#raven serenade

[dark-raven-feathers]

welcome to the Tumblr apartment cluster. we're all mad at the landlord and we're pretty sure most of the people on the first floor are either robots or made up people. If you look to your right, you'll see that the lounge area currently contains the coffee company formally known as John Green, as well as their unpaid intern. If you look to your left, you'll see Wonder Woman. Ryan Reynolds and Hank Green will occasionally lurk in the shadows, try not to get jumpscared by them.

We also have a frog scientist, the king of Vine (Thomas Sanders), and Amtrack, the train company

[punks-never-die205]

Thanks for responding to my previous rambles, really grateful with that!!!

This is an official battle of emotions between Killer AND transmasc old fashioned lover boy, who literally could charm anyone with his prises. Just imagine him seeing Killer’s face for the first time and being able to shoot absentmindedly such sweet thing as;

‘Your eyes… your eyes are like the ocean surrounding the shores from my hometown… cold, but so mesmerising, holding so many memories behind them, beautiful, truly breathtaking. Sparkling with secrets just like the sun among the waves, which tell a glimpse of stories bit by bit…’

Oh lawd… maybe drinking a coffee at late hour wasn’t THAT good?—

— 🐉🎍

I'm happy to answer any ask I'm thrown - even if I might not always answer them how folks expect.

Also goodness - if you haven't had the pleasure of @killercooksblog which is owned and operated by the deliriously talented @swampstew who wrote (is writing) the PHENOMENAL series KillerCook (which you should read), I think you need to do that.

Because it sounds to me like you could use some quality Killer time and Raven can meet your needs way better than me =D

[wolveria]

Working on that little surprise for Sunday (spoilers, it's the TRH playlist), and at least two P!atD songs are now assigned to 035-centric chapters. I think he would love to possess Brendon Urie. The showmanship and performer aspect really suits him.

[abnormes]

The Serenade, Leonard Raven-hill ((British, 1867–1942)

[kitten4sannie]

kitten fever

pairing: cat hybrid husband! sannie x fem! reader

genre: hybrid au, smut

summary: after you put your baby to sleep and head to bed yourself, you come to the discovery that your dear husband just hit his rut and desperately wants to put another baby in you.

w.c: 2.6k

warnings: needy pussydrunk maniac! san, service sub! reader, they’re giving switch energy as well <3, san gets lost in subspace, big cawk sannie, only pet names/praise (baby, mama/mommy (only a few times trust), sweetheart, princess), san likes to be called kitty, san humps reader’s pillow out of desperation, kissing, wet and messy, possessiveness, grinding, nipple play (f/m receiving), lactation kink (muahahahaha), face sitting that turns into a 69, oral (f/m receiving), good ol fashioned unprotected missionary, heavy breeding kink, bulge kink, knotting, creampie, just so, so much cum……

a/n: i did a poll a lil while back to ask what vibe everyone wanted for sannie’s bday fic and soft, sweet love making with husband sannie won by a landslide ~~ but ofc i had to add my lil spin to it and made him a hybrid husband in heat hehe <33 i wrote this all in one go just rn bc i’m a ✨chronic procrastinator✨ so i had less time to perfect it but i hope it’s just as enjoyable as my other fics 🥹🫶🏼 that being said, enjoy lovelies~

song rec: same dream, same mind, same night by svt (this is a love making song and you cannot convince me otherwise 🙂‍↕️) - sex on fire by kings of leon - terrible love by boston manor (“tell me i’m everything you want~ tell me you need me~ give it everything you’ve got, so give it all~” <33)

“Hush, little baby, don’t you cry, mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby,” you cooed gently in a sing-song voice to the sweet angel laying still inside her crib, continuing your soft serenade until her eyes closed, surrendering to another night of much needed rest after a long day of adventure and learning, her tiny fingers slowly releasing the grip they had on one of yours, her tiny fluffy tail uncurling from your wrist. When you saw that your babygirl had fallen asleep, you gave her a loving kiss on the forehead, before exiting the bedroom and heading to your own.

It had taken a fair amount of time to get your baby to go to sleep, making you wonder if your husband had fallen asleep himself while he was waiting for you to come back. He must’ve been tired, especially after how worked up he was during the day, zooming around the house to get chores done despite there not being a rush, not even giving you the opportunity to make dinner either when he put his signature ‘kiss the cat’ apron on, and somehow still having the energy to run a few miles on his treadmill afterwards, claiming he still had the zoomies.

As soon as you cracked open the door, you could hear whimpering and soft, breathy panting coming from deeper inside the low lit room, a few candles burning away on your respective nightstands. Poor, sweet Sannie was probably having a nightmare of some sort. You would have to wake him.

“Baby, nnngh, need you, need you so bad, wanna be inside you, need to give you more kitties,” San voiced desperately to no one, hunched over and driving his heavy, leaking cock back and forth across the plush, pre-cum stained pillow that was kept on your side of the bed, his sweaty raven bangs sticking to his forehead, his tufted ears splayed out in opposite directions. He lowered his head further to take in your warm, flowery scent, letting out an instinctive growl and bucking his hips forward until he began to emit little breathy ‘ah, ah, ah’s’. He slowly dragged his throbbing cock along the feathered pillow, leaving thick, milky cum shots onto the previously pristine material. “Cummingggg, filling you up so deep, mama, it won’t stop….”

Well, it seems like you wouldn’t have to wake him. Your husband was already wide awake and seemingly trying to impregnate your pillow. You entered the room and closed the door behind you, causing San to look up at you with big boba eyes, his ears now on high alert, sheepishness overtaking his blushing features and a gentle, understanding one forming on yours. “Oh, my sweet Sannie, is this why you were so active today? Are you in a rut?”

San tried to cover up the evidence he left all over your pillow, his long fluffy tail curling shyly around one of his bare legs, his stained briefs riding up a bit near his inner thighs. “I-i didn’t wanna tell you because it’s hard for me to control myself when I’m like this…I can only think of one thing…”

You took a few steps forward until you were standing at the foot of the bed, hovering over San, your hands already making their way to his overheated face to caress it. “And what is that, kitty?”

San just about melted into your touch, his hot breath fanning over your skin when he sighed, gazing up at you past his fluttering lashes. “Breeding my beautiful wife…” he whispered softly, turning his head to press a lingering kiss into the palm of your hand. “I want to make love to you….feel and taste every single inch of you…remind you why you’re mine…” He whimpered, closing his eyes for a second, before they returned to you, his eyebrows upturned with desperation, his glistening lips parted ever so slightly. “I’m burning up just thinking about it…”

You leaned down to press a gentle kiss onto his forehead, then his cheek, leaving one on his trembling lips afterwards. “Then, what are you waiting for, Sannie? Let’s play.”

-

“Baby, your pretty kitty, mmmnn, feels so good,” San panted, breaking the heated, messy kiss you were sharing to moan from the way you were eagerly grinding yourself on his lap, his hardened cock pressing up directly into your slippery, hot cunt, a bit of drool escaping his lips, only for you to lap it up from his chin, before your tongue repeatedly swirled around his. “Wanna knot you…”

“Not yet, Sannie….wanna have more fun with you first…” When San began to whimper and squirm around, you reached past his head to grab onto the headboard with both hands, pressing your forehead to his to keep him locked in on you. “You wanna feel me all over, yeah?” You moved your hips in a more precise motion, the pronounced edge of his cockhead catching onto your clit each time your cunt dragged up and down his length, making the both of you let out a collective moan. You lifted up your body a bit so that your heavy tits were bouncing ever so slightly in his face, watching as your husband fell into a trance. “Wanna taste me too, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, mama, wan’ it all,” San nodded drunkenly, repeatedly licking at his lips and fangs, bringing his hands up to your tits to feel the weight of them, squeezing into them slightly, his tail quickly slamming against the side of the bed as though he were a dog. He knew they were filled with milk, and it drove him absolutely nuts.

How adorable. Your kitten was too predictable. You pressed your tits together, holding them near his pretty blushing face. “Does kitty need milk?”

“Yes, please!” San opened his mouth up just in time for you to press your chest into his face, his lips closing around one of your nipples, licking and sucking at it until he began to taste the sweet essence of your milk. Deep purrs reverberated from his chest and throat, clearly content, letting go of one tit to focus on the other, pinching your nipple to watch as your milk spurted out of it and landed on his small pink tongue.

“Nnngh, that’s good, baby…” Humming, you ran your fingers through your husband’s soft hair as he gently coaxed more of the milkiness out of your tits one by one, eventually reaching down to rub your thumbs over his nipples, rolling them in circles until he began to let out muffled moans and whimpers. “Sannie’s so sensitive, hm? Even more sensitive now that he’s in a rut…so desperate for Mommy’s kitty.”

San gulped your sweetness down, a few drops dribbling down his chest, before he gasped at the sensation of you pinching his sensitive buds. “Y-yes, Sannie wants to be inside mama so bad….” He nibbled on one of your puffy nipples, dragging his rough tongue over it just to hear you whine, looking up at you to take in your suddenly submissive gaze. “My pretty girl’s sensitive too, I take it.”

“Always, because of that tongue of yours…” you murmured, digging your nails into the headboard when he forcefully pushed your tits together and ran his tongue back and forth over your nipples, biting them with his fangs for good measure.

“S-sannie…!”

When San felt a fresh wave of slick leak out onto his lap, his eyes started to narrow into slits, his instinctive urge to dominate you beginning to slip past the surface of his hazy mind. “So wet for me, aren’t you, sweetheart? It’s all going to waste too….Such a shame…”

“Wanna lick it up, kitty?” you asked sweetly, bringing your lips down to his, tasting the sweetness of your milk on his moving tongue.

“Mm. Sit on my face, princess,” he commanded in a slightly deeper tone, waiting for you to climb off of him so that he could lower himself down onto the bed. Just as you faced away from him and lifted your leg up to go over him, San grabbed you by your soft hips and pulled you down onto his face, immediately getting to work.

San dipped his tongue between your slick lips and dragged it up, painfully slow at first, so that he could savor your warm taste, licking a long stripe toward and then over your clit. He repeated this action until all that could be heard in the room was his wet tongue coming in contact with your soaking cunt, along with the groans he was letting out with each lick. Opening his eyes to admire your pretty plush pussy, he pressed a kiss onto your bud, before sucking on it with varying degrees of intensity, reveling in the way his pretty wife moaned desperately for more. “That’s it, huh, babygirl? Your pussy’s getting so messy, you must be getting close already….”

“F-fuck, yes, I’m close…don’t stop, Sannie,” you sighed out, suddenly distracted by the sight of your husband’s throbbing cock standing at full attention between his thighs. Licking at your lips, you carefully lowered yourself down until you could slurp and suck the pre-cum that pooled out of his reddened cockhead with ease, opening your mouth wide enough to take most of his cock down your throat inch by inch.

“Oh my god, baby, I won’t last if you do that….” San tossed his head back for a second, temporarily losing himself to the pleasure of having his cock buried inside the hot, wet heaven of your mouth and throat, moaning hoarsely all the while. Feeling more of your slick drip onto his heated skin, he remembered about his current mission. Once his tongue returned to your dripping slit, you started to rock your hips in time with San’s lips, your clit even bumping against your husband’s nose, your thighs beginning to tremble.

You took San’s cock down your throat as deep as it would go, using your spilling saliva to jerk off the rest of his length that you couldn’t reach with your mouth, hearing him begin to emit muffled whimpers and curses against your pulsing cunt, feeling his thighs tighten up underneath your touch.

You continued to move in sync, your hips now desperately rocking against San’s splayed out tongue, your moans playing a hypnotic rhythm. You always seemed to fall into this matching pattern of giving and receiving, losing yourselves in each other’s love and pleasure. Just as you began to squirm around, San’s hands slipped from your thighs where they were previously squeezing to your waist, wrapping them tightly around your middle to keep you still as your release poured out onto his tongue.

“Sannieeee, so good, so good, gonna cum,” you whined out once you pulled yourself off of his cock, your lips connected to the sticky tip with a few strands of milky saliva.

“Me too, baby, me too. Fuck, take it for me, okay? Be good and take it all,” San moaned against your convulsing cunt, lapping up the rest of your arousal, just as he began to shudder, forcefully tossing his head back into his pillow.

You caught the seemingly endless stream of cum on your tongue, some of it shooting into the back of your throat. You swallowed it all without hesitation, before climbing off of him and leaning down to press your lips onto his.

He eagerly kissed you back, gently lowering you down onto the mattress so that he could climb on top of you, the both of you desperately exchanging your warm arousal with one another, only breaking the dizzying kiss when neither of you could take a proper breath. “I love you, Y/N…” he whispered near your cheek.

“I love you too, San…”

Gazing deeply into your half-lidded eyes, San gently lowered his body weight onto you, not having to ask to know what you both needed when he positioned himself near your entrance and slipped right in, the both of you moaning in unison.

“Ready for my litter, baby? I’m gonna fill you up over and over, okay? I won’t stop until you tell me to…” Saliva pooled in San’s mouth as a low, deep purr rumbled inside his chest. Part human or not, your husband’s cat-like traits still made themselves present when he was sheathed inside you like this, especially now that he was in a rut.

“Yes, give it all to me, Sannie, I want your kitties,” you begged breathlessly, hardly able to think now that you were getting stretched out by your husband’s thick length, your legs hooking around his small waist once he began to recklessly drill himself into you.

“I’ll give it all to you, baby, have it all, have all of me.” Huffing and puffing, San pounded his cock into you, slipping out a few times due to how incredibly wet you were, taking the time to slap his cock down onto your abdomen, just to show the both of you how his length just about reached your ribs, watching you swallow hard, your hazy, tear filled eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“I can take it, Sannie. I can, I promise,” you reminded him gently, just as he slipped back inside you, pounding your pussy as if he had never stopped.

“Yes, you can, you’re gonna take it all, because you’re mine, mine, mine,” San groaned out near your ear like a mantra, his heavy body flush against yours, your legs hanging off of his broad shoulders, slamming his cock into you like you were just a toy, your cunt taking it like you were made specifically for him, his tail wrapped tightly around one of your ankles, almost acting as an anchor to keep the both of you from slipping out of reality.

“Yours, yours, yours…” you chanted back, your nails starting to dig and rake down his back, starting to fade away once your high rapidly took over. “Sannieeee, give me your knot, please…”

Almost as if on command, San’s knot began to form inside your cunt, stretching you out to the max. He pulled back slightly so that he could press his hands into your abdomen, feeling just how thick and heavy his cock was inside of you. “That’s my good girl…Look at you….my pretty little wife, taking all of my knot like this. It’s gonna break and your womb’s gonna be flooded with my cum, you know…You wanna get knocked up again for me, baby?”

“Mm-hmm!”

He nosed at your neck, taking in your pretty scent, whispering, “Help me breed you, baby.”

“Breed me, kitty….Make me yours forever…” You clutched your hands into his waist and pulled his hips taut to yours, your cunt clenching around his cock just as San melted into you, whispering countless promises of love, mixed with involuntary curses into your ear, the dam finally breaking.

A short, broken cry tore out of your throat as you squirted onto San’s twitching cock, endless waves of hot cum pouring out past your cervix and filling your womb up with his potent seed, rendering you vulnerable to the very real possibility of impregnation by your dear hybrid husband. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Purring, San pulled you into his arms and began to lick at the tears that had stained your flushed cheeks, grooming you in his own special way. He nuzzled into you, his tail coiling protectively around one of your wrists, his lips ghosting along your jaw, one of his twitching ears tickling your own. “We’ll have to paint our baby girl’s room half blue if we end up having a boy.”

You giggled, nuzzling into your husband’s loving touch. “Bold of you to assume we won’t have another girl.”

San smiled at you, his brown eyes sparkling with love and adoration for you. “That’s fine. I’m a girl dad, after all.”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[kooyabooya]

LUTHER

m reader x lia // 4k words

It’s a silly rational thought, but common knowledge nonetheless: 

You are madly in love with Choi Jisu. 

Not even the strands of time could weave a better, clichè story of what’s already been set in stone; or the countless times Lia has made herself home in the throes of your hideaway from the world, every new story and encounter with it’s twist through each shared moment. 

Sure, there’s a lot of instances that you and her can recall back on, so let’s gloss over a few: 

The first time you invited her presence was for a study session. You insisted that the spaghetti tasted good until realizing that the pesto had expired by three weeks - where she had to stay over for the night unintentionally because you couldn’t even manage to get up to the bathroom. Though, one ice pack to the forehead and the magnetizing hug was more than enough for you to ignore the fact she snagged your lacrosse team hoodie as for her keepsake - hood drawn up and pooling her raven locks to the sides of her face, the hems covering her most of her hand but her fingers exposed - you can’t deny that she looked comfy. 

Among the other times, you’re just in your apartment, serenading her with your okay-but-presentable piano skills of covers from her favorite movies. (She had to make you hers when you played La La Land but it sealed the deal.) Not long after that, some of her things start to make their way into your place: the violin case, the scent of cherry blossoms spreading from room to room, and the collection of vinyls hung up in the living room. You don’t complain. There wasn’t a point in saying anything. Lia would disappear from your peripheral for a few minutes and come back with her cropped black tee and your pair of oversized sweats that cover her toes. So yeah, there's no point in drawing up a complaint. 

It’s all in the little moments; living within these four walls - filled with memories and moments that you don’t want the rest of the world to see, her on your lap while you’re dealing with deliverables and other times where she’s bringing food for you and her to share. That’s usually how this all goes. Some of the tasks get completed, then you tab out to see what else is left to do, and Lia waltzes in terrorizing the productivity bubble. She doesn’t care because she knows what the fuck she’s doing: cocoa butter hair in messy waves, fixing the watch on her wrist, talking about her schedule for the day. Doing her wasn’t on the to-do list, but was heavily implied, considering the fact you saw her up with nothing but your sweats while making breakfast. 

Technically speaking from common knowledge: 

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Lia in your clothes.

You could conjure up all the thoughts in your mind as to why you liked seeing her that way. 

–

If you’re being completely honest with yourself, it’s always a wonderful sight to see. 

Morning sunlight beams through the curtains as she walks past the open doorway; the highlights alone are trapped in this mixture of honey gold and coffee brown, presenting itself like a Renaissance painting coming to life. One second your vision focuses on the blurry silhouette, the next your eyes are greeted with a fever dream, blessing and inviting all the same. 

You’re pinching yourself mentally - just to check - and yes, it is most definitely not a dream. Her eyes stay on you, shifting yourself up until you’re against the headboard of your bed, soaking the image of her: perfectly colored with those dirt-colored eyes and rose-tinted cheeks, radiating so brightly that the worry of drying up your eyes comes as a second thought. 

There’s nothing new about this: just the usual lazy Saturday mornings you’ve shared with her. 

She sighs so beautifully, having no care in the world. The flutter of her eyelashes is so seamless when her arms are raised up over her head, stretching out the stiffness of those springy limbs and muscles. 

You’ve spent countless days, hours, nights even, to piece it all together in everything that revolves around Lia. From the mannerisms and tone she uses with others the readable expressions just by the small quirk of her lip or flared nostrils. Lia proudly wore her heart on her sleeve. You learned right away: a bit overwhelming was the coined phrase you proclaimed. Building each other up where others fell a little behind in: always thinking ahead, taking all of the things into consideration; and Lia was in the same headspace as you, strategizing wherever she saw fit. 

But it didn’t take much for you to conclude on the fact that confidence was a weakness. 

She was flooding in it, wherever she went. Whatever she wanted, she would get. If things didn’t go her way, she accepted it fully. She’ll happily walk past the open door held by you - not as an expectation, but as one of the many things you’d put an effort into. When you take her out for a date, she’ll show up outside your workplace and return the favor. You snuggle your face deeper into the pillows on a lazy day; because you know that she’s not far, either close by or already up to start the day. 

As if the heavens parted the clouds for you after a gloomy day riddled with darkness, you’re pretty sure the same effect is applied here. 

She’s in your hoodie (as always). However that doesn’t stop the unveiling of skin little by little the more she does these morning stretches, the fabric at the waistline lifted up to where you see her hips, cast in the cotton of her underwear. You can picture yourself thumbing away at the surface, at the ends where the threads don’t meet, cup your palms shamelessly around the plush of her ass, or even watch her slip on a pair of your pajama pants with her backside blatantly pointed towards your direction. 

Okay, she knows what she’s doing. You’ve been in this position for over three years, and you’re still finding out new things to discover. 

She clears her throat once she turns around. 

“What’s on your mind right now?”

You lean your head back when Lia starts to shuffle herself back onto the bed, hands and legs moving until she finally settles her bearings, straddling your hips. 

“Not work, obviously,” you answer, feeling her palms on your face as she tips her head, studying. “I just don’t wanna get out of bed just yet.” 

“Funny,” Lia laughs, slipping her fingers behind your neck, “I was just thinking the same thing.” 

“Pretty weird, isn’t it? It’s like we share half of a brain.” 

“Except when you were drooling over me a second ago.” 

“How could I not?” you muse, darting your eyes away, feeling your face get warmer. “If anything, you bent your ass over for me to see on purpose.” 

She tilts her head, and quirks her lips near a grin, she doesn’t need to give you an explanation. 

You’re speaking your truth for her. 

Her hips press down on your groin, curling her fingers into the ends of your hair, feeling you squirm in the slight change of pressure. “You don’t have to be shy,” voice low and gentle, “I know you, you’re enjoying this.” You see her hand pull the hem of the hoodie upwards, revealing more and more of her waist - ghosting your hands at the uncovered skin; amidst the grey, you’re fighting to urge to pierce the veil, get your palms full of skin and feel and touch up like she wants you to. 

“What do you suggest I do, hm?” You ask Lia, tone flat. “Nothing?” Playing on the backfoot in this wasn’t the ideal scenario, but you’re doing what you can to be literal and indirect, “Because I was hoping that you wouldn’t notice.” 

But you see: all of that could’ve been plausible if you didn’t sit up on the bed in the first place. 

You’re mapping out her face in the back of your mind, imagining the hands wandering all over her legs and hips and waist - admiring the bodywork and fine planes of porcelain, all within arm's reach. 

Her breath grazes your cheek, practically turning you to stone. Some thoughts are present in your mind; you’re not sure. The only thing filling your senses was the scent of wintergreen. 

Her palm lightly presses into your cheekbone, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping herself by mere centimeters. 

Fills the space between the mouths, saying: “I was hoping that you’d do something about it.” 

Oh, she knows what the fuck she’s doing. 

Lia has kissed you like- countless times. There’s the sweet ones, the ones where you’re both smiling into each other’s faces, the ones where you think time stands still for a few moments, the kinds where you’ve got a bubble entrapping you two, and so much more. All of them have their meanings behind them, but they make you melt all the same. 

You could feel her hands roam around your body, legs pressing your hips on opposite ends; every smack and inhale is followed up with a low rumble at the throat, hands shifting up from her waist up to her chest; her forehead pressed against yours, clutching her shoulder blades, keeping her place - she has your full attention now. 

A swipe of the thumb across her nipple, then a pinch. The hoodie rucks up higher on her body. 

Her arms come into play, speeding up the process of cotton being discarded. 

Lia is your block of marble - waiting to be molded and chiseled and chipped away - crafted by yours truly where you’ll get on your knees in adoration and give your reverence as you proffer your lips and tongue all over her body. 

She’s so easy to gratify - the way that her sighs and moans mesh into one sound or another, feeling the heat rise in her body. You can tell she’s trying to hold back, murmuring in tongues. Like she’s showing but not telling: I need you baby. I need, I need, I need, I need, I need- 

It’s like you - all of you - is oxygen to her, giving her life where she would die if she didn’t have enough. It’s never enough, and you know this. In the cosmos that lie behind those melted shades of sable, glassy, and an ever-growing pit of blackness, where you could see yourself falling into them time and time again because they were only exclusive to you. A forgotten light, an eternal flame, you catch yourself face to face with it once more. 

The flush of light crimson makes its presence known across Lia’s face: a response to your touch, one that she simply can’t ignore. 

You could feel the dampness of her panties lightly settle on the bulge of your underwear, hear her breath hitch just the slightest, all the while her hips grind against yours. 

“Yeah,” she hushes, a sultry smile spread across her lips. “You prefer this over the usual caffeine.” 

She laughs softly when you groan into her neck, her arms coiling around your neck and shoulders, tightening the noose. Your hand slithers past her lower back, fingers grazing the lace and sliding underneath the uncovered skin. “Always,” you tell her, looking up while she scratches the back of your head: your one of three weaknesses. 

Lia then leans away, crosses her hands at her waist, gripping the hoodie. 

When she lifts it- that image becomes your second weakness. 

You keep looking without hesitation; the fine line of her shoulders, the blotches of red and pink across the canvas, deliciously sweet. Her breasts supple, but have a firmness to them (a guilty pleasure, you’ll admit); she runs her nails across those mounds because she knows that you’ll get your hands full of them soon, get greedy enough to forget about the rest. 

“Aw, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” she asks with a coo. Then, gets her thumb and index underneath your chin, tilting your gaze up. “You’ve gone quiet.” 

“Were you always this cute?” you muse. 

“You know me.” 

“Allow me to rephrase,” you’re backtracking, because you just want to hear it yourself. “Were you always this sexy?” 

That earns you a firm grind against your length. 

And now, she’s laying it down for real: “I’ll make you shut up if that’s what you want.” 

–

Here’s weakness number three: 

Lia has your legs spread apart, laying on her stomach, tracing a finger along the grooves and veins of your cock, mesmerized at the mere taste of your balls across her tongue. You’ve got your deal in, grinding her sopping folds along your shaft just as a tease - a preamble. Her hair’s tied up in a loose ponytail as she makes her way up the length, pouting her lips at the tip - anticipating the image of your cockhead sealed around her pretty little mouth - how to suck the air out of your lungs with just one swift motion - she’ll relish the moment, savor it - make you forget all of your worries with one decent. 

She has you wrapped around the palm of her hand, literally. And somehow, it feels like you were meant to be- 

You could feel the graze of her teeth the more she takes you in, the subtle leitmotif of her humming the more you feel her mouth all over, creating a pantomime of dancing and singing along your length, bringing out all the things that make you speechless. 

It’s when she has you like this, where everything just feels right. 

“Good?” you could hear her say, but her cheek is bulging with your cock up inside where the sound comes less coherent, but those eyes implicate the message regardless. 

“Fuck,” you rasp, feeling her teeth graze just right beneath the tip. She’s got you good. She always has. 

You’ve got the rough schematic drawn up in your brain. Testing the waters with a gentle thrust of your hips, shoving her head down deeper where she can struggle just a bit. It won’t take you much to make you cum like this. You imagine her saying - all she needs is to soften you up and next thing you know her palms are sliding down from your chest to your thighs. The gentle cup of your balls in her other hand, puts your length in the prime position to fit you in her throat. 

She purses her lips forward, trying to cover the base. It’s cute that she can try, but she makes up for it by flicking her tongue on the underside - at the seam - and yeah, your head hits the board behind you. 

Lia is the only one who could practically kill you and give you a second chance at redemption. 

Knowing that you’ll take that second chance to return the favor properly. 

But this is her turn in the chess match. You actually can’t do anything about it. 

She crosses her ankles up in the air, sinks her head between your legs again, maintaining tempo. Her hands come into play, doing all kinds of combinations with her mouth and tongue, lapping up the mix of spit and precum. 

You are going to lay there and watch. 

Her eyes flooded with determination. 

Your cock in my mouth, my hands. 

The slide of her mouth is addicting. 

Try your hardest not to cum. 

She’s fucking unreal. 

And not even that- 

“I want more spit.” Lia declares, both hands on you now, jerking shamelessly with the classic motion that makes you paralyzed from the waist down. Her knees dig deeper into the mattress, raising her body, head now hovering over your cock. 

“Go ahead,” you grit, smiling. A moment of grace - to breathe; you know where she’s leading with this. “I’d love to see you try.” 

That phrase alone would be your undoing. 

Lia puts you right back into her mouth, with no regard for keeping it lighthearted and casual. The grip in her hair becomes a lot tighter, flexing your hips up while her tongue becomes flatter. You’re biting down a curse spilling from your lips, ears focusing on the unholy sounds coming from Lia instead. 

She’s not playing around now - mouth slipping and sliding, humming and moving her head in the many ways where you’ve seen your vision turn white before. 

You can’t keep this up for any longer. 

The head down, head up, the shimmying of her head, puffing her cheeks, cock slathered and wetter by the second- 

You pull yourself away, throbbing. The pop of her mouth and gasp is all that she’s left with. 

“Hey,” she says, “you weren’t supposed to do that.” 

Her ponytail comes undone while the tip of your tongue is caught between your teeth. 

All you give her anyway is: “Oops.” 

She throws herself onto you, hoping to catch you off guard, but you were ready. Her lips capture yours, wanting to clean up the mess she made over your cock just now, each lick and smack becoming more and more careless in every liplock. 

Your hands find her waist while Lia also looks down at the action. “Need to do something about that, don’t we?” She tells you, grabbing your length and dipping your head into her cunt, making both of you groan in unison. “Fuck-” 

“Lia, watch yourself,” you huff, jaw slacking when she slides herself in properly this time; the tightness and heat already washing over you while Lia shifts her panties more to the side. “Okay, holy shit girl.” 

To keep your mind off of the unrelenting pressure of her cunt wrapped around your dick, you’re leaving chaste kisses across her chest yet again, feeling her fingers card through your hair and dig into your scalp, the shimmy of her pussy finally stopping once she bottoms you out. 

She’s laying it out for you again: “You’re gonna fuck my brains out now, okay handsome?” 

Your response is in tandem with her breathless state: “Oh, with pleasure.” 

The girl just takes and takes and takes. You could feel her smile on top of your forehead when you feel up her breast, slide your hand down her waist, grip her petite ass while she slams her hips back down on your cock. 

You’re gripping wherever you can: her waist, her hips, her ass. Any place where you can fuck around with the vice for as much as possible, fucking her senseless like she worked you up to be. 

It’s in the forward-back, the up-down. Her ass isn’t kind to your balls when she’s riding along your length. 

This was the best way to wake up in the morning. 

Lia’s happily bouncing along on your lap - with you trying to keep up with the pulling of your neck, the tugs in your hair, holding her still where you got your cock at the angle to bring it to her cunt’s hottest, molten spot. 

She’s so tight, you conclude, that evidence is pretty natural in itself. You love it so much when she’s not making any sense in her words, only plugging up her pussy in the only way you know how- 

“Want it,” she whispers, a profession: “inside, please.” 

You’re holding her so close, keeping her in place. It’s a one-way ticket to paradise that you’ll take no matter what; the unraveling - so lethal, and an absolute certainty. The bruises are starting to form along the crease of her legs and hips- 

You’re laying it out for her now: “I’m cumming.” 

Pumping her full, riding out her orgasm. Everything made sense for Lia in that instant. 

Strings of cum painting along her slick walls, claiming the last threads for herself - because that’s how it all goes. You’re shuddering, live wire still reactive, hungry for more as the pulsing starts to die down; slowly, lethargically. 

A few beats later- 

“Fucking Christ, Lia-” 

She laps your cock on the bathroom floor; face painted and splattered in ribbons of white, back against the door as the mat at your feet tries its hardest to not slide against the tile. 

She licks up the mess while humming gleefully, looks up at you in sweet and treacherous innocence. 

She looks down at the cum dripping down her chest, her waist, and even the spread of slick all over her inner thighs- 

You don’t mind lazy mornings like these. 

(To contradict yourself: they’re never lazy.) 

–

The place gets filled up once again with Lia’s honey-saccharine voice, coming out of the hallway with a towel draped over her shoulders. 

You give her a look: the same one where no words need to be said to describe the moment - because it’s a look that she’s seen multiple times - and she can easily read your mind. 

The look of love. You have it. And so does she. 

Lia later rambles on at the dining table about her recent outings and extravaganza's with Yeji or Yuna, fingers underneath her chin and swirling a spoon around her cup of tea. She looks at you with so much attention, eyes shimmering and nodding along while the morning light starts to creep through the window of your living room. You feed her an apple slice to make sure she’s not bored - she loves that. 

In moments like these, you’re thankful that it’s shared with her. From her arms bracketing your hips while you clean the dishes, to piggybacking her back to your room, make her land on her back while she laughs and playfully whines like a kid. You shake your head because any response you say will always get brushed off by her. 

It really doesn’t matter what’s being brought up, since things just flow that way so well you don’t even have a second thought after. 

“You really went at it with me earlier,” she tells you. “Care to explain why?” 

“Well,” you’re grinning cheekily, hand to the back of your head, “Didn’t have time to relieve myself in the past week so-” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Guilty.” you finally amend. 

Lia knows the best parts about you; knows exactly how and where to apply the pressure in the points you’re most vulnerable at. She’s got her fingers and knuckles in every little nook and cranny in your brain. It’s impossible to fight against. 

You could say you’ve got the same regard for her too. 

She’s sweet, witty, cocky when it counts, well knowledgeable, and has these sparkles in her eyes where you don’t mind stargazing for hours on end. The overall vibe she presents is so cozy, embracing you to a point where you’d be happy to settle and fall asleep in her arms because you can. 

There's no place she would rather be than in your arms, feet on top of yours, slowly dancing even if there isn’t any music playing. 

Another tender moment shared: you’ll take it for a keepsake, knowing more of those will come along the way. 

Nothing more wholesome could ever be like this: the gentle nose bumps, shared smiles, the quick kisses in each others’ ears. It’s straight out of a classic romance novel or movie -or, even when you’re imagining it’s just the two of you center stage at a jazz club and the band’s playing a slow ballad. 

Cheek to cheek you are with Choi Jisu - you’ll want to hold her close for eternity. 

“Wanna stay inside for today?” 

(Here, you’re probably laughing because Lia was already a homebody, so it’s pretty ironic.)

“We’re already here, so why not?” 

[satorurize]

A situationship with Rockstar!Suguru was a poision and it's counteragent at the same time.

Every time your friends tell you that you should get out of your situationship which leaves you in shambles emotionally, everytime, you crawl back to him each time with equal reverence. The guy had an unbelievable chokehold on you despite the bread-crumming, the love-bombing and then eventual ghosting for a short periods of time which was long enough to make you believe that you were slowly bordering towards insanity.

Your friends don't really get the appeal, sure.. he's only 6'2, with a lethal face card, sexy eyes, with a manly built and a slutty waist, suave voice that gets millions screaming, not to mention those raven hair that cascade so beautifully over his shoulders and he was packing down there but— here was the catch. He was manipulative, cunning, they'd even go on the length to call him shrewd.

And it wasn't like you disagreed but...it was as if his dick had left an imprint not only in your cunt but also your brain so that, any rational thought of leaving him behind and moving on would simply go down the drain.

Rockstar!Suguru knew better and he never lets the thought of leaving him get to your head, even it does, he'd immediately distract you. Like now, having you sit on his face, your hands grip onto the headboard for its dear life, miserably trying to convince him that he's no good for you.

But he only hums louder, grazing his teeth against your clit before he pulled away with a loud smack of his lips from your cunt, the nectar dribbling down his chin.

"You were sayin' somethin', darling?"

"I..I don't think we should do this..anymore, I'm gonna start seriously dating people.." You explain, a tad bit breathlessly and he scoffs condescendingly before handling you casually, your body now braced onto his waist in a straddle.

"And you think anyone else will eat your pussy this good?" He speaks in his same signature soft, polite tone that has his fans swooning on him, little did they know what a crook he was, especially behind the doors.

Inspite of being your toxic situationship, Suguru insists you're special, I mean, Who wouldn't think you're special when he is serenading you in his concerts, buying you flowers, taking you on long drives in the wee hours of the night?

But then when you ask him what you two really were, he'd just shrug insouciantly reply that you both didn't need to put a label on it although you should keep in your pretty little head that you were special. Suguru was simply too emotionally constipated to actually commit.

After stating clearly how casual you two were, here you are in front of his vanity mirror, watching him split you apart from behind. His bangs hung onto his face, his dark eyeliner a little messy from the sheer sweat that formed on his face from the activity while he adores how the flesh of your ass recoils against his pelvis.

You could only marvel at how ethereal he looks with your teary eyes, and listen to the way those deep grunts left his throat after a particularly rough thrust, only making you clench around him in such a debauched manner— giving him the green signal to continue fucking you in his jealousy.

The kisses he'd plant onto the back of your neck were so gentle, in stark contrast to how he fucked you like he hated you because finding out that you went on a date wasn't pleasant in the first place, but finding out it was his bestfriend, the band's charismatic drummer only made him lose his shit.

"What are the tears for..? Didn't you want to be a slut? Take it. I'm treating you like one afterall.." He purrs with a wicked grin on his face. He's mean, watching your wither in his grasp, while he sensually moves his hips in a few hard pounds before filling you up with ropes and ropes of his cum.

You're out of breath with the entirety of your upper body laid on the table—so blissfully fucked out with a smile on your lips at how he had feelings deep enough to fuck you in envy. Your plan was a success.

You swivel your head around slightly, seeing the flash of his camera directed to your stuffed cunt with a foxy smile playing his lips. "What are you-"

"Just a good luck charm before the concert and..a little gift for Satoru."

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 !

— pairing; floyd leech x ramshackle! reader.

— summary; you serenade floyd (terribly), but he loves it, and the ensuing chaos.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s a quiet night at Night Raven College, and the students are all getting ready for bed.

❋ Well, everyone except for you.

❋ And Grim.

❋ And Ace.

❋ And Deuce.

❋ The four of you are currently clustered outside the Octavinelle dorm, and you’re holding onto a bouquet of roses (stolen from the Heartslabyul gardens) with a white-knuckled grip, trying to psych yourself up into confessing to Floyd and just getting it over with.

❋ It’s not working.

❋ You’re this close to chickening out and leaving, but Grim isn’t about to leave after all his “hard work”.

❋ In between a series of deafening yowls, Grim loudly professes your love for Floyd, and Ace and Deuce take that as their cue to play. Ace drums on some borrowed pots and pans with a ladle and a spatula, and Deuce awkwardly attempts to strum a guitar he borrowed from Cater.

❋ A light is flicked on in one of the dorm rooms, and who should open the window but none other than Floyd Leech. He’s uncaring of the late hour, if the wild, sharp grin on his face is anything to go by.

❋ “Shrimpy! Are you confessing your undying love? Do it louder! I want everyone to hear!”

❋ His encouragement only makes the “band” double down on their serenade, much to the horror of anyone sane in the dorm.

❋ Such as Jade.

❋ Who currently shares a room with Floyd.

❋ Groaning at the rude awakening, Jade buries his head into his pillow, muttering about the late hour and how he needs his rest (not to mention a better roommate). He’s already plotting to make excessively loud noises in their room tomorrow at the crack of dawn as payback.

❋ As the sound of horrendous singing continues and the noise reaches new, ridiculous levels, a frazzled-looking Azul finally bursts out of his dorm room in his pyjamas, complete with a black, feathery robe and plush octopus slippers. The pitter-patter of his feet is quick, and his nostrils flare in exasperation as he takes in the chaos before him.

❋ “WHAT is going on here?! Do you have any idea what time it is?!” His glasses are slightly askew, and he’s clearly on the verge of losing it. “CEASE THIS RUCKUS AT ONCE, OR I WILL BAN YOU ALL FROM THE MOSTRO LOUNGE FOR LIFE!”

❋ All of you are quick to scramble away before Azul can make good on his threat.

❋ Meanwhile, Floyd sneaks out of his dorm to meet you, and he catches up before you can go too far. For a moment, his grin softens as he steps closer, eyes glinting when you present him with the stolen roses.

❋ “This was your idea, huh?” He teases, his voice uncharacteristically sweet, and a genuine fondness in his gaze. “Heehee! You look so cute when you're embarrassed, Shrimpy! Next time I’ll serenade you ~”

❋ Floyd’s true to his word; he shows up at Ramshackle in the dead of night the very next day, strumming wildly on a lute he has absolutely no idea how to play.

❋ Which is probably just as well, considering that Azul and Jade have banned you from entering Octavinelle after 10 p.m.

[jbbartram-illu]

Yesterday was my birthday & I spent it making fat, Lascaux-inspired ponies & it was the Best Plan!

I also got serenaded by a raven on my walk to the library, and we ordered in Korean fried chicken (because it's very cold here & we didn't want to go out for dinner) & watched Tampopo*, a delightfully weird & also lovely movie. A great day overall!!

*I recently realized I wasn't using netflix, like, at all (& was paying almost $20/mo for this, ick), so I cancelled it & signed up for Criterion instead. Very excited to watch a ton of good & artsy films now!

[merakiui]

more skellington thoughts please!! I'm so down bad for him and he hasn't even officially come out yet

Now that I’ve officially fallen in love with him (dramatically clutching my pearls as I write this), I am obligated to feed the ravenous pit that is my heart. Thus!!!! These are an assortment of random thoughts for Skully J. Graves based purely on vibes alone (forgive me if it’s ooc).

He waxes poetic about you (Rook has some competition). Loves to monologue in the moonlight. Like Romeo when he goes to serenade Juliet, Skully is outside your window (he has to bend down so you can actually see him if you’re on the ground floor ;;;;) and he’s reciting love sonnets and other beautiful tales. He narrates the Tell-Tale Heart in such a riveting way!!!

Cannot shut up and will never shut up. Always yapping. He is a silly guy with a morbid sense of humor!! “You look positively dreadful today!! Absolutely ghastly!” just means you look so stunning. Please never change. He loves you. All of his pickup lines are spooky and themed after death/horror/Halloween.

He is a gentleman……. perhaps. Throwing his coat down on the smallest puddle so you can step across it without getting wet. He pouts if you walk around, so now you have to walk back and step on his jacket just to please him. T_T his chivalry and courtship are quite old-fashioned, but he is genuine.

Loves teasing you. I think he has a penchant for patting you on the head. He doesn’t really listen sometimes, especially if he’s so swept up in the whimsy of something new and exciting. He’s almost like Kalim in that aspect: difficult to get through to once his mind is set on something.

He absolutely plucks off the legs or wings of insects (instead of flowers) as he mumbles to himself: “They love me, they love me not.” Do you see the vision!!!! Perhaps he’ll switch to flowers if you nag at him about the insects.

Maybe he somehow got ahold of some of your hair (do not ask him how, but if you do maybe he’ll tell you), which he then fashions into a little ornament of some sort. He keeps it with him at all times. When you ask why in the world he’s made mourning jewelry when you’re not dead, he smiles, wags his finger in your face, and very confidently says, “Not yet!” :D (too silly…)

[boopshoops]

"What beautiful blooms... it's a shame they're no more than weeds."

Home Transition/Groovification: So those blooms were called crimson lotuses, yes? ...I see. I'm not usually one to ogle over nature, but it's a shame to see these so quickly snuffed out. Not that I want to magic to end, obviously. If only...

Tap Home/Groovification: Finally, a moment of rest. Let's take a break from all the chaos. Gaining prestige can wait another day.

"Bloom of the Ball" - Yuu Shi's Vignette

This warmth of the lights in the dance hall was akin to a pleasant fire, beaming spotlights down amongst the students of Night Raven College. The hum of instruments and song began to hum pleasantly throughout the space, leaving other students stunned in its wake.

The Night Raven students, one including the great Malleus Draconia of Briar Valley at the center of it all, offered up a sweet serenade.

All of the students but one, that was.

The one who desired to sing most of all.

There was no way she could though, not when Yuu had once again returned to the role of "stranger."

The role of a new, unfamiliar, intimidating being that she once was when she began her education at NRC.

Originally this had been the plan from the get go! To enjoy the night as herself. To talk with others as herself. Garner favor as herself. Be herself.

Now, as Yuu watched her classmates, none the wiser that she was even there in a new, glamorous disguise, she felt...

Jealous?

Yes. Jealous.

The feeling tightened in her chest uncomfortably.

Despite the admiring glances sent towards her new, carefully crafted visage, she felt invisible again. Something she truly hated.

She wanted to be up there with them. She wanted to dance with them. Offer up their gift with them.

...and even when she ignored the fact that she was in disguise, they didn't even teach her the routine. Like, come on, she can catch on quickly! At least TELL her.

She shook her head with a huff, bringing herself out of her brooding thoughts. This whole trip had truly been disaster after disaster. Now, as she retreated out of the hall momentarily, remembering the lotuses that once coated the ground the day before, she couldn't help but desire their warmth as company.

Because right now, despite the crowds and cheers, despite those she'd spend dancing the night away with, she felt completely alone.

Yeah. Sure. What a "glorious" masquerade.

OI! You! I was doing some googling, trying to find some templates for some groovy overlays... only to find nothing! I mean I'm sure there are some, but eh, I made one myself anyway

Feel free to use it for your fan cards :]

Writing and art tag list! Just lmk if ya wanna be added @lowcallyfruity @cecilebutcher @skriblee-ksk @kitwasnothere @justm3di0cr3 @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @twsted-canvas

Part 1/2

Part 2/2 - END

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Lightning-Bolt - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

The "Oh" strikes without mercy.

(@frostybearpaws It begins >D)

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: panic attacks, PTSD

cw: sex

Snippet:

Jubilee's dying glow filters through the blinds

Sevika’s flat is quartered into corridors of light and dark. The radio is on, a lilt of low-key jazz serenading the empty livingroom. The piano medley plays out in lazy triplets that don't quite conceal the soundtrack of cramped mattress springs and throttled cries echoing off the freshly-painted walls. The flat is in its usual order: spartan to the point of austerity. But on the floorboards—waxed to a high sheen—a trail of clothing meanders with haphazard dishabille towards the bedroom: an exquisite silver gown laying pooled, silk glimmering, like a discarded chrysalis; an elegant red wrap flung like a battle standard; a black serge suit jacket discarded unceremoniously next to a gleaming pair of boots;  a cravat like a ghostly streamer stretched between the leather rungs of suspenders; and finally, the gutted remnants of undergarments like sacrificial offerings felled before the altar of lust.

In bed, Silco's spine, surfacing from under the sheets, curves in prelude to what comes naturally:

Take.

Beneath him, Sevika shudders. He is canted between her widespread thighs, deep in pulsing heat. She keens as he rocks, her own hips twisting demandingly to find the perfect angle, ankles digging into his tailbone. Each sound, lower in pitch but deeper in register, cuts a fresh notch up his vertebrae. But his movements stay languorous, deliberate. Drawing out every tiny spasm, every micro-flutter of muscle, until her fervor gives way to a ravenous full-bodied grip that dares him to try and escape.

He has no such plans.

During downtime, he and Sevika have usually begun to withdraw to her Oldtown flat. Most of the time, they're content to spend the shank of the night in cards and conversation.

Mostly though—they fuck.

In fact, they fuck nearly as often as during those choking months after Nandi's funeral. Not just all over her flat, either. He's had her propped against the gritty bricks of his steel mill during an inspection, the din of machinery crowding out their gasps. Or against the fogged glass at a cultivair's hothouse, breathing in her smoky scent and the sweeter perfume of orchids in the laden air. Or a few times on the roof of Headquarters, under the shadowed atrium, beneath the hazed pinprick of stars, where any of the lookouts in his network might glimpse them.

The sex feels different. The roughness hasn't abated. They still go at it half-starved, with little discussion beforehand. But lately, it is like he sinks his teeth into her, savoring her in small bites. Sometimes, mid-fuck, he'll run his fingers through her hair and murmur, "I do like it better long." Or he'll kiss her from breasts to cunt with the hungriest touch of lips and tongue and teeth, over and over, until her fingers thread into his hair and her gaze goes unfocused as if against the ghostly prick of tears. 

He's never stayed the night at her flat. But from time to time, too many relentless days and nights crammed together, she'll let him drowse with his head buried between her breasts, the way in another lifetime he'd fallen asleep absorbed in a good book. Her fingers will card cautiously through his hair as if stirring pages of a taboo text. 

It feels surreal. Not because it disturbs the natural order of the universe, but because it feels exactly that.

Natural.

Everything inside Silco is knotting up together—Jinx's absence, Zaun's future, his drive for a lasting legacy. In Sevika's company, the knots smooth out. He feels… not safe. Steady. It is a truth he's typically kept smuggled behind a boundary in his mind. Now he is breaking the boundary, brick by brick, to feel the warmth it gives off. 

He doesn't understand it. He doesn't even know why it is there. 

He just knows he wants it close.

"Silco—" His name, sawing out of Sevika's throat. "Godsdamnit. Faster. C'mon—"

"In time."

"Bastard—"

"Ssssh."

He subdues her with a slow roll of his hips. She sobs, baring her throat.  Her skin is sheened with perspiration.  The pretty crenellations of bitemarks stipple her skin wherever he's laid siege: under her left breast, on her belly, the crest of her pelvis. The hunger's nearly disembodied: some foreign chemical saturating the bloodstream.  His entire thalamic system stands at attention, nerve endings ablaze.

If he didn't know better, he'd suspect his wineglass spiked by aphrodisiac.  Except he's barely had three sips since committing assault on the Stonewall ambassador. 

He doesn't need the drink.

There's enough heady stimulus in Sevika sprawled beneath him. All hard-packed muscle, softening into scar-notched curves just begging to be traced by tongue and teeth.  Deliberately, his cheekbone rasps against her damp throat. The jugular throbs beneath his lips. He bites into it, a pattern of crescents that well up with the faintest red. 

Sevika bucks, a groan pushing its way out from the very pit of her belly.  Her good hand slides up the naked line of his back. The copper one bites into the solid jut of his hipbone, coaxing his thrusts to a more demanding speed, a faster friction. When he refuses, her whimper—low, rough, gorgeous—verges on hurt.

Like the promise, forever unkept, is closer to heartache than torment.

The sound pulls Silco's eyes to her. Her expression steals his breath. Usually, Sevika's not one to show emotion. Even in bed, she hides behind closed eyes, clenched jaw, thunderous brows: a monument fiercely guarding her own impending doom.

Tonight, every shudder is a deeper wound exposed. Every gasp is another secret bleeding free. There's a dewiness to her eyes he's never encountered before.

It should alarm him—that glisten. But she's not uttered the safeword. Not shown any sign that she needs him anywhere but deep inside her.

Silco nuzzles the damp corner of her eye.  A query disguised as a kiss.

"...all right...?"

"Yeah." Her heels dig into his kidneys. "M'good."

"You sure...?"

"Yeah," she husks. "Just fuck me."

He heeds the order. Gathers her in close and swivels his hips—deep and fluid. She jackknifes off the mattress. Two sets of nails—copper and cuticle—bite into the wings of his shoulderblades. The sensation's excruciating: pleasurepain bordering on profane. He angles into it, picking up the pace, grinding a wavering keen from between her gritted teeth. Then she arches against him and it's all he can do to meet the undulating waves of her need: stroke for stroke, breath for breath.

Sweat drips between them. The mattress springs shriek in unholy symphony. The hot slapslap of flesh-on-flesh echoes across the room. 

Somewhere, Silco registers his fingers threading hers; his teeth closing over the throbbing tendons of her neck.  The haze is like bloodlust, and yet he is sharply grounded, sunk wholly into the flesh. Sevika's, but also his own. It's an alien sensation, being entirely present in the moment without keeping a vital facet of himself locked away to mete out the usual measure of judgement, logic, lucidity.

Nothing short of pain has ever felt so real.

Not since—

(Not since Vander drowned me, and rage was the only lifeline—)

Reality returns in a visceral crash, stealing the air from his lungs. Sevika thrashes urgently, pinned between him and the pillows, and he knows she's on the verge of climax.

Except his own mind's gone haywire. His muscles follow.

Reflexively, he rolls off, his cock going soft, the harsh backed-up ache in his groin blunting all residual lust. There's only the phantom pressure: in his throat, in his lungs, in his skull. He shields his bad eye, fingertips numb, as Sevika shudders into stillness on a strangled cry:

"—what the hell?"

No breath for a reply. No breath for anything.

"...Silco?" 

She is looming over him. He shoves her aside, and sits up. There's a sense of vertigo crashing in, but he can't tell if it precedes or follows the epiphany. Only that it jolts through him—hot-cold. A lightning-bolt.

At its heels: freefall.

Then he is stumbling from bed to bathroom, retching his guts up.

___________

Revolution is like love.

It brews quietly, building momentum beneath the surface of habit. We do not notice the warning signs: the subtle shifts in temperature, the quickened pulse, the elevated tension. We rarely foresee the violent upheaval brewing on the horizon.

Then, one morning, we wake up to a life swung upside down. A new world order: a new paradigm of devotion. And only in retrospect can we trace the exact chain of events that led to that fateful tipping point.

Revolution is like love.

But when the match kisses the fuse, it detonates, taking all in its path, sweeping all else away.

All other desires. All other dreams.

All the best laid plans: undone.

And in the aftermath, we ask: what comes next?

What do we make of ourselves, now that the epilogue's ours to write at last?

~~~

"...Silco?" A single rap at the door. "You okay in there?"

"Fine."

"I heard you throwing up."

"Just the foul grub from the gala."

"...You're sure?"

"Positive."

He's at the sink, head bowed, shoulderblades spasming.  His knuckles are bone-white as they grip the porcelain rim.

He'd not realized he was going to puke until the boiling stuff had spewed into the sink. But the urge to vomit has passed. Now it's just dry-heaves.

Those, he's adept at subduing.

Under the cold shower jet, he lets himself be doused, water beating down on his bare scalp, sluicing down the rigid nodes of his spine. There's a headache's brewing at his temples; he's in for a rough night. But he can already feel a semblance of equilibrium descending, as if he's excised a poison.

Now the antidote's taking effect. The high-pitched pressure's receding from his skull; the five fingerprints at his throat fade to ghostly throbs. At length, he finds his breath, and his balance. By degrees, he straightens. His spine cracks audibly, each segment shifting minutely into alignment.

Something is dead, and buried. Something else is resurfacing, transfigured.

"Silco?"

The steadiness of Sevika's voice hides a spur of unease. He hears the scrape of metal across wood. Her mechanical fist poised over the handle, ready to rip it off its hinges should he give the word. Not even an event horizon would bar her from bursting in if she felt his life were endangered.

With it strobes the epiphany. The monster, purring a ruminative rumble:

Mine.

The clarity sears; the shock cuts deep.

For a moment Silco just stands there, rooted. Water sluices off his body, drops hitting tile with dull plinks.

Finally, he drags in a breath. "Sevika?"

A hitched pause. "...Yeah?"

"Could you put the kettle on?" A beat. "Please?"

The 'please' gets a loaded silence. Then, "...Sure."

A moment later, her footsteps retreat. In the kitchenette, cabinet doors slam open and shut. 

Left alone, Silco twists off the tap; towels himself dry. A spare toothbrush from the cabinet; a gargle of mouthwash into the sink. His reflection, under the florescent bulb, is etiolated but far from emaciated. He's left off the old rawboned pallor; the weeks in the Deadlands, full of sun and toil, have restored a taut vigor to his features. Even the scars cut less jaggedly across the left side of his face. In its lidless socket, his bad eye stares out: incandescent, edgy, dazzled within the blackness.

But his good blue eye is bright as déjà vu.

Calm settles in. An old comrade returned.

(What the fuck comes next?)

[forcebewitht]

Would you do a yandere Jamil x reader?

Snake In The Grass (Yandere!Jamil Viper x Reader)

(Possible TW: Stalking, murder, slight gore mentions, manipulation, sexual implications)

He was a crafty one, that Viper. He knew it, too. He had to be to survive, after all. Slithering through the shadows undetected, simply being known as a mere servant- nothing more, nothing less. This is what was upon the surface- but there was always far more to the attractive male than what was visible.

He was always there. He would slink up beside you after class to walk with you, speak with you. Kalim would be present as well, of course- unless he had found someone else to watch over him for the briefest of times. He would ensure that you were provided for as best as he could, especially given the conditions within Ramshackle. He had already long since calculated the dietary restrictions of your body and would ensure that the proper nutrition would be packed and slipped into your bag for you to consume when you retired for the night.

He was always watching. The smoky gray eyes with a tender yet occasionally sinister glisten trailing over your figure. Every inch of your flesh, every curve, every molecule…nothing missed the calculations of the Vice Dorm Leader of Scarabia. Whenever you would attend the parties within the dorm, he would watch your every move. Even outside of the comfortable confines of the dorm he knew every secretive in and out of, his eyes would remain upon you. Within the shadows. The darkest of nights. Beneath trees. Behind walls and corners.

He would always take care of whatever business needed to be done. This, soon enough, included the disposal of the bodies of the students who had dared either step to you in aggression or affection. Bones broken, skin bruised and contorted. Blood seeping from the very crevices of their figures. His cuts were precise, and as calculative as the rest of him. They were always placed somewhere intentionally conspicuously- unless the person themselves had far too much of a potential tie to Jamil himself. In those cases? The bodies were never found.

His voice was one that lingered. It was smooth, warm, and practically oozing with a charm unlike anything you had experienced from anyone else within the institution of Night Raven College. It was deep, yet it would slightly raise in pitch if he grew a bit excited or stressed- yet it still somehow retained a level of tranquility that would leave you practically begging for him to speak to you more. He occasionally would even hum or sing near you whilst completing his tasks or simply beside you walking, and it was as though a siren had come from the darkest depths of the sea to be by you and croon its serenade and embed it into the very soul of yourself.

His touches were always gentle, his smiles like warm sunlight cascading down upon your figure in soothing waves. Given the work that he constantly was assisting with or accomplishing alone, his sleek skin was toned. Abs and muscles would peek themselves through whatever articles of clothing he had on. You would feel the very same muscles within his arms tense and tighten whenever he would touch you or gently move you around or out of the way within the hallway. Within the classroom, he occasionally would lean over just enough for those muscles upon his arms or chest to lightly graze your skin, assisting you with whatever classwork you needed help with.

His steel gray gaze. The depth of kindness yet knowledge they held. Those beautiful eyes upon that sculpted, handsome face of his that you always found yourself slightly getting lost in. The eyes that would behold you so tenderly, as though you were a precious piece of artwork within a museum, or a delicate flower that brought him a warmth inside of himself. And it was here, within that gaze, that you finally found yourself slipping under the poison of his venom entirely, his fingers just barely grazing your chin to tilt your head up to behold him in all of his glory.

“Snake Whisper.”

It was his voice, those eyes of his…those blood red eyes that were drawing you in…he had you right where he wanted you at last, having pulled you into his room for conversation during a party at Scarabia. His lips tugged into a sinister grin as he watched your gaze shift into the same blood red one he had moments ago. He bent forward slightly, his fingers remaining beneath your chin. That is, until they slightly trailed downward. They settle gently upon your neck, and you are too far gone to comprehend just how much of the poison of him you had succumbed to.

“You, my beautiful desert flower (Y/N), are now mine and solely mine. You shall obey my every word from here on, and you shall dedicate yourself to me. Your heart, your mind…your body…and your very soul are all mine. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes…Master.”

A pleased chuckle escapes the lips of the snake, his arms wrapping around the waist of his caught prey. His gaze locked onto yours once he had finished observing your lovely figure. His nails lightly dug into your flesh upon your waist, keeping you planted firmly before him.

“Good~ when you are solely within my company, you shall refer to me as Master. But when we are within the company of others, you shall refer to me either as my name or “my love”. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Such an obedient pet~ now. Place yourself upon my bed. Spread yourself out. Prepare to give yourself to me entirely.”

Your motions were swift. Your body soon was pressed against the bed, your back firmly making itself at home upon the comforter of the Viper that had you within his grasp. Jamil grinned, ensuring his door was locked and he had placed up a sound nullification spell- he did not need to ruthlessly slaughter anyone that dared to interrupt, tonight. You were the only one on his mind- the only one he would soon claim to be his. The snake had finally emerged from the grass.

~End~

[purplesimmer455]

Iseul and Megan head back to Copperdale the next day, and I really wanted to try some stuff from the new pack so I got them a pet crow. I'm not sure if you can name crows in the game but I'll say that Iseul named her Raven and Megan went along with it. Megan and Iseul love all things cute and spooky, and Raven the crow is definitely both. Here's Megan talking to Raven and cooing at her. 😊

Also, Megan had bought some apple nectar during their vacation for her and Iseul to have, but they didn't get the chance to drink it. Megan takes it out of her inventory now, and is about to get up to pour it into 2 glasses when Iseul starts serenading her. "Issy," Megan says, grinning. After that, Megan goes to check on Flash, and pets him while Iseul turns on some music and pours two glasses of wine, humming along to red wine supernova.

Also, Iseul got this bucket list item when I had her write one from the get busy category. 👀😂 I thought get busy meant doing some task or chore but apparently it's a woohoo-y one.

[littlemissthunderstorms]

in the darkest hours- humbug alex smut drabble

IM OBSESSED WITH THIS PHOTO OH MYGOD

i’m sorry if some things don’t make sense, this is really messy and short and i’m tired (by the way, i’ve started up a taglist, let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

———

..”that’s it, atta girl,” alex rasped from the other line, praising you as you had followed his previous instructions to take your underwear off.

you ran your hand down your torso, fingertips brushing against your supple skin. moonlight seeped in from the large window panes, shimmering across your form as you reached your lower abdomen. something about the moment evoked chills from your over sensitive skin. every touch, every sensation, was euphoric, eliciting shaky breaths from your lips.

“touch yourself for me hon, do what feels good baby.” it was around 2 in the morning for alex, not much later than your current time, 12am, but still so much that his accent was deeper, raspier and heavy with sleep. you flushed at the thought of him also half naked in bed, his long, fluffy hair all messy, falling over his forehead and eyes.

doing as he said, you gathered your arousal on your fingers, moving in taunting, slow circles. your slight pants and gasps from the other line informed alex you’d followed his instruction. your head was thrown back onto the pillow, faint shimmery city lights from the view dancing across your closed eyes.

upon your closed eyes, you thought of alex’s doe eyes, the way they widened every so sweetly in the dark. you were most fond of this whenever he would look up at you from in between your thighs, or the way he would watch you so tentatively when you woke up from a troubling nightmare. you thought of the way his features and contours were sure to be accentuated in the dark of the hotel room.

you paced yourself, eventually moving your skillful fingers faster. your other finger slid to the volume button on the phone, making sure it was turned up all the way so you were able to hear him amidst your own noises. alex coaxed you through it the whole time, sputtering filthy comments in the sweetest tone, talking about how he wishes it was him who could be touching you and filling you up so good, just the way you liked it.

he stuttered a bit, his soft gasps making it known he was also touching himself, which turned you on even more. you visualized his face contorting into pleasure as he wrapped his hand around the base of his aching cock, swiping a thumb across the angry tip. nevertheless, his thick accent serenaded you from the other line the whole time, even if it was interrupted by a breathy moan.

alex was impossibly aroused, his long hair sticking to his forehead as he touched himself, trying his best to suppress his whimpers as to hear you better.

as your pants and moans reached a crescendo that signaled your nearing release, it took the boy all of his willpower not to book a flight back to you right then and there. he seriously debated it for a split second, almost chuckling when he realized how irrational the thought was and how he had truly considered it.

your whimpers increased as you finger fucked yourself, the cool air heightening the sensations on your lower half. you moaned his name repeatedly, wishing so badly he was there with you, but this would have to do for now.

———

i’ll proofread in the morning 🤷‍♀️

taglist: @ultragirrl @inmyownfantasywrld @almluv @raven-ql @ohladymoon @yourstartreatment @missbabyjay @andulina567 @blair-s-world @rentsturner @indierockgirrl @kittyrob0t @kennedy-brooke

[liv2post]

Serenading Him

I've begun a new mini series on ao3, but I will also be dropping the chapters here. It will be about five chapters total. Here is chapter 1!

Read here or on AO3.

(This series can be read with any gender for reader and will have 5 or 6 chapters total)

CHAPTER 1: What Is That Melody

It is said that life can be breathed into a place by the people who occupy it. A dingy cottage on the outskirts of a town can be a lovely home to a family simply doing their best to be happy while raising a child. A town suffering economically can be polished with a veneer of gaiety when the community is brought together for the merry festivities that sweep through the streets come wintertime. Even a school can be considered a home to those looking for an escape, friendship, new adventures…

But not Hogwarts.

Not anymore.

No longer could anyone call Hogwarts their home. A prison perhaps, considering the students had no choice but to live there for the next nine months. With Voldemort in control of the ministry and Severus acting as headmaster of the school, Hogwarts had become a place of desolation and fear. The boat rides from the train station, which once roused anticipation and excitement from faces old and new, now caused anxiety and embitterment. The students couldn’t even be themselves— couldn’t be what they were: children. Instead, they were subjected to the strictest and borderline militaristic treatment. The Sorting Ceremony was no longer a joyful event. The only people who spoke a peep were Professor McGonagall and the Sorting Hat, leaving the room otherwise quiet, filled with a thick tension as the sorted students grimly shuffled to their respective houses.

The teachers tried their best to keep students engaged and cheerful during classes, but there was only so much they could do with the Carrows undoing all that work every day with their twisted teachings and abusive punishments. And all while this happened, Severus remained hidden in his ivory tower.

Severus hated it—hated himself for allowing over two decades' worth of bad decision-making to culminate into… this. The isolation was what kept his mind at bay. No one ever saw him in the halls or at meals. All his time was either spent in the Headmaster’s office, at Malfoy Manor attending meetings, or in some random countryside where only the ravens that nested in the pine trees could hear his anguished screams and spells he cast at boulders. He couldn’t bear to show his face to the colleagues he could once call friends. He was ashamed, each disdainful look he received from them on the first day was another arrow in his back. The pressure to wear a mask of indifference towards the suffering of students and a disposition of support for Voldemort tore him apart inside. How could they possibly understand his position? How could they possibly know that he was simply following the strategic instructions of the Headmaster he was forced to kill in cold blood? There was hardly any reprieve for him except for his walks through the Scotland hills, the bottom of a firewhiskey bottle…

And…

He could pinpoint the exact day it started. Precisely one month after the start of the school year, something strange began to happen in the castle. On Sunday night, a minute after curfew took effect, music would begin to play. The sound emanated throughout the castle, and its source was difficult to determine as a result of the castle’s stony walls encouraging an even echo. Severus recognized the instrument. It was what muggles called “electric guitars” and he only recognized it because the instrument's sound reminded him of the Weird’s Sisters performance at the Yule Ball.

As one might expect, the occurrence greatly vexed him the first night it happened. The instrument’s song echoed through the night air and a large set of windows he kept open at night and only closed right before retiring. Filch and the Carrows, not needing an order from the headmaster to know that they should find whoever was causing a disturbance after curfew, came up empty-handed. 

At first, everyone in the castle thought this was just a one-time thing, a show of rebellion against the people who had sucked all the fun out of Hogwarts, leaving it a shell of its former self. But then, it happened again. And again. And again.

Every Sunday at 9:01 PM a song would play from somewhere in the castle, its notes managing to reach even the dungeons. It was only one song, a different one each time. These short-lived performances made it more difficult for the Carrows and Filch to catch the offender. The other teachers didn’t mind. Neither did the students. In fact, they began to look forward to it. Each weekly performance gave them hope the following week would somehow get better, and that they shouldn’t give up despite the ruinous circumstances they found themselves in. That there was still a fight to be had.

By Halloween, Severus had given up trying to remain irritated by the music that pervaded the air. On a night filled with so much self-loathing and heartache toward the one he had lost, he couldn't muster the energy to even care, let alone walk to the windows and close them. He was halfway through a bottle sitting in a chair he was undeserving of, letting the music wash over him, placating him almost. Despite finding such an instrument to be distasteful and loud, the muggle music played was not. Few songs were familiar to him, including one song he heard at the beginning of December. He had closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, pretending to be somewhere else outside of this miserable sphere as the music echoed gently into his office from the night sky. The performance lasted just over three minutes and left his office in overwhelming silence once again. As he imagined it did with other students, it brought him a tiny bit of comfort and left him vaguely wondering what would be played the next Sunday night.

Watching from the Battlements, Severus sighed in relief when the last of the students exited the castle, guided by Hagrid and Filch towards the boathouse, and eventually the train station. It was the start of winter break and every student went home for the holidays. Who could blame them? The parents desperately wished for them to come home. Any letter he had received from parents about why their child was writing home about enduring the Cruciatius curse had been tossed in the fire. As if he could write them back or do anything about it, to begin with. It brought him some peace to know that the students would return home once again to be with their loved ones before the second half of the term. 

This, however, left the castle terribly empty. All the other teachers went home, even Filch, choosing to go to a squib village for the holidays since there would be no one to look after for the next few weeks, which left the headmaster all to his lonesome. It was his desire to leave as well, but it was required of him to stay over the holidays. And it wasn’t as though his destitute little home in Spinner’s End would be any better.

Reading, drinking, and thinking. That’s all he cared to do on his first day in the empty castle. In the morning he bypassed the rope that guarded the restrictive section and selected a book to read, usually some sort of history book, in the afternoons he walked around aimlessly like an Azkaban prisoner devoid of their soul, hoping something unsuspecting would come out of the Forbidden Forest and just end him already. At night he found solace in the amber liquid that sat in his hand as he stared into the fire, his mind a pendulum swinging back and forth from wondering how Potter and his friends were fairing while on the run to whether it was worth fighting the battle anymore.

Then he heard it.

Dum…Dum…Dum…Dum… 

His eyes flashed open from their once fluttery state as he snapped his head from the roaring fireplace to the barely opened windows. The music was back, but hadn’t all the students go home? The time on his wall clock displayed 9:01. That student was still here. 

He crossed to the other side of the room, pushed open the large windows, and listened to the introductory strumming of the guitar. As he listened he had a realization if he was able to hear the music this well from his office…

It had to be coming from one of the towers. 

He was going to find out who had been doing this.

With a swoosh of his robes, his body resembled that of a tattered cloak or a lethifold as he took off through his open windows and into the night sky. He had to be very careful to avoid the dementors posted around the school, whose job was to make sure students didn't try to escape via broom. He swept around to each tower only stopping for only a moment to see if a student was present. Time was of the essence as he expected the performance to last only a few minutes as they had before. The more he flew around the closer to the music he got, leaving him with one last destination. 

The Astronomy Tower. It was the highest point in Hogwarts and had an almost 360-degree pan opening to the night sky, which meant the sound could travel far and wide.

Severus landed quietly just beyond the other side of the railing and his suspicions were confirmed. The music, now deafening, sounded as though it was coming from right on top of him. When he looked around he saw no one, even when he looked up towards the hollowed ceiling. And right as the song was about to reach its crescendo—

“Homenum Revelio,” he chanted, swishing his wand about the air.

There was a disembodied wind-like noise, indicating that a human presence had been revealed. Sitting against the incline of a load-bearing beam up in the air was a 7th-year student, one leg bent while the other dangled off with a look of mild surprise on their face. He recognized you. You were one of his best students in the time he was your potion’s Professor and continued to hear many things about you from Slughorn. You were also set to graduate this year with many NEWT classes beneath your belt and a recommendation from Slughorn, but upon the start of Severus’s reign as headmaster, you had mysteriously dropped every subject except for Charms. No one had answers but granted, very few asked.

He remembered you as someone who was rather polite. Quiet, but amicable enough that people felt they could ask you questions. Otherwise, you kept to yourself.

You blinked down at him from your spot, strumming hand frozen before you slowly lowered it while your gaze remained locked on the Headmaster.

“So it has been you breaking the rules and serenading all of Hogwarts,” he drawled, stiffly.

You returned no verbal reply, only a silent, subtle nod of confirmation. His eyes flicked over the instrument that rested across your torso. It was glowing a light blue, presumably a spell that empowered it to work properly in the manner it would in the muggle world.

“Why?”

“...I wanted to piss the Carrows off,” you eventually said after opening and closing your mouth.

“You have surely succeeded in that endeavor,” he stated quietly. “Come down from there.”

Severus watched in silence as you slung the instrument around you with a strap and carefully scaled your way back down to the dusty floors of the Astronomy Tower. His eyes flit over your attire as you turned to face him. You were dressed in muggle clothes, wearing an especially thick sweatshirt to help combat the frigid winter air. 

“You chose not to go home as everyone else has?”

“My “home” has been reduced to a pile of rubble for a few months now,” you murmured.

His brows scrunched together momentarily before softening in understanding. He recalled you being a half-blood, but not every half-blood was safe, especially if the parents were outspoken about pro-muggle views. “What of your parents?”

“In America. Hopefully. I don't know if they made it. I’m supposed to meet them there upon graduation, assuming I manage to have my escape arranged properly.”

A buzzing crackle of energy lit between the two of you. 

“Very few would take the risk of admitting such plans to flee eventual capture in the face of a Death Eater. Especially one so close to the Dark Lord.” Severus narrowed his eyes at you, his tone remaining calculated as he chose his words carefully to feel out the situation. He needed absolute confirmation, not some fickle half-belief statements in which straws would be grasped.

Both your eyes searched one another for any whisper of doubt and uncertainty, you making sure his hand stayed away from his wand specifically. But with just a few words, you swept any possible reluctance off the table.

“...I know what you are, Professor.”

His eyes flashed and his Occlumency walls went up in pure reflexive instinct.  

“If you truly did not care for the students, you wouldn’t have sent all those kids off to have detention with Hagrid instead of letting their fate fall to Amycus and Alecto. They would’ve had them begging for death.” Your eyes drifted over to the spot Dumbledore would have stood before he plummeted from the rails of the Astronomy Tower. Severus followed your gaze and internally winced at where you were looking. 

“This is the last place I would expect to see you.”

Severus calmly turned and ambled back towards the railing, cold hands clasped beneath his cloak. “I don’t wish to be at Hogwarts as a whole any more than you do,” he murmured, the underlying truth tacitly laid bare before you, confirming the prospect you were desperately hoping to be correct. And he was being surprisingly… soft with you, a fact that only helped your case and your suspicions of his true ideals.

He saw no point in lying to you. He was tired. So tired. Playing this role was killing him. He was confident enough in his own Occlumency to hide this conversation from the Dark Lord, but someone needed to know of his true intentions. He needed that mental support to keep him going and he wasn’t going to get it from the portrait of the man who ensnared him into this whole ordeal.

“And yet here you are,” you replied with a similar gentleness.

“The path ahead of me is a Hobson’s choice. Surely, you are insightful enough to understand that.”

You nodded, the wood beneath you creaking as you approached the railing, but kept a certain distance between the two of you. “I do. I just didn’t expect you to linger for the break.”

“It is difficult to traverse discreetly when your name and face have been plastered in major news outlets. I’m ordered to remain here and should I be spotted outside of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, the news will surely get back to the Dark Lord. And one cannot just polyjuice anyone without knowing their blood type as insurance.” He side-eyed you. “Given the circumstances, I’m surprised you haven’t taken the break as an opportunity to run.”

“There are too many uncertainties at play,” you responded. “It's a waiting game for me. Should it all go wrong, I need to have learned to conceal myself properly by then.”

“Is that why you are only taking Charms?”

“...Yes. DADA has been tainted, the seventh-year potions are of no use to me, and it…” you shook your head looking towards the Great Lake that sparkled in the moonlight. “It won’t matter. I’m just…done. I’m going back to the muggle world. Away from all this. It’s my best shot at safety.”

He glanced at you solemnly. “You are not confident in Potter?” You are not confident in me? 

You sighed. “I'll…do what I need to do here to keep morale up, but…no. Potter has proven to be unpredictable and it is not wrong of me to think of self-preservation in these times.”

He exhaled faintly. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

Neither of you said anything else except for Snape telling you to return to your common room lest you catch your death up here. However, the both of you would retire for the night with a crumb of comradery nestled somewhere in your hearts.

Next Chapter