastian’s wrath.”

They retreated into the kitchen, getting plates to help Solomon set up the tables for dinner. With burning eyes, Sebastian watched as they walked away, feeling listless tied to the ground that he stood on. Anne stayed firmly beside him, as if she’d been waiting for this moment to corner him all evening.

“I saw that.” Anne whispered.

His heart leaped, “Pray tell, sister, exactly what you saw?”   

“Oh,” she said coyly, “Just the terribly soppy looks you were giving our friend.”

“Oh.” Sebastian said, almost sounding resigned.

Anne raised an eyebrow, “That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, frankly you’re not the first person to say that to me. So I can’t really give you much points for originality,” He replied dryly, belligerent thinking about the long list of friends (and frenemies in Leander’s case) who had already informed him of his affections towards her.

“Hmm, yes. Ominis did mention something about that,”Anne said.

So Sebastian had been right. They had been exchanging letters. He supposed that there wasn’t much point in denying it anymore. While it was true that he could admit to himself that he cared for her deeply, he hadn’t confirmed it verbally with anyone else. Not even Ominis. 

But maybe it would be cathartic for him to just… say it out loud. To hell with it all.

Maybe this would be a good time to start.

“I guess there’s not much to contest when it’s the truth.” Sebastian tried to say as casually as he could, despite the palpable weight of what he was so blatantly saying. 

Almost gleefully, Anne shrieked, grabbed onto his shoulders and shook him manically, “That’s so very sickeningly endearing for you to say. Who are you and what have you done to my terribly cynical brother?”

He groaned “I don’t know. It’s disgusting isn’t it?”

“Are you in love with her?” Anne squealed as she asked excitedly, ignoring Sebastian’s state of emotional turmoil entirely.

Love? He had wanted to yell. Or throw up. He’d been trying his damn hardest to avoid the word, and now Anne had just thrown it into his face. It had already taken so much out of him just for Sebastian to concede that this could possibly be more than friendship; that this was a romantic affliction. But love? That was a whole other degree and department of troublesome feelings. Love was severe. Love was drastic. Love was a steep curve for him to climb.

Also had Anne forgotten that she was sitting literally right there? In the next room? That she could easily overhear?

With a slight hiss, Sebastian motioned for her to pipe down, “Be a little more discreet would you? Also that’s a little strong. I wouldn’t quite call it… that.”

“Well, then what would you call it?” Anne asked inquisitively.

What was it? That was the ever-complicated question, wasn’t it?

“A crush.” He said simply.

“A crush?” Anne said with a laugh of disbelief, “No way. That brief … whatever you had on Violet McDowell in 2nd year, that was a crush—”

“—God, don’t remind me—” Sebastian said with a grimace at the embarrassing flashback.

But Anne paid no mind as she continued.

“— But this? The way you look at her. The way you speak of her — No matter which way you put it, I don’t think there’s anything else you can call it.”

Sebastian almost took offence at that. Because there had to be something he could call it that didn’t feel so treacherous. That didn’t make him feel like so suffocatingly he’d been backed into a tight corner. 

“It’s… complicated.” He replied lamely.

“Sebastian it’s not like you’re trying to decipher an ancient form of magic,” Anne said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes, “It’s just a feeling. It just is or it isn’t. Boys truly are hopeless.”

Sebastian resented that.

“I resent that. It’s not that simple. I’m figuring things out.”

What was the rush anyway? To figure all this out? Love… or whatever this was, wasn’t something to take lightly. He never imagined that Anne would’ve been so frivolous with the word. If anything, he thought that she’d be telling him to tread carefully, not throw caution into the fucking wind. Wasn’t it decidedly worse to say such things so carelessly? To say something that he didn’t mean? 

And if Sebastian was sure of anything, he knew that the girl wonder didn’t deserve anything less than the truth.

“Well you might want to figure things out a tad faster.” Anne said as if to warn him.

And that instantly set off a spiel of alarm bells in his cluttered mind.

“Why? Did she say something to you?” Sebastian said almost in a panic.

“I mean, look at you, Seb. You’re getting frazzled from speculation alone!” Anne exclaimed, as if he’d just proved her point  “No, she hasn’t said anything to me. But do you really want to leave it long enough and risk her being whisked away by someone else?”

Sebastian had recently learned that he absolutely detested that idea.

He learned that he would sooner claw his ears deaf than ever have to endure her being taken away by anybody else.

Not that he had a right to be so dramatic about it, of course. Because people couldn’t be claimed – even if he wished dearly that they could be so. Because she was her own capable witch that had her own fair share of suitors vying for her affection, and Sebastian was (at least at the moment) too cowardly to do anything about it. Because even after all the mental mountains he’d already scaled to admit how fucking enamoured he was by her… he still couldn’t bear say the word love alongside her name. 

But still. Beyond any rational reason he hated the thought of her being with anyone else with an infuriating passion.  

“No.” He admitted.

And maybe that meant Anne was right. 

He had to get his shit together.

“Then, dear brother of mine — a word of advice. And I’m saying this because I love you a stupid amount,” Anne said with a firm pat on his shoulder, “Girls don’t wait forever.”

Dinner had been lovely. They’d been fed all the works; from roast ham to mince pies to Christmas pudding. Sebastian had been surprised that Solomon had brought out all the bells and whistles for them. He couldn’t remember the last time that they’d had a meal so lavish in their humble abode. It must’ve been years. But he gathered that it very likely had to do with their special guests. 

Since Solomon and Anne had done the majority of the heavy lifting with cooking dinner for them, he felt that it would only be fair that he should be the one to endure the surly task of doing the dishes. Which had left Anne gaping in total shock because she knew how fervently Sebastian hated doing the dishes.

“Okay, now you’re truly scaring me. Are you an imposter? Or an impeccably crafted clone?” Anne had teasingly said.

But to his delight (or his horror) the girl wonder had offered to help him.

So that was how Sebastian found himself in the dim kitchen candlelight, standing so closely to the girl that had been plaguing his every thought for the past few weeks. The girl that had been running amok in his tiny, addled brain. His shoulders brushed hers as they did the dishes in the sink. Like the sizzle of fire on an oiled pan or a gulp of caffeine, every little bump made him feel jittery. And there just was something so deeply domestic about this that filled his head with giddiness. 

The smell of soap and sea sponges. The crackle of the fireplace. The muffled chatter from the living room. Her in his sweater. Her sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her gloved hands. Her furrowed brow. Her smooth hair swept back in a clip. 

Her in his home. 

As she washed and wiped the dishes, she sang a pretty hum from her lips. It sounded folksy and merry and absurdly lovely in the lilt of her voice — but he didn’t recognise it. He deduced that it was likely one of those muggle tunes she loved so dearly. And he made a mental note to ask her about it when he was less distressed.

It all suddenly felt very dangerous. Largely because of how easily Sebastian could see himself accepting this as a permanent fixture in his life. How easily he could get used to all of this. And he wouldn’t need to be convinced by any means or measure. In fact he’d grovel, pray, beg whatever god or infallible wizard he needed to make this regular occurrence. A taste of this homeliness was enough for him to fold like a cheap suit. 

It was appalling at how a tiny taste of mundanity was enough to devoid him of his wit.

“So…” she began slyly, “Anne told me an interesting story about you and the Neighbour’s garden.”

He felt himself go stiff, because that cloying tone of her voice did not sound good at all. What on Earth did Anne think that she was doing? God what on Earth did he think he was doing? 

“Something about how you ran stark naked around your neighbour’s garden after a little bender down at the pub? ” She said almost all too innocently. He was shocked at how she managed to say such wicked things with such innocuousness.

He groaned in despair. That was not a story that he had ever wanted her to hear.

“Merlin. You need to stay away from Anne.” Sebastian said brusquely. 

“I thought you wanted us to get along?” She said coyly.

His heart jumped. He swore that he could hear a hint of something wicked in the underbelly of her voice. Was she flirting? Because this certainly sounded like flirting.

And if the shivers that ran down the back of his spine was any indication, it sure fucking felt like flirting too.

“Yes, but not at my expense, obviously.” Sebastian said flatly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Fun? Merlin this girl would be the death of him. It was supposed to be Sebastian who flustered her; who said cavalier things that made her blush feverishly and rendered her speechless. It had always worked with the village girls down the stream, or the barmaids in Hogsmeade. But with her — the one girl where it truly mattered — it had never been the case. 

Here she was rendering him a total dunce, and all it took was a coy smile. All this time, Sebastian had thought that she’d been doing it unintentionally. But maybe she’d been doing it more deliberately than she’d let on. And if that was the case…

He wouldn’t survive it.

“You’re becoming more despicable with every passing day.” He retorted wittily, with just enough mirth to appear charming, but not too much as to leave him feeling exposed.

“I did learn from the best.” She replied pointedly and shrewdly.

Admittedly, he felt his chest swell with pride at the idea that she’d learnt it from him.

But before he had the chance to retort, she caught him off guard with a dose of sincerity.

“Thank you for letting me come over this Christmas.” She said quietly, to a backdrop of the running water tap and the clinking of ceramic plates.

She was thanking him so earnestly. And Sebastian wished he could take credit for it. Pretend that he was totally selfless in inviting her into his home — but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be wrong. 

The girl wonder had made it known to him early in the year that she had planned to stay in the castle over Christmas. And when she had first mentioned it several months ago, Sebastian had felt restless — but at the time, he hadn’t known why. 

After months of emotional whiplash, it was safe to say that he now had a clearer idea. 

“Couldn’t let you stay alone in the castle, now could I?” Sebastian said.

“I mean you could’ve.” She joked.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. But how else was Sebastian meant to explain that without confessing some degree of his despairing devotion to her? How was he to explain to her that actually, she was doing him this favour? By being here, with him, in the dim corner of his childhood kitchen light. How else was he to explain to her that if she hadn’t, even if she stayed by herself in the hallowed halls of the castle, he’d still be the lonelier one between them?

He couldn’t. So he needed to keep it brief.

“No,” he said surprisingly sincerely, “I really couldn’t.”

And all of a sudden, the weightless atmosphere that once pervaded the room was now gone. The muffled voices from the living room became soft. Even the soreness in his fingers from all the dish-washing dulled. What was left was only the sincerity in his voice now. He hadn’t intended to sound so… honest, but he guessed that she naturally brought it out of him. 

He could only hope that he hadn’t… totally freaked her out.

He turned to look at her, to say something either aloof or wildly charming — but he soon realised that it was a grave mistake. Because suddenly, he was looking right at her, and she was looking right at him. And with one measly look, Sebastian’s chest felt tighter and the air felt thinner.

(This was happening so often, really — you’d think that he would’ve been more accustomed to it all by now.)

Her eyes flicked up to something above them that had caught her attention; but Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to look up — or care in all honesty. Too enraptured by the magnetic pull of her eyes. 

But the next words she uttered out of her lips, he couldn’t have ever ignored: 

“Is that… a mistletoe?” 

Sebastian almost wanted to laugh. Because surely, he had to have misheard.

Because a fucking mistletoe?

But alas, magically above them, a mistletoe sat. In all its almost mocking, prickly glory, a mistletoe was perched on the edge of the hanging kerosene kitchen lamp.  All of a sudden, blood was rushing in his ears, drowning out the rest of the room. All that he could hear was the thunderous pounding thump of his relentless heartbeat banging against his eardrums. 

When Sebastian realised that he hadn’t spoken for a while, he racked his tiny anxious brain for something meaningful, charming, or at least coherent. 

“It… must be Anne’s doing.” Was all Sebastian could say, rather lamely.

Was this Anne’s idea of helping him move along? To make it all go a little faster? Because if that were true, this was the most insane plan he’d ever heard of. And Sebastian was normally the mastermind behind the most ludicrous and most asinine of plans — so trust that he could spot one a mile away.

If he hadn’t loved his sister so dearly, he would’ve banished her out to the neighbour’s cottage for the rest of the night for all the emotional strife she was causing him! If he were to die young from all the heart palpitations this meddling was sure to give him — he’d vow to haunt her endlessly for eternity.

Because coercing the girl that he… had very strong feelings for… into kissing him would not bode well on his conscience. Or his ego. Or his delicately constructed sense of self-worth. In fact it would rather bruise him if she were to kiss him out of some sort of misplaced obligation.

No matter how heavenly he knew it would probably feel.

Sebastian could feel himself literally teetering on the brink of perilous precipice; between what he could do next… but also what he should most definitely not do next.

This was all feeling too loud and too radical for him to bear. How did kissing her suddenly factor into this equation?

… But as if by wicked instinct, his gaze dropped down onto the curve of her lips — and he absolutely loathed himself for it. 

Gods, wouldn’t it be nice to kiss her?

(Another one of those absurd, intrusive thoughts of his.)

He was ready to laugh it off. Tell her that it was just a silly little old thing. Some outdated conventions. They didn’t have to go through with it. In fact, they could spare themselves the embarrassment and never speak of this ever again if she willed it so. 

To his surprise, she replied almost matter-of-factly:

“… Supposedly if we don’t kiss, we’d be doomed to 100 years of misfortune.”

Like a slow sinful poison, he felt his body go numb in shock. Like a match to a barren wick, he felt his mouth go dry. Had he heard right? 

Was she implying what he thought she was implying?

Almost cautiously, he replied, “We wouldn’t want that.” 

It was true, he wouldn’t want that. 100 years of misfortune wouldn’t do him any good in trying to court the girl before him.

“Not at all,” She said as she nodded.

So it was only logical that they had to kiss.

“100 Years is… a long time,” He rationalised.

He almost couldn’t believe the words tumbling out of his mouth. 

“A lifetime long,” She agreed.

Forget what he was saying — why was she encouraging this?

“And I suppose it is tradition,” He justified.

“Right. Tradition.” She clarified.

When she’d put it like that, it seemed entirely sensible. Almost as if doing anything else would be totally irrational. Sebastian normally skewed towards irrationality, because what was life without a little bit of unreasonableness… 

But if she was readily weaving this enticing thread of logic for him — he would obediently surrender to her pull.

Sebastian waited for the punchline. The cruel joke. For her to say she was, “just kidding, of course!” 

But even after what felt like aeons of silence — it never came. He wondered if she could read him. If she knew that he was all unbridled nerves and anticipation in this lanky body of his. All he saw was her, looking straight at him. No distractions, just a firm sense of purpose. And he wondered what was behind her eyes. Was she nervous? Because he was fucking nervous. 

Why didn’t she look nervous?

A lull fell over them, and it was as if they’d reach an impasse. As if it were a silent agreement between two precarious souls.

“So I guess-” He began.

“Right.”

He supposed that was confirmation enough. For him to press on. To take the next step.

But what was the next step? This didn’t come with a fucking manual. How was he to go about kissing the girl that had plagued his every waking thought now that she was all but offering it?

He supposed he just had to take it.

So he did.

He took a daring step forward, and he swore that he could see a slight tremor in her throat. It was tiny, almost imperceivable, but honest to god, it helped him breathe a little. Because it meant that maybe she wasn’t so unbothered by this treacherous proximity as she appeared to be. 

When he looked at her closely and scrutinised every crinkle in her eye, he saw a sliver of something he hadn’t seen before. Something familiar. Like the flicker of a yearning and restlessness he saw so often in himself. In the rounds of her cheeks, he could make out the outline of a growing blush, betraying the effect his closeness had on her.

With every passing second he inched closer, Sebastian could feel something growing inside him. Breaking out in the pit of his stomach like turbulent waves. A feeling he knew would only be quelled if he managed to get his mouth onto hers. Until he knew what every inch of her lips tasted like.

Was he really about to do this?

Sebastian was still holding onto the dishes in the sink. But fuck the dishes. He didn’t have the time to put that shit down. He’d carry the weight of every stupid dish, cup or ceramic bowl if it meant that he’d be able to touch her.  

“Merry Christmas Sebastian.” She whispered.

And what a lovely whisper it was.

Before her hands ever touched him, her voice did. It embraced him everywhere; his arms, down his spine, even in the unknown depths of his heart. He felt his chest melt a little with something warm and soft and so, so pleasant. In this moment, he allowed himself to believe it. Believe that maybe he could be in love with her. Maybe he was already knee-deep in it; buried thousands and thousands of feet below the weight of his burdensome feelings.

And that this love wouldn’t kill him. It wouldn’t hurt him. It wouldn’t be wrong or scary or restricting.

He could love her and still breathe.

She was so close. Just one more step and they’d meet.

Fuck his ego. Fuck his conscience. Fuck his brittle his self-worth. He would fucking kiss her like his entire measly existence depended on it.

It was just on the tip of his tongue. It was right there for the taking. It was—

“Hey, Dessert’s ready—” 

— Ominis?

As quickly as heaven had opened its gates, it had also come crashing down like a train wreck. 

Like a brutal punch to the gut, Sebastian was thrown back into a sobering reality. Ominis’s sharp voice had popped the fragile little bubble they’d temporarily created. 

Wasn’t the universe just fucking cruel?

And as much as he loved his best friend, he had never ever hated him more. Of all the moments that he could’ve chosen to walk in on… this was what he decided on?

Silence hung in the air. The shadow of something that almost happened lingered like a half-spoken sonnet, begging to be finished. Sebastian searched for the right words, searched for clarity in the fog, searched for the will to string his thoughts together — but it all eluded him.

“...Did I interrupt something—”

“N-No!” “Nope.”

Her face was flushed crimson. His was probably no better.

Thank Merlin, Ominis was blind.

As if by magic, they were now a whole metre apart. Now that Sebastian had a taste of closeness, this distance starved him. It felt like a cruel, deprivation 

A heavy silence settled between them, with each second stretching out for what felt like an eternity. Ominis hadn’t seen them, per se — but Sebastian had a feeling that he could sense that he had just ruined… something significant.

Love might not have killed him, but this painfully awkward silence would.

"Right... well. Solomon asked me to get you both," Ominis finally broke the silence, his tone tinged with clear discomfort.

The ambiance dissipated, the moment was gone. Replaced by the ordinary state of affairs they were forced to return to.

“We’ll—” Sebastian began to say with a slight croak, before clearing his throat, “We’ll be right there.”

He couldn’t bear to look at her as he rushed out to the living room, where normalcy awaited him.

There went his bloody chance.

“Ominis, my plan!” Anne said in a rushed whisper as she pulled the blonde boy into an alcove of the small Sallow residence.

He looked back at her guiltily, with only the slightest hint of a grumble, “Well you could’ve told me about the plan ahead of time…”

“We were so close!” Anne said

“I’m sorry…”

——

Notes

GOSH I apologise so deeply for how atrociously long this chapter took!!! It took me so long, even though I've literally had the outline for it from the very early stages of this fic!

But work did not kill me and I have a new chapter for yall <3

I made sure to sprinkle all the good tropes like, the classic wearing his sweater trope, the oh is that a mistletoe? trope, the almost kiss trope!!! AHHHH I hope you guys like it :)

My HC that the only person that can tame Ominis' outta pocket sass is Anne.

I'm so sorry if you guys have been waiting, and if you're still reading THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!

Shoutout to the very very lovely, @wt-fxck @deliciouslyferal @sonicranger1 @spaceyaceface @eleanorstaghart @ithinkweallsing @somethingiswrongwithme @tlnyjoong @musicbecky @oliviajdjarin @intheshadowofthegame @weeb-shitss FOR ALL THE COMMENTS AND THE TAGS!!!!

[yuhi-san]

For day  10  of @tristampparty I wrote a little something about zazie. Hope you all enjoy

„You should have seen his face,“ Zazie said excitedly. “It had oh crap written all over it, right before the trailer smacked into him. It was hilarious.” They were currently hanging out in the backseat of a car, off to some assignment or another with Legato. They didn’t need such forms of transportation but they found riding in a car to be rather fun. The same could not be said for their partner in crime.

Legato’s only reaction to Zazies retelling of the Punishers misadventure. “Will he be able to fulfill his part in Master Knives plan?”

“I guess… they did scrap him off the floor and keep him around.” Legato nodded and Zazie sunk deeper into the seat, sulking. That guy was just no fun.

----

 They didn’t have more luck with Double Fang. They more or less expected that, after all most of the time the man seemed like nothing but an empty shell driven by the need to follow orders. It was worth a try though.

“The trailer smacked right into him, it was glorious. Pretty sure that gave him a concussion for real. He looked so stupid!”

Double fang, if he was even listening, didn’t stop his task of cleaning his guns. Zazie felt their excitement sink again.

“He was your buddy, wasn’t he”, they implored. “You humans seem to enjoy listening to embarrassing stories or funny misfortune of other so much, don’t you?”

No reaction. Zazie huffed. They doubted they would get a better result with Razlo.

----

“I’m sure he meant to do a dramatic entrance. Mysteriously wandering the desert alone and all that. But then that girl somehow managed to hit him with the trailer when there was literally nothing else to hit in sight.”

Zazie had been tasked to bring Midvalley a message. They didn’t mind playing messenger. It was easy for them and far less tedious than other tracks in their opinion. “It was so funny! It couldn’t have been more embarrassing!”

Midvalley smirked a little and took a leisurely sip of his drink. “Well, I’d say he had it coming. He has been getting awfully cocky lately.”

That was more of a reaction than Legato or Double Fang had given but still pretty disappointing. Zazie deflates with a sigh. Everyone was so boring.

----

They didn’t even try to bring it up with Millions Knives. Tha man had, if possible, a stick wedged up further his digestive track than even Legato. He also probably wouldn’t recognize humor if it slammed into him with its broadside, like the trailer had with the Punisher.

----

“He was probably relieved for a split second that he wasn’t going to be run over. But then BAM! The trailer took him out.”

“Pffft-”

“It smacked right into him and straight up sent him flying! .”

“Stoooop!”

“It catapulted him multiple feet through the air. And you should have seen his flailing!”

Elendira was cackling like mad, trying hard to get a grip. She had to crouch down and hold on to her stomach once Zazie vividly demonstrated just what the Punisher had looked like when he was hit by a vehicle in the middle of nowhere before his mission could even really begin.

By the time Conrad entered the room Elendira was rolling on the ground, hitting it with her fists between fits of near hysterical giggles.

“What is going on here?” Conrad demanded to know.

Zazie turned to him with a sly smile. “Oh, noting much. Just retelling the story of how your oh so creation was nearly taken out by a short woman in a car.”

[world-hopping-traveler]

Alright, after that (admittedly tiring) post about some mythologies of Zedrathu and what's it like, I want to be selfish and talk about me :)

I think I did alright at mastering the other tongue, there's still tons to learn, but I'm doing okay so far. I need to show the art soon to the townspeople, so I'm hastily putting together items to make it appear like a presentation, like trying to find a smooth wall that I can hang a bit of slate on. I also need to finish up learning about the history of this country. It doesn't help that they are expecting it by Monday, and that I blabbed about it to a librarian. Now she wants me to publish it.

Yikes.

Other than that, I'm doing pretty good!

I took a look at some stuff on this website, and maybe like 500-1000 people are left on here, but only about 200 are really the stars. Even then, they all interact in their own bubbles, so to them, this website is maybe filled with 100-200 people, not to mention that there are older posts, some from nearly 1000 years ago! Some of the posts still hit home, which, in my opinion, proves that life-forms do share similar humour and problems existing then, remains as it were today, just in smaller quantities.

[da-millerrrrr]

Wildest misadventure with the other travelers and their companions?

As in possibly treasure hunting gone wrong with Parti and Alrond? Ochette trying to eat the spooky goat monster from the graveyard near Montwise? Temenos trying to interrogate the wrong person and needing Crick to bail him out? Wildest party Gus or Gill has ever thrown at their taverns?

Anything fun like that miss Agnea?

I have got some TALES for you.

So one time, we were in Montwise, and we were going around, doing what we do. Thronè was robbing people blind, Osvald was scrutinizing people for information, and Hikari was challenging people to duels.

Well, when we reached this one girl, she seemed to act weirdly. Smiling more, fluttering her eyelashes when we spoke to her, being super agreeable. When Hikari challenged her, she looked almost scandalized. As Hikari drew his sword, she said “Fight me? I thought you were courting me!"

You should have seen the look on Hikari's face!

Also, unsurprisingly, Ochette did, in fact, try to eat the weird goat monster in the Montwise graveyard. We ran away from that fight, but we've been tempted to go back and fight it again.

[tulipe-rose]

ME REACTING TO DAZAI'S ENTRANCE EXAM PART TWO!! >:D

Previous || You're here || Next

Obvious spoilers ahead!!

White teeth? Well it's a good thing he's been taking care of his hygiene a lot more since his defection.

Man, I feel bad for the HR, they must've been suffering hell for the past three days ಥ⁠_⁠ಥ

How, and why is this not used in fics? Like it's such a delicate, and domestic part of their dangerous lives. Seeing Doppo, and the President in a non work environment with them being so... Idk? More casual than usual? Mini Doppo is openly ranting about his misfortunes with Dazai, and Fukuzawa feeling pretty bad about putting this responsibilities onto him. He knows Doppo has his pride as an agency member, and would never back down from such a challenge. Their student–mentor relationship is so dear to me.

Harbinger of misfortune Dazai? Sounds like a good Yokai!au title for him. He'd haunt the agency members after running away from his responsibilities as a Yokai to bring misfortune upon humans, only to stumble upon an albino boy while on the run. The albino has great cursed energy, if he didn't know any better, he would've believed that he was at least apart Yokai. Turns out this kid was but a middle schooler that attends the same school as that 'detective club', and decides to stick with him for a while. Cue the misadventures of the misfortune Yokai, and an unknowning Yokai of mysterious nature. >:D

SHOUT OUT TO MUSHITARŌ OGŪRI!! OUR FAVORITE BOYY!!!

AUGH OUCH. Imagine them having this conversation when Oda joined in BEAST?!?! Kinda hurts though... This doesn't look like the first time they've had this conversation, and dare I say, they might've had it when Kyōka joined.

This answers... A lot. It's actually interesting to know that Doppo has a limit to how many pages he could use, really puts another dimension to his ability, and it's drawbacks.

I had to screenshot the whole thing, cause how can I not?

Comedy gold, right there officer.

Doppo is so unserious about Dazai, like 'Your pink elephants, they're still flying?' Dazai is just matching the mocking wavelength of the conversation, and be like 'Negative! Purple ones are the flying ones! The pinks are just too boring sometimes! What's with the purples anyways? We're going to exterminate them? They were kind of a nuisance tbh.'

Also Dazai 'Average bozo' Osamu is just HDBWHSV LMAO DOPPO STOP BULLYING EACH OTHER.

Doppo sweetie you are so strong, I wouldn't have lasted in the asylum where you're living. Especially with him as your workmate.

Then perhaps dead apple was a horror story then? Shibusawa's ghost/Ability/whatever the hell that was surely composed at least an email or two.

Of course Doppo isn't scared (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

He is our big, stronk boy 〳•̀⁠ v ⁠•́⁠ ⁠〵

[luckyno4]

Watch your head, a wave of bad luck is passing through...

Deacon Brady is one of the most implausibly unlucky people imaginable—it seems like things around him are going wrong in the weirdest ways!! Never married, raising three kids he had in short term relationships, approaching middle age and going through a good pair of shoes twice a month, hes learned to live with his lot, but it doesn't make it any easier...

Following his blog, you can expect to read about his daily misadventures—like having soda explode on him, misfortunes with the passing and seasonality of birds, and expired gas station food. He lives in a mundane universe and cannot travel into the larger multiverse yet.

penned by Sunni (follows from SummonsOfInk) , tortured by YOU!

[crazy-ache]

May I ask about Courting Lucien Vanserra?? Does it end with a mating ceremony or more spicy time?? 👀👀👀 honestly their misadventures had me giggling and kicking up my feet!

Ohhhhh I so appreciate you asking about this fic, that just made my day anon!!!

It's been sitting in my WIP and you're right, I need to provide the final chapter as promised. I love both of your ideas and need to mull on it some more. What I have in mind right now is they need to (unfortunately for them but fortunate for us) face the Inner Circle who have long been invested on their misfortunes.

To give you a sneakpeak, this is what is currently in my drafts:

“Is the entire Night Court waiting outside those doors?” 

“Unfortunately, yes. They did help me execute the plan after all.”

“I think I’ll just stay in this chair forever. I quite like it. I have very fond memories in this chair.” 

“Oh, you do now? Which part?” “Definitely the rope, love.”

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

I started it

and it’s a rough work in progress but it’s here

After the defeat of the Netherbrain, tensions on all planes have died down; according to Mephistopheles, it’s time to trim lose ends, starting with his wayward son. With the help of the Tadfools, Raphael and Harleep are sentenced to suffer for millenia in a newly engineered dimension of Hell, only for sabotage to change to location to somewhere almost as terrible: the real world. More misfortune leads to Tav and a few companions joining the misadventure, quickly running into none other than the Winchesters. Raph and Harleep quickly learn the supernatural power structure and begin making deals and waves for the apocalypse.

Can the the Winchester crew and the Tadfools save the world or will this turn into a critical failure from the start?

[bracketsoffear]

The adventures of Pinocchio (Carlo Collodi) "This is the story of Pinocchio, filled with harrowing yet inspiring adventures. Carved by a poor man named Geppetto, Pinocchio is a wooden puppet that comes to life. He soon leaves his maker and commences a journey of misadventures.

Pinocchio has a good heart, but he is disobedient and lazy and often has poor judgment. And when he lies, Pinocchio's nose grows longer! Follow this mischievous puppet as he goes to the "Field of Miracles", where he plants gold coins to try to make his wealth grow. Thrill as he is pursued by assassins. And marvel as he becomes the unwitting star of a circus show and lives a life of ease in the "Land of Boobies," where boys can play all day and never have to go to school. Of course, Pinocchio gets into trouble along the way.

From the villainous Cat and Fox, who try to steal his gold coins, to the gigantic Dogfish, a terrifying sea monster that swallows him, Pinocchio encounters menacing characters who often lead him to trouble. But Pinocchio also befriends a good Fairy who loves him and wants to help him escape his misfortunes. She even promises the puppet that if he learns to be good, to study, and to work hard, he will become a real boy. Can Pinocchio turn his life around? And will he ever see his "papa," Geppetto again?"

Charlotte's Web (E.B. White) "The titular Charlotte saves Wilbur, a runt pig from slaughter by writing words in her web and making him famous. At the end of the novel, Wilbur wins a special prize at the country fair thanks to Charlotte, and she dies, leaving her spider eggs to Wilbur.

It's not just that Charlotte's a spider, she is actually a genuinely good web avatar. She manipulates a whole farm, and then a town into thinking Wilbur is something special so he doesn't get killed. She literally weaves a web. She is very dedicated to Wilbur's success, so much so that when she dies, it's sort implied that she kept herself alive until Wilbur was confirmed to be survive and the farm wouldn't kill her"