#so instead of being screwed into the frame they are glued in

[harlotish]

I should’ve known better than to think that Reddit would have any useful advice for how to do something and a non-professional DIY manner 

[chknbzkt]

In the Biomech AU explanation post, you said something about how the biomechs need treatment at each growth stage to update them with information and whatnot for their development into their intended purpose...And that Fazbear monumentally screwed up at every stage with the celestials and that messed them up? Judging by the picture of that doctor pinning the poor baby before stabbing them with a needle I assume that "screw up" is 1-ton TRAUMA?

Oh boy you have no idea 🥲

See, the people behind the scenes pulling the strings and shitting up everything intended for the celestials to be a main attraction that could outshine even Freddy Fazbear himself. I’m a tad inspired by the canon DA formerly being intended for theater but repurposed into a daycare animatronic these days, but instead they were a fluke star attraction more or less ‘banished’ to the daycare so they wouldn’t have been too harsh of a waste of resources in their failed objective.

They were intended to be a revolutionary biomech, a singular entity that could change shape and aesthetic onstage and wow focus groups because by Al accounts being able to alter your own biology and literally werewolf out into a different shape entirely?? That’s fucking amazing, and by all accounts they would have struck gold upon their debut!!

Except… plenty of members of the team assigned to them were very extreme and emotionally neglectful.

Now, Fazfuck Entertainment never really had a kid track record with being empathetic to even their own staff ffs, but this is doubly so for their biomechs. In their eyes, they exist only to attract audiences and take in tons of moolah, and the biomechs owe it to them to be the scrumptious little money makers they were made for.

So… their harsh methods and cold uncaring treatment of the DAs in their early days left them with a loooong string of… “issues” down the line.

The neurologists tasked with updating them could just whip their memories clean each time the stress and anxiety got too much, but while the ax forgets, the tree remembers. Trauma the likes of which was inflicted upon them during their various treatments and stress tests CANT just be wiped away in a snap. It sticks with you, it’s ingrained.

It cuts so deep that you start shaking when your handler carrying a speaker wife that looks too much like a needle approaches you the wrong way. And you don’t even know why.

It glued itself so deep that a sea of adults resembling the sea of unimpressed, disproving scientists you can’t even recall makes you wants to empty your stomach contents. But you can’t because you’ve gotta be good! Be good for the hardworking faculty that made you this big of a deal at all

And of course, let’s not forget the numerous times these people have mentioned that Sun’s existence is a mistake.

The DA was intended to be one personality. The two siblings have been forced through so many procedures in an attempt to merge them together or at the least completely eliminate Sun’s personality so the strain on their shared frame would cause too much stress when they switch. Of course it didn’t work, it can’t lest they both end up dead, or arguably worse, stripped of both personalities and functionally inert.

But man did their creators try their damndest, much to the twins’ dismay and terror.

So! When they both had a horrific meltdown on their opening night that decided their future as a star or a flop, they flopped hard. Not a lot of people really like seeing a kid’s mascot horrifically devolve into a screaming, twisting lump of Mental Breakdown Supreme a la The Thing so uh, that was a bust. They were stripped of all recollection and the project was deemed a failure. But the higher ups didn’t want their hard spent money to go to waste, BUT it became apparent that the DA can’t stand being around adults. Gods, not so many adults. They just can’t.

So what did they do with the highly unstable biomech(s) with PTSD out the wazoo? Put ‘em with the kiddos baybeeee-

I mean, it means minimal exposure to adults, Fazbear Entertainment has all but scrubbed The Incident from people’s collective minds (Or Else), and the DA still gets to make themselves useful! Sweet 😎👉🏽

I’m tinkering with making them a theater biomech like in Somnophobia, that way they’ll have plenty of time to build up their theatric flair and cool off from being harried by shitty execs and lab coats for a while, because I have it in my head that these two were Wayyyy finicky and unpredictable, too much so to be around kids at first.

They had to take time to spend healing each other and just. Talking in their mind palace because neither really knows Why they feel so seemingly needlessly stressed pretty much all the time, but I also think it lends credence to how snappish Sun is in-game and how it translates here. That poor bastard is treated a fair deal worse than Moon but that’s really not saying much

And uh, we won’t get into the whole Bonnie Incident right now, at least not during this post it’s getting long. Just know that he got too involved in protecting his little Moon and Stars and things got heated. He has protections the DA didn’t so they couldn’t just wipe his mind like they’d been doing the celestials without getting in trouble.

Their solution got them in less trouble… but it was more permanent.

[chil2de]

𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 — gorou.

— some nsfw hcs and a.... nsfw piece. of course.

— a/n: yup. quick post because i’m here to tell you why shiba boy is the best and u will listen to me. u are being hypnotised. stan gorou.

— tags: unprotected sex, breeding kinks, overstim, degradation, possessive gorou, pet name ‘puppy’ tho it’s used as mockery, dacryphilia, mentions of praise kinks n shit, love bites, mentions of choking, slight humiliation but nothing too extreme, semi-public / public sex

— POSSESSIVE. he is literally half dog???? hello?

— look at me. look me in the fucking eyes and tell me this man does not have a breeding kink. i dare you. no, come on. say it.

— oh you can’t? well guess what? it’s cause gorou just loves watching his cum spill out of you.

— service top but also a switch. say it louder for the people in the back.

— i could go into heavy detail ab how much gorou hates cockwarming. he thinks it’s the stupidest thing ever bc he’s impatient. i don’t think he can handle being teased LMFAO he will straight up just tell u to sit on his cock already.

— i feel like ….. gorou accidentally gives u bruises all over your body. he just gets so excited halfway through sex he can’t contain himself and it’s just? a show of his sheer strength? i think we are all forgetting that he is THE resistance general? he’s not gonna be weak despite having such a petite frame? (literally look at xiao lmao what)

— very needy. he told me so himself. i think gorou’s the type to creep up on you and start kissing ur neck in broad daylight, tail wagging and shit :( then he’s just. “what’s up? are you feeling unwell?” as though he is not trying to dick u down in an alleyway🤨.

— praise kink……. you will call him “my good boy” and just. wow. the switch in his demeanour is crazy. eyebrows knit and he fuckin whimpers like a little bitch because wow.

— he likes being choked. that is it. end of discussion. no i will not be taking any questions but feel free to elaborate.

— makeout sessions forever ruined bc gorou can’t keep his dick in his pants </3 can u imagine being able to fluster a damned resistance general. ?? why is nobody talking about how hot that is?

— ..what if ur the bad guy n ur whole army and shit are fighting gorou but….. behind closed doors you’re making his eyes roll into the back of his head?? he’s secretly meeting up w you just to rearrange your guts?

Gorou supposes there’s probably nothing worse for him to witness than the events that occurred this morning. There isn’t a single thing that he can think of that was more demeaning and downright humiliating.

Arataki Itto. Flirting with you.

One would have to be a fucking idiot to not know that you belong to the resistance general. You’re practically glued to his hip first and foremost, and if that weren’t enough? You literally have Gorou’s scent on you, every hour of the waking day. It’s the way you batted your pretty lashes up at Itto, humouring his idiosyncratic behaviour as though you actually gave a damn about what he was saying.

And the best part of it all? When Gorou speed walked to your aid, attempting to grab you out of the conversation before things got any more awkward and tense? You really hit Gorou, of all people, with the “Relax! We’re just talking, puppy.”

You certainly didn’t benefit Gorou’s case when his ears flattened as his face screwed, signature pout adorning his lips. And Itto, of course, instead of holding his laugh decided to just cackle outright at the pet name.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Gorou hums pleasantly, lilt evident as he glances at your pathetic state. You attempt to garble out something, but to no avail. Gorou hums in mock sympathy, hovering over your warm and sticky body to swipe up some of your excess drool. He dips his thumb back into your mouth, pulling down to reveal the start of your bottom teeth.

“Nope. Still can’t hear you. Try again for me?” He sneers, tone condescending. Gorou abruptly slams his cock right against your g-spot, tearing out his length before slamming back in to bottom out again. Your body jolts, pins and needles licking you from head to toe at how his blunt tip drags against your warm walls. It’s not like you could have answered regardless.

“Come on, puppy. Your sweet general doesn’t have all day, you know.” Gorou coaxes you once more, effortlessly curling your knees into your chest as he holds you into a mating press. He aims for your neck, leaning in as his lips attach to abuse your soft skin. Gorou’s trailed his love bites all over your body as though you’re a canvas. His canvas. You’re the general’s personal cocksleeve.

His soft hair and ears tickle you, piling onto your load of hypersensitivity. Your dainty wrists claw as you meekly try to grab ahold of Gorou’s clothes, wishing he’d finally take all of them off. Gorou’s cock has got you stirred up to the point where you can officially no longer form sentences.

“Aw. You’re crying? ‘S it cause my cock’s so big? You’ll be okay.” Gorou peppers a wet kiss to your forehead, deep voice thrumming in his throat as he chuckles. You’re sobbing fat tears because it’s humiliating. You are the only one who’s stark naked, hanging on by a non existent thread when your only salvation is half of Gorou’s smooth and toned torso peeking out at you. The general really does have his next shift to go to, yet he couldn’t help but at least try to fuck you straight in one of the storage warehouses. Every time you hear the impeding footsteps, Gorou only seems to grow more frustrated and pound into you with more fervour as though to drown out the excess static.

In the end, it’s an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. You humiliated the general, so he’ll get you back just as much.

reblog or i WILL punch you.

ATSUWH0RES 2021.

[xiaophobic]

‧₊˚.𖧧. GINGERBREAD CASTLES!

including! — itto/reader <3

genre/warnings! — fluff, itto is tall, elements of christmas, tiny bit of suggestiveness but it’s really jus kisses, light profanity, use of the petnames “sunshine” & “sweetheart”, collab submission for @xiaosmoon ‘s holidays collab [ here! ]

༉‧₊˚. SYNOPSIS! — it’s just some harmless teasing, you mean, why does he have to look so good while making a gingerbread house? acting on an urge could’ve cost you the competition, and yet the promise of him doting on you right now seems significantly better than a victory.

several pieces of festively decorated packaging lay strewn among your kitchen floor, discarded far too quickly to be properly thrown away. you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up at the moment, however, not when you’re knee deep in competition like this.

“what kind of house even is that?” you playfully scoff after glancing at his creation. multicolored gumdrops and small specks of various other candies are glued messily to his gingerbread house with icing. it’s a sight to behold, that’s for sure.

“uh uh, castle! get it right, baby!” itto’s fangs graze his grin proudly as he works with what’d look like practiced precision if you didn’t know him.

“gotta make somethin’ fit for a king.”

you shake your head in loving annoyance, reverting your attention to your own craft. the competition was based on your creativity, “whoever makes the best gingerbread house wins!” his earlier suggestion rung in your mind as you swirled about your piping bag. obviously you couldn’t just let him win this, his competitive personality had rubbed off on you a heaping amount when he’d proposed the idea.

in going to rip open a small bag of sprinkles and add some finishing touches, a uniquely frustrated huff sounds from beside you. you’re about to remark about almost being finished, yet the words don’t seem to depart quick enough as you gaze at him in his concentrated state.

he’s pretty, of course he is, and it certainly is not helping your gingerbread house completion process. determination is evident in his expression, his tongue poking out between his lips and his eyes narrowed like his entire reputation depends on this one gingerbread “castle”. if you know him any well he probably wholeheartedly believes that. from his pristine hair tied up into a half-assed bun with strands that fade from white to red and frame his shoulders perfectly, down to the gray tank top and plaid holiday pants he’d insisted you got matching sets of that both hug him a big too snug — wait, what are you supposed to be focusing on again? he’s entirely too big of a distraction.

oh, but a bit of flirting wouldn’t ruin anything, would it? according to what you can see he’s still far from done but it’d just be a bit of friendly fire! it is based on creativity, and this would certainly be a creative way of winning. your internal monolog whilst ogling him like this is akin to an angel and devil residing within your subconscious, and it seems the devil may be winning.

“lookin’ good, big guy,” you advance on him, nuzzling into his back with a familiar lilt to your voice he tells himself to ignore. the sprinkles you’d previously been interested in are as good as lost (they’re likely on the counter still, you just can’t care any less at the moment).

“me or my castle, sunshine?” he attempts to tease back, but falls short because you are not losing.

mischievous arms snake around his waist as you move in closer, and itto feels his breath evade him when your lips knowingly smooth over his bicep. a trail forms with each petal-light kiss you offer his toned back, sneaking up slowly and meticulously in the exact way that makes him shudder each time. you may not be able to match his height but he’s definitely receiving the effects of you taking that to your advantage.

“take a guess.”

god, he should turn around right now. screw the damn gingerbread house and place you atop this counter instead. he won’t though, you’re just scheming against him, and just as much you aren’t losing he isn’t either. maybe later as a bit of a victory present.

“your little plan isn’t workin’, sweetheart,” lying straight through his teeth. “besides, i’m already done!”

done? already? you groan and sneak a look at his…castle. the entire situation almost completely slipped from memory, too absorbed in your moment to remember it all began with such an innocent holiday activity.

“y’know, i should disqualify you for your little trick just now,” you don’t react fast enough to realize he’s now facing you, big hands encircling your waist. your daze is back as briskly as it began and you genuinely feel yourself get a bit dizzy when his nail glides teasingly under your chin.

he smells of the beloved gingerbread that granted you this exchange, and in kissing him like you’d faint the next second you surmise that he tastes like it too. he probably couldn’t suppress the enticement of sweets and just impulsively indulged in a piece, kind of similar to how you acted on impulse earlier. he’s so sweet.

“i, unlike some people, enjoy winning fair and square, though,” you’d forgotten he was speaking. you’re turned around forcibly by your shoulders and shoved (with care) back in front of your gingerbread house.

“now, get back to work so i can finally win this!”

you smile. he still truly thought he was winning.

“pfft, in your dreams.”

thank you soso much for reading <333 stay safe & ily

[weelittleweasley]

Rosy Cheeks | Fred x Reader

Prompt as anon requested: Fred has always been very forward with his feelings, especially when it comes girls. You on the other hand were always taken aback by how forward he was. 

Warnings: fluffy, blushy, cute, warm, and fuzzy :)

Word Count: 2.4k

Small chatter in the library filled Fred’s ears as he sat at a small table pushed against the wall. He leaned back, twirling his quill in his fingers, not paying a lick of attention to the study group at the table. He tuned out Alicia’s voice going on about Flitwick’s class, arguing with Angelina about an answer to the study guide they made together for their upcoming exam. This was all nonsense to Fred in comparison to what he was staring at; rather who he was staring at.

Fred maintained a soft gaze on you from across the library. He watched as you sat alone at a small table, hair pulled up sloppily into a pony tail, the loose strands falling around your face, framing it. You propped your head up with your hand as you read through a book, flipping its pages, struggling to find the information you needed for the same exam he was preparing for. Fred’s heart fluttered in his ribcage as he watched you bite your lip, squinting your eyes as you read the words on the page. How was it possible for someone to be this adorable without even trying?

George leaned back in his chair, laughing at Alicia and Angelina fighting over the right answer. He turned to his right to see his twin, staring off into the distance. He followed his brother’s line of sight and saw exactly who he was gawking at. He let out a light chuckle, “Fred, mate, stop gawking at her and go talk to her.”

Fred snapped out of his daydream and turned to his brother. “I don’t want to disturb her, she looks so peaceful,” he retorts with a small smile on his lips as he returned his gaze to you from across the library. Alicia rolled her eyes at Fred, knowing well enough that Fred wouldn’t care disturbing a girl from her work if it meant he could talk to her. “I’m serious. Anyway, what were you two going on about?”

“Ah, ah, don’t be so quick to change the subject, Weasley,” Angelina shakes her head. “I didn’t know you had a thing for (Y/L/N), when did this start?” she asks, leaning forward, more intrigued in Fred’s little crush than the work in front of them. 

George laughs, “It wasn’t obvious before? Fred drools at the mouth when he sees her.” His comment makes Angelina and Alicia both laugh as Fred punches George in the arm as a warning. “Godric, calm down, I’m just teasing you, mate.” 

You were in the same year as Fred and George, but you had never really been friends with them. Just acquaintances. Fred didn’t start having a crush on you until your fifth year at Hogwarts. You had all come back from summer vacation, and all of a sudden it seemed like you had grown up before everyone’s eyes. You cut your hair, you didn’t have braces anymore, you started wearing light make up to highlight your facial features, and not to mention you suddenly became more aware of your feminine figure. The male gaze was much more present on you and you could feel it. It’s not that you didn’t like the attention, you just weren’t used to it. You were used to blending in the background, minding your own business and keeping a tight circle of close friends. So when random boys came up to you, like Fred, you were always caught off guard by their flirtations. It’s not that you didn’t find Fred cute, because you indeed find him to be incredibly handsome, you were just not used to how forward he was with his emotions.

Fred leans forward and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it seems like every time I try to talk to her or flirt with her, I just end up screwing things. I compliment her, I try to talk to her as much as I can, I offer to walk her to class, but when I do those things it seems like she just freezes up.”

Closing her book and surrendering to the conversation, Alicia speaks, “For starters, Fred, you aren’t very subtle when it comes to fancying girls.” Fred furrows his brows. “You are always very forward with them and make it known that you like them and some girls prefer a little game. Some back and forth, make the bloke sweat a bit. You on the other hand are...intense for lack of better words.” 

Her comment makes the table burst out in laughter as Fred tries to defend himself. “Intense?! I’m intense?!” he exclaims before noticing his rising volume, earning a few shushes from the people around him. “Alright, fine, I can be a little intense, but it’s just because I don’t like playing games. I like getting right down to it. Why waste time?” 

George retorts to his brother, “But how do you know that she doesn’t like the chase, mate? Maybe she needs to take things slow.”

Fred just rolls his eyes, “Have I ever not succeeded in getting a girl with my method?” Alicia and Angelina scoff before returning back to their books, their argument about the right answer ensuing yet again. Fred continues talking to George, “Look, she’s also studying for Flitwick’s exam. Maybe she needs help. How kind of me to offer her some help!” 

Fred rises from his seat, grabbing his book leaving the table. “How are you gonna help her when you barely know what you’re doing, mate?” George speaks.

Spinning around, Fred quickly responds, “She doesn’t know that. Fake it ‘till you make it.” He sends his brother and their friends a wink before heading over to your table, unbeknownst to you.

You were deep into reading your book for Flitwick’s class, flipping wildly through pages to find the charm and wand movement you were looking for. “It has to be here somewhere,” you mumble to yourself, licking your fingertips before flipping through pages. 

“Need help?” you hear a voice speak. You look up to see Fred Weasley towering over you, a small smirk on his lips. Your heart rate speeds up the moment you see him, heart pounding against your chest. Your mouth goes dry and every thought in your mind vanishes. He literally made you speechless. Don’t freak out, you think to yourself. “May I?” he asks, referring to the empty seat next to you. Nodding your head up and down, you quickly look away from him as to not draw anymore attention to yourself. Fred takes the seat next to you as you feel your cheeks heating up, suddenly becoming more self-aware in the space next to him. “Studying for Flitwick’s exam?” he asks.

Taking a gulp, you muster up the words to speak to the cute boy next to you. “Um, yeah,” you nod your head, eyes still glued to the textbook, refusing to look at him. It felt wrong to look at him for some reason. Fred’s gaze did something to you. It felt so intimate for the strangest reason. “Or attempting to,” you add. “I can’t seem to find the charm I’m looking for in the textbook.”

Fred scoots his chair closer to you and you tense up a little bit. He reaches to your textbook and says, “Maybe I can be of some help? What charm is it?” As he asks you, he places his arm around the back of your chair, resting it around you. You become very aware of his slick placement, an obvious move, and your mouth goes dry. Fred was making his move and he was monitoring your reaction carefully.

You didn't know what to do. Flirt back? Answer his question? Tell him that you’re okay and that’ll you’ll find it? You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t like his flirtation because you did, you just didn’t know how to react. Instead of saying something flirty back, you just look at him and answer the question. “Erecto,” you speak as Fred widens his eyes. Of course. You just widen your eyes back as Fred chuckles. “I-I-I didn’t mean it like that, I meant that’s the charm I’m looking for!” you justify your answer. 

Fred continues to chuckle before replying, “At least take me on a date first, (Y/N).” He sends you a wink as your cheeks go bright red, making Fred chuckle more. “You look adorable when you blush,” Fred confesses which only makes you blusher harder and look away from him, a smile forming on your lips which Fred doesn’t miss. The smile makes Fred smile wider and his heart flutter. “Alright, let me have a look,” he pulls the textbook, flipping through pages with one hand, keeping his other arm around the back of your chair. You just sit quietly and play with the quill in your hand, tucking your hand behind your ear. Godric, this was embarrassing. “And here we have it. Right next to Engorgio,” he winks at you as you bite your lip to hold back your smile. Fred notices and speaks, “Hey, don’t hide that smile from me. You look beautiful when you smile.” He pushes a piece of hair out of your face and brushes it behind your ear as you heart stops, making your mouth go dry. You let a small smile pull at the corners of your mouth. “There we are. Beautiful.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, staring at the other. Fred’s eyes dart all over your face trying to gage your reaction to his words, nervously scanning you. You just stare at Fred’s eyes and look at how much life are behind them. Aside from being a goof, Fred Weasley had so much charm and charisma. That’s what made him so attractive. He was confident in himself. But you don’t let yourself get carried away. You break your gaze and go back to your work, but Fred keeps looking at you. “Thank you, Fred,” you tell him quietly, scribbling down the charm on your parchment.

You can still feel Fred’s eyes on you as you write, growing uncomfortable in his gaze. It wasn’t that he was making you uncomfortable, it’s just the fact that he loved look at you was something you weren’t used to. “Can I ask you something, (Y/N)?” he asks as your heart stops. Uh oh. 

Your mind is racing with possible questions he could ask you, but you still say, “Sure.”

Fred takes in a breath before speaking, “Do you consider me intense?”

You furrow your brows, “Intense?”

“Yeah, like Alicia told me I’m intense. I understand that if she was referring to me when I’m playing quidditch, but she meant like...when I’m around a girl that I like...I’m intense with them. Would you agree?” he asks, arm still around you as you bite down on your lip, confused.

You open your mouth to speak, trying to formulate a sentence. “Well, I don’t know...I haven’t seen you interact with a girl who you fancy,” you tell him as you play with the quill in your hands.

Your comment makes Fred laugh and shake his head. “Merlin,” he breathes out. “You’re bluffing, right?” You furrow your brows yet again, completely confused. You were being truthful. You knew that Fred flirted with you, but didn’t he flirt with everyone? That was Fred’s thing, wasn’t it? “(Y/N), I fancy you. I have since fifth year,” Fred confesses.

In that moment, your heart stops. Fred Weasley fancied you? So the flirting was because he fancied you? “Oh,” you speak as Fred just chuckles, waiting for you to say something. Your shyness gets the best of you again and you just blush deep crimson for the thousandth time, making Fred smile. “I didn’t know, Fred.”

He shakes his head, “For someone as smart and as gorgeous as you, you’re quite oblivious, (Y/N). I’ve been flirting with you every day, sneaking a glance or touch when I can. You thought I was doing all of that to be friendly?” You just shrug in response. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable during any of it, it’s just the way I’m used to flirting with girls,” he tells you with a soft smile. “But I am serious. I do have a crush on you. And I’d love to take you out on a date if you’d let me, (Y/N).”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your palms are sweating. There’s no way that this is happening right now. Five minutes ago you were freaking out over an exam and now you were being asked out on a date by one of the fittest guys in your year. With a shaky breath in and a smile, you reply, “Okay. I’ll go on a date with you.”

Fred gives you a toothy grin. “Brilliant,” he beams. “How does this Friday work? We can go to the Three Broomsticks and get some Butterbeer?” he asks. “7pm?” You give him a small nod, rubbing the back of your neck, trying to hide your excitement. “Cool. Don’t worry, darling, I’ll make it worth your while,” he winks before placing a small kiss on your bright crimson cheek. “I’ll see you then.” He rises from his chair and makes his way back to the table where George, Alicia, and Angelina eagerly wait for him.

As he walks away, you let out a little giggle, excited for what the weekend has in store for you. Now with a beaming smile on your face, you continue to study for the exam, in a much better mood than before. “I’ve got a date with Fred Weasley,” you whisper to yourself, blushing hard as you flip through pages of your book.

“And?” George asks as Fred plops back down in his chair. “You scare her away again? Or did you behave yourself?” he pushes Fred’s shoulder.

Fred looks at his friends and brother and simply speaks, “Intense my arse. Guess who has a date this Friday?” he leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as his friends’ jaws drop. “Don’t act surprised. I told you my method always works.”

George scoffs, “Yeah right. Hey, (Y/N)!” He bellows from the opposite side of the library, grabbing your attention as your eyes widen at the call. “My idiot brother said he’s got a date with you on Friday. That true? Or did he bribe you to say yes?” Fred slaps his brother upside the head.

You let out a light laugh, very aware of the multiple pairs of eyes on you from various students, anticipating your answer. “I don’t do bribes, George. Besides, your brother has quite the way with words,” you tease with a little more confidence, earning a few oohs from around you.

George stares at you and then Fred in disbelief. Then he speaks, “Nice going, mate!” Fred chuckles before looking over at you, sending you a wink.

[afandommultiverse]

Enemies - Zora Ideale

word count - 2.5k

request - Z3ll0us

warnings - uhh none really, language probably, just some fluff

a/n - ya'll, my bad, I'm not dead just not creative, I somehow came up with this in the matter of like 5 months, and it's still shit I'm sorry guys, but I hope you all enjoy! Btw I'm going to be trying my best to come back!💕

~~~

It seemed no matter where he went, no matter what job it was if they were there, there was no chance for him. How many bounties had he lost? How many relics had they stolen right from under him for contracts? Zora was sick of it and made it a rule to himself that he would drop everything and turn the other way when he saw them, but what was even the point? Because no matter where he went, they were always there.

Even now, a member of the Black Bulls, he was having a hard time holding back from releasing magic spells. He wanted them gone, at least that is what he thought. Why else would he get this burning feeling looking at them to speak to Magna like they have been friends for years? But, of course, Zora could never tell them. However, he wanted them to talk to him like that, not like he was just some scum on the bottom of their shoes, but it is not like all he has done has exactly helped his relationship with them, which brought him to his current predicament.

"With who?" Zora could not believe his luck. Of course, he was going to be with them. What else would the fates do but trick and play with him? His suffering must be amusing. Yami puffed on his cigarette as he handed Zora a pack of mission information.

"You are with Y/n. Now go find them and get on; I forgot about that one under some stacks of papers, due dates in 3 days." Yami kicked Zora out of his office and left him there to stare at the door as he thought about how fucked the next four days would be for him.

~~~

It was a cave expedition. Some wild animals had been going in there and coming out with big mana. It was beginning to make it dangerous for the surrounding villages who hunted wild game to put dinner on the table. But, thank the gods, Yami had cleaned off his desk; if not, who knows what kind of trouble the guild would have been in the next few days.

Walking to their room, Zora had heavy feet, which seemed only to get more weighted and weighted as he got closer to their door. Then he heard their laugh vibrating through the walls and ringing out to the hall where he could listen, halting his step and his heartbeat. Zora swallowed a knot before bringing his hand up to the door and knocking heavily. He heard their steps before the door opened, and they stared at him, sitting into their hip and glaring.

"What?" They seethed, narrowing their eyes as if looking for a trick. He sighed and handed them the folder, not even bothering to mess with them right now; they will prove him wrong later anyways.

"Be ready in thirty minutes." And then he walked away.

Y/n P.O.V

I watched Zora skulk away, a different air around him, almost defeated. I frowned before closing the door and turning back to the guest.

"Who was that?" A friend of mine from hell, a tiny demoness who specialized in brews and potions. Aliza was her name, and she was a stout little thing with filled-out curves and gorgeous maroon skin that glowed. Her nails were sharp and black, seeming to glitter in the light as she lifted her cup, which was much more prominent in her little red hands. Red swirly horns curled around her ears before pointing up in effortless black points that seemed to drip back down her horns like minor oil spills. Most enticing were her pink eyes, slit-like a cat and equally as sharp.

"Zora, a team member." I settled back down in my seat in front of her and sipped my tea. Her tail swished around her curiously as she stared at me pointedly. Since she was so short, she had to stand on the table to see eye to eye; she looked adorable under the flowers in the vase sitting at the center of the table.

"Just a team member?" Her pink eyes seemed to glint in knowing, knowing what? I did not know. I eyed her suspiciously as I finished up my meal.

"Yeah. Just a team member who, by the way, gets on my nerves sometimes and is a huge asshole." I took the final sip from my tea and gathered the dishes before throwing them through a portal to hell. Aliza looked unimpressed as she watched me close the said portal. "What?"

"You cannot keep expecting Helltower to keep doing your dishes." I grinned, dusting off my hands and moving to change.

"Of course I can! He loves me! Plus, I always repay him with little trinkets from the middle world." I mused, throwing on my guild cape and walking out of the room, Aliza following me. Her heels clicked on the stone hall as she followed me, surprisingly keeping up for being so small.

"Where are you going?" She continued to drink her tea, which she had reheated with a small flame in her hand.

"Some mission, talk shit later, okay?" She laughed before slipping through a small red vortex in front of her effortlessly, and I continued to meet Zora.

It has been silent ever since we started walking, stale moods rising from both of us. Yami had mentioned that the mission would be within walking distance. What he had failed to mention was that he thought thirty-five miles was within walking distance, which brought us here, stumbling on the only trail that would lead us to the village in need. Wind around us blew softly, whistling through the trees and making the leaves above our heads shutter and shake. Orange and yellow leaves were falling overhead to frame our little journey. Now and then, deer or a rabbit would hop across a few feet ahead of us, some even stopping to stare at us with their beady eyes before walking off.

As silent as it was between us, the forest made up plenty of sounds, birds chirping tiny tunes to each other from the high treetops. We had even heard the roars of hogs fighting by a pond over a mate. We stopped to watch them for a second but continued a little after. Eventually, Zora let out an irritated sigh and walked over to a tall, thick tree, probably hundreds of old- and kicked it so hard, the roots ripped out from the ground, well, mostly. Before any dirt or rocks could hit us, Zora quickly set up a magic circle and reflected it all. I watched in astonishment and confusion. What the hell was he doing? Then, as dozens of birds flew away from the scene, scared of such commotion, he spoke.

"Cut this for me, dear?" I scoffed at the nickname, trying to ignore the sweet pound of my heart that followed after his raspy voice wrapped around that word in an unreasonable amount of attractiveness. Then I thought of a particular pair of pink cat eyes glinting at me. So I shuffled forward, opting instead of asking questions to pull an ax out of a small portal. "I always forget your weapons are double the size of Cap'n Yami." He muttered off to the side, watching as I walked up to the top of the tree and measured up the ax to swing. As I swung down on the trunk, cutting it just as it began to branch out, I heard a low whistle, and secondly, his footsteps walking along the tree trunk back to me.

"Clean shot, doll." He grinned down at me, then looked back at the severed trunks. "We'll take the long one for the rest of the ride, whaddya say?" He asked, reaching down to pull me up. What the hell is going on? As I gripped his hand, I was almost in a trance, confused and running through millions of thoughts. Setting my body on auto-pilot as I tried to figure out why the hell he was so lovely. Which, in the end, was a bad idea, or maybe a good one.

My foot slipped, and just when I thought I was going to eat shit, a specific pair of hands gripped me, pulling me up fast. We fell back, landing against the wood hard; well, Zora did at least.

"Fuck." He groaned, rubbing his head before looking up at me, his mischievous eyes and smile gone, there laid concern. "Are you okay?" He moved me off of him gently, surprisingly not making any inappropriate comments on our position.

"You saved me," I spoke, still flabbergasted with what happened and the events leading up to it.

"Yeah, it didn't look like it was gonna be a soft fall, sweetheart." He stood up, convinced that I was all right, and gave me a hand again, this time watching me intensely as if I would misstep again. After I was up, he walked away, going to the head of the tree to fill it with mana. Slowly, the trunk began to rise, higher and higher, until we were above the surrounding trees. Green leaves blocking the view of the forest floor we once stood on, and a soft sunset began in front of us. The trunk began to move forward, slowly speeding up before staying steady. The wind whipped my hair around, along with a few of my things, making me hold on to them tightly after tying up what I could of my hair. I walked up to Zora again, coming to sit beside him. The trunk was thick enough for us to sit side by side, but it was a tight fit nonetheless. So as I settled beside him, he moved slightly for me, but our legs stayed glued to each other.

"If you could just do this the entire time, why didn't you just leave me back there?" I laughed it off, so used to him being a pain in the ass, and it is not like it would not be the first time he screwed me over in some way. Our relationship was not one of the niceties or cordial words. So often, you would find us fighting or screaming to see the other because of something they did, which eventually leads to a fight. Zora did not look at me for a bit, but when he did, I wished he had never turned his head. His eyes were sullen, sad, and overthinking, foggy with millions of thoughts that looked to be running through his head. The evident frown that towed down his face bothered me, so used to the shit-eating grin he pranked me or others, or when after putting someone in their place.

"I guess I can be really mean sometimes, huh?" I did not know his voice could be so soft. Honestly, I was surprised I heard him at all, but I did and could not stop thinking about it. I did not feel it necessary to talk after that, instead finally shutting my trap and moving on to watch the sunset. Colors blurred and blended across the sky, framing the mountains and trees rising to kiss the sky. It was quite the sight with bright pinks, oranges, and even some purple painted across the blue sky. When we reached the village, the sun was long gone, replaced by the moon, just as bright and beautiful with specks of stars across the sky. At some point, I remember getting bored and searching for the different zodiacs and patterns defined by the stars. As soon as I had found my sign, the tree trunk began to descend.

The trees we once flew over surrounded us and shut us off from the sky once again as we settled on the forest floor. The tiny little path we had been following earlier continued beside us, looking as it had when we left it hours ago. Up ahead, I could see the village glowing lively. Its name is written proudly on a wooden sign almost overcome at the bottom in ivy. However, before we got there, I opened my big mouth again.

"I don't blame you for being so mean; I mean, I would be mean too if my guild partner beat me at everything." That is not how it was supposed to come out, I mean, I was genuinely trying to be nice, but I did not filter the words that left my mouth before. Zora's head turned to me, eyes gaunt and eerie, his brilliant smile no longer on display.

"You wanna run that by me again, Doll?" The venom that surrounded the once cheery nickname made my stomach drop. I felt backed against a corner with miles surrounding me to run off. Quickly I tried to explain what I meant.

"Wait, Zora, that's not what I meant- not how I-"

"No, I think I got it doll, you just think you're that much better than me, huh? So what, you got to some quests before me, stolen relics under my nose, and joined my guild, passing me up in less than four months. I don't care, Honey, 'cause ain't nobody better than me- 'cause ain't no one like me! I don't care how much mana you have, how many spells you cast, how skilled you are, or how fucking perfect you are! None of that is gonna change no matter how gorgeous you are!" Zora's eyes widen, and he clenched his mouth shut, turning away with a growl and turning to walk off toward the village ahead of us.

"You think I'm perfect?" I called out, watching him stop and turn back to look at me. Zora's face was blank as he spoke.

"Are you telling me that out of ALL that, that is the only thing that stuck?" He scoffed, and his eyes narrowed slightly, sharp jaws sent in a deep frown. I walked up to him and stopped a step ahead of him. I held out my hand slowly, making sure I held eye contact with him.

"Truce?" Zora looked at my hand, astonished, which slowly melted away and revealed mixed relief and annoyance. Then, finally, he moved to grip my hand and shake it firmly.

"Truce. Whoa-" I yanked Zora forward, pulling him close, catching his surprised blue eyes before closing my own and going in for a kiss. Fortunately, Zora fell into it almost too easily, slipping his arms around me tight and returning the kiss with a bottled fever. However, after a few seconds, he pushed back, letting me go.

"W-What was that for?" I stared at him, lips still buzzing slightly from the contact.

"I don't know; it felt like the right thing to do. I think you're perfect, handsome too."

[legionofpotatoes]

my thonks on the new game I played this weekend, under the cut for length and spoilers

I softly clicked the Sable icon when first booting it up yesterday, expecting a visually pleasing indie game about nothing with Mechanics LiteTM loosely screwed on; and I am sitting here now on a platinum trophy, with messed up hair and wide open eyes, wondering what the fuck has just happened.

It completely blindsided me with the Entire Rest Of The Experience after I was done oohing and aahing at the cel shaded packaging. I was expecting a Journey-esque barebones rumination on esoteric concepts at the very best, but here I was seeing a charming story that was one hundred percent steeped in metaphors but decidedly about something. or maybe two things in my mind, identity and purpose, and it goes about articulating them through character writing which is. So good?? Sable is an actual character. with interiority and desires, and her world is peppered with NPCs that are eager to chat back and reveal that they very much possess their own, too. The story is fury-road-simple, yet her growth is palpable and almost entirely gameplay-driven through player lens and agency. You get to literally decide what your purpose is and what purpose even means by the end. And the more you engage with and give to the world, the more it gives back to inform and enrich the context around that decision. It is such a deliciously simple parable that it is impossible not to click with it on some level.

And yeah, the game design is fucking rock-solid, another surprise. Not that I short-change indies because of their scope necessarily, but they do generally tend to be on the single-idea-test-drive side of the industry equation, rarely excelling at all internal pillars at once. Not the case here. There are smart choices made in borrowing mechanics from other titles and throwing them in an elegant mix that works in the internal math of this specific world; and it is all from-the-top efficiency. Sable looks for purpose through exploration and wears her currently preferred identity on her sleeve, so the entire macro loop is dialed in on those two elements. exploration and expression, with all extra fat trimmed off. your stamina meter feeds the first, various cosmetics feed the second. deft RPG-like quest structure and varied mission chains award you with boosts to both.

It is difficult to articulate, but the symbiosis between story and gameplay is really-really tight here, the very opposite of ludonarrative dissonance, to an almost indistinguishable degree. And it is never best exemplified than during the ending of the game, wherein the ending is a choice you make, you choose to end the game when you decide that Sable has found her purpose (it is all a neat dance of mask metaphors and communal occupations); and if you decide that she hasn't, or that her purpose is the search, the text automatically supports and encourages it. You can end it with 75% of the content untouched, or glide endlessly on, wearing any mask you start liking at any point. It is the ultimate celebration of autonomy in destiny and identity, and its fluidity, and its ownership. The game makes that distinction with a gentle firmness; the gliding rituals are solitary, personal. You make that final choice for yourself, you acknowledge the consequences but it is yours to make or not make.

The game is the search, and it ends if you decide that Sable has found herself.

The word "gentle" is so evergreen when thinking about this game, too. It is incredibly chill and introspective, yet manages to achieve triple-A level forward momentum without using a lick of combat gameplay, competitive beatdowns, fail states even, just entirely disregarding violence as a form of interaction between the player and the world, both lanes. And I know I'm biased to home in on and love this sort of thing because empathy-building gameplay is something I preach about like an annoying doomsday prophet but really, it really works here, despite me and despite itself. There is genuine good game design underneath the naivete of the idea, driving engagement and keeping your attention glued to the process without using combat mechanics. In an open-world RPG-like arena. It can be done.

And it looks and sounds fucking great and there's pretty decent customization of Sable and even of your weird kinda-alive bike that has terrible pathfinding when summoned. The selective absence of depth tones can be disorienting at first, but the aesthetic sorta makes its case with time, and the charming animations (is Sable animated on twos when she runs?) lock in the spell. The game is definitely finicky in some technical areas; I encountered one fairly major bug that randomly sorted itself out after minutes of me doing nothing (the button activating the watch sundial wouldn't trigger), and fairly common pains of open-world streaming would sometimes fire off like random audio cues and NPCs spawning on top of one another and real bad frame drops in geometry-heavy areas. But I definitely heard much worse than I experienced with my run. I managed to 100% the whole thing without a hitch and even wore my princess chum dress to the final gliding ceremony.

Anyway. I want to talk about a thousand different things Sable does well but this post was mainly about how good it is with telling a story about purpose that you get to both literally and metaphorically search for before deciding to end or not end it. It is just very very good at being story-first. Please buy it! Instead of fighting giant beetles you kinda try and make them poop for science, it's amazing.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Our song - Harry Styles

this one was inspired by the jingleball performance bc it was pure perfection and UGHH im obsessed.

dedicated to my dear friend @dontworrysunflower

disclaimer: the song Homesick by Dua Lipa is featured in this fic as an original work of Harry and the reader, but it’s obviously an existing song, I just thought that it would be the song they write

pairing: Harry x vocalist!reader

word count: 5.3k

masterlist

You’ve felt the adrenaline rush take over your body many times in your life and they were all different in some kind of way. The one you felt when you were about to write an important test in school, the one that bubbled through your veins when you got your first kiss. The one that rolled through your limbs and chest when you first performed in front of people that weren’t your parents and the one you felt when you got the news that you were chosen to tour with none other than Harry Styles as his vocalist, singing on his stage every other night in a different city and different country.

But none of those were anything like the feeling that takes over every time you stand on that stage, your microphone that’s labelled with your name right in front of you as thousands of people are screaming in the jam-packed arena. Though it’s not you they come to see and listen to, but you are part of the magic and it’s quite enough for you.

You could never be the one standing at the front with all the lights shining down on your frame, having every gaze in the place glued to you, listening to your voice. That brings the kind of anxiety you’re quite sure you wouldn’t be able to handle. You are perfectly fine standing in the back, being the support system while staying on the down-low as someone else shines at the front, in your case, it’s Harry.

You applied for the job with a reason, already having a huge appreciation for him as an artist, adoring his work so far, especially Fine Line. Upon hearing about the opportunity to be part of his tour, you didn’t hesitate to send your application in and following three auditions, you got the phone call that they wanted you on board.

He swept you right off your feet the first time you met him, but you didn’t expect less from him. Everything you heard about him being the most wonderful person to every walk the planet were proven to be nothing but the truth. You hit it off so easily and become close through the process of rehearsals. His odd little jokes, that funny laugh of his and the way he always peeks over his shoulder to meet his eyes with yours made you fall for him faster than you’d have ever thought you could.

Just as fast as your feeling for Harry developed, tour caught up on you and before you could blink twice, you were living on the road, always dressing from your suitcase, waking up in a different city every other morning.

The foreign studio feels a little odd, but still somehow familiar as you walk in with your water and notebook under your arm. Random studio sessions with Harry became a regular not long after tour kicked off. Harry’s creative juices were overflowing and he was aching to record his creations, constantly renting random studios near the hotel you lot were staying currently and one night, when some of you all were hanging out in his suit, he asked if you’d be down helping him record vocals for a song he’s been working on.

“I want to hear it with your voice instead of mine,” he told you leaning against the wall, a glass of whatever Mitch mixed him in his hands.

“Getting bored of your own voice?” you teased him, bringing his dimples out with the smile that plastered across his lips.

“Could say that. Are you up for it?”

There was no way you would have said no. So the next morning you found yourself in a studio somewhere in Sacramento, singing the vocals to a song no one else has heard other than you and Harry.

The tour has now reached Denver, you can’t wait to be on the stage tonight, but before that, you are having another quick session with Harry in the studio.

When you walk in, his head perks up from his leather notebook he always keeps on himself, filled with his scribbled lyrics. A smile stretches across his lips when his green eyes fall on your frame.

“Hey! Hope it’s not too early for you,” he softly says standing up from the chair as you put your stuff down to the small table in the corner.

“No, managed to get a good night sleep still,” you smile at him, taking a quick look around, though this recording room is just like the others you’ve been in.

“I think I figured out that part we struggled with last time. Changed up the ending a bit, would you mind giving it another go?”

You nod looking down at his notes, seeing the changes he has made in the vocals.

“Changed anything else?” you ask as you watch him get ready for the recording.

“Yeah, rewrote a few lines, think they are fitting better now.”

“Have you recorded them yet?”

“Will do now,” he tells you shaking his head.

Soon enough you find yourself standing behind the mic, headset covering your ears as you are waiting for Harry to start recording and the music to play in your ears. Once he shows up his thumb you do the same and a moment later the song you’ve heard last time you two were working starts flowing from the headset and you stare down at the notes in front of you, waiting for the moment when you have to start singing.

It takes you a few runs to nail it down, but when you finally do, you can see the satisfied grin on Harry’s face and you think to yourself that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to make him like this anytime.

“That was fantastic,” he beams once you join him at the screens where you see your voice appear as a pattern over a straight line. Harry does his usual magic before leaving it be. “Mind assisting recording my part?” he asks turning to you with an excited smile.

Nodding you let him tell you what to do and once he is all set behind the mic, you start the recording and the song. You listen to him in awe. There hasn’t been a moment when you didn’t feel the shiver running down your spine when he started singing. You are convinced a choir of angels is hidden in his throat, because it’s hard to believe he is just as human as everyone else.

He sings the whole song three times before he joins you again, listening back to what you have so far. The song is coming along pretty well and you can tell by the time he finishes it, it’s gonna be perfect. Everything he does is just pure perfection, whether he likes to admit it or not.

“You know how it would be absolutely perfect?” he asks you on your way back to the hotel. The two of you grabbed a coffee as well, so now you’re sipping on the hot drink, enjoying the somewhat sunny weather.

“Hm?”

“I think it would be best if a female voice sang the whole thing and the male was just the vocal.”

“Who do you think would fit best for it then?” you ask, immediately thinking of singers that could be perfect for the song. It wouldn’t be the first time Harry would sell a song to someone else, so you’re not surprised he is thinking about this kind of change.

“Y/N, I found the voice already,” he chuckles and you give him a puzzled look. “You. You are singing the song, I don’t need anyone else.”

“I’m not a solo singer,” you protest.

“There’s no such thing as solo or not solo. You’re a singer and a bloody good one. I want you to sing it.”

“But it would go to waste, because I would never actually perform it.”

“How are you so sure about that?” he smirks slyly at you, immediately making you nervous.

“Harry, I don’t sing solo,” you shake your head stubbornly, but he rolls his eyes at you.

“You could just try it. Let’s just record the song next time with you in the lead and then we can talk about the rest.”

“I’m fine recording, but I will never perform it,” you tell him, but his look makes you think he has other plans.

When tour reaches Dallas, the song gets a version with you singing solo and Harry doing the vocals in it. And though you had doubts about the switch, listening back to it you can tell how much it helped. It really is better with a female voice, though you are still convinced it shouldn’t be you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sell it to someone? I’m fine with that,” you ask him before the show in Dallas. You’re sitting on the table in his dressing room while he is painting his nails, his tongue poking out in concentration.

“I told you, I like it with your voice. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because I’m not a—“

“Fuck’s sake if you dare to tell me one more time that you’re not a solo singer, I’m firing you, Y/N!” he snaps, giving you a hard look, but you just laugh at his temper.

“It’s the truth.”

“Have you ever tried to go solo?”

“Not for years,” you admit and watch him screw the nail polish closed, pushing it aside, his hands lying flat on the table as he is carefully waiting for them to dry.

“So then how do you know you are no good at it?”

“Because I hated it back then, so I most likely would hate it now as well,” you state matter-of-factly, but Harry doesn’t seem amused by your answer.

“So you think you haven’t changed a bit in years? I hope you know that’s absolute bollocks.”

“Why are you so keen on making me sing solo?” you sigh, giving him a tired look. It feels like the two of you have been running the same circles since forever. It’s not his first attempt to get you sing more than just the vocals, he once wanted to do a cover and needed a partner because it was a duet and begged you for weeks to sing with him, but you didn’t give in. You just couldn’t.

“Because I think that you are a talented singer and I want you to feel the adrenaline rush performing gives you.”

“I do get that rush every time I sing behind you. That’s enough for me.”

Harry shakes his head pressing his lips tight together.

“That’s not the same as being in the lead. It’s a whole different world.”

“Yeah, one that makes me shit my pants,” you chuckle and he can’t push a smile back.

“Maybe we should just work on it. Your anxiety. I think we could actually make you feel better if we tried.”

“I still don’t know where this obsession with me being solo comes for you.”

Harry stands up, takes one last look at his nails before he steps closer smiling down at you softly and you bite into your bottom lip, realizing how close he is standing to you. His fingers tap in your cheek gently, running them down to your chin as he tilts your head up a bit.

“Just accept it, Love,” he smiles softly before stepping away and carrying on with his routine.

That evening, you stand at the back with the other two vocalists, eyes glued to Harry’s figure at the front of the stage, you watch him pour his soul out to the audience, interact with them and reach that state of mind you have never been able to get into. You know what he told you about performing is true, yet you are still terrified to do it yourself. It’s too nerve wrecking to have everyone look at and listen to you, so many chances to mess it up and make a fool out of yourself.

But when Harry’s eyes meet yours and he shoots you a warm smile, something shifts in you. The urge to have this connection with not just the audience and the song, but with him takes over your whole body and you make up your mind to at least give it a try.

Harry is ecstatic when you tell him later that night that you changed your mind. You see that sparkle in his eyes and it was already worth for you, just seeing him react like that.

“Though I have a few suggestions to change the lyrics.”

“You do?” he asks, seemingly surprised, but mostly amused that you had the balls to come out with it.

“Yeah. Just some tiny details.”

“Why haven’t you told me about these before?”

“Because it was your song. But if you want me to sing it, it has to be mine as well.” Harry stares back at you with a smile that’s filled with pride and joy, making your heart flutter in your aching chest as you think about performing solo.

“Our song,” he softly says nodding his head.

Arriving to Houston the two of you are quick to book a studio and work on the song. Harry lets you make any changes you desire on the lyrics, even says you did justice to it and that you should have spoken up earlier about your ideas. And then you record it.

It’s not that you have to sing the whole song and not just the vocals this time. You are completely fine with Harry hearing you sing, it’s the thought of performing it in front of anyone that’s not him, that’s what makes you turn into a wreck.

You record Harry’s vocals and once it’s all put together, you are blown by the outcome. You wouldn’t have thought Harry’s voice as the vocal would compliment you in the lead, but it’s just absolutely perfect and even you can’t find anything wrong with it.

“Love, this is what Heaven sounds like, I’m telling you,” he smirks at you from the chair beside you, playing the song for the tenth time, not able to get enough of the final product.

“You are so cheesy,” you shake your head, but feel the blush heating up your cheeks. His eyes linger on you a little longer before he turns back to the screen.

When the song is over he finally stops is so silence comes over the studio. Harry turns back to face you, his green eyes basically burning a hole into your head.

“So, when are we going to perform it?”

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” you sigh looking down at your hands fumbling with your shirt.

“And I do think it is. So I’m not stopping until you at least try it.”

Harry Styles gets what he wants. Always. And this time, no matter how hard you try to resist him, you just can’t deny this from him. Though it takes him time to talk you up, in Washington he finally gets you to give it a try in an empty stadium.

Most of the crew is out, since the building has been finished about half an hour before, so everything is perfectly set for tonight’s show when you walk out to the stage, following Harry in his heels. He asked the piano to be brought to the front along with a mic on it and another one on a stand next to it. The two of you quietly put on your earpieces, doing everything as if it was a usual occasion before a concert, only that this time the roles will be entirely switched.

“It’s fine, alright? No one is around,” he tells you when he sees how nervous you are to sing the song for the first time outside a studio.

“There are some backstage,” you mumble under your breath, not expecting him to do anything about it.

But he does. You watch him walk backstage, completely dumbfounded about what he is doing. He disappears from your sight and a few moments later you hear him shouting at the back.

“No one comes to the stage until I say so! Yea? Thanks!” he orders and then walks back as if he didn’t just boss around the whole crew.

“They will think you’re some kind of crazy celebrity,” you chuckle when he returns, a small smirk playing on his pink lips.

“Don’t care, Darling. Now sing you heart out for me.”

Harry sits on the piano bench, his fingers getting settled on the keys before he looks up to meet your anxious eyes.

“It’s alright. Just you and me, yea?”

Nodding you gulp hard and jump a little when he starts playing the melody the two of you have been working on for so long. You hear all the notes and you know you have to start singing, but you miss the opening. Harry stops and looks at you, as you move your eyes down to the ground, ashamed you messed up immediately.

“S-Sorry, I just—“

“How can I help?” he asks right away, not even caring about the fact that you messed up, focused on figuring out a way that would help you.

“I don’t know. I really don’t,” you sigh, feeling your nerves getting worse with each passing moment.

“Come sit next to me,” he then tells you motioning for you to join him on the bench.

“What?”

“Take your mic and sit next to me,” he repeats, scooting over to make you space. Hesitantly, you pull the mic out of the stand and walking over you sit next to him. “Now you are not in the center. Just listen to the music, watch my hands on the keys, okay?”

You nod, running your tongue over your dry lips as you hold the mic to your mouth before Harry starts playing again.

After the first few notes you close your eyes and when it’s time for you to start singing, Harry leans a little against you, giving you a kind of push to just do it. And it works.

It feels a little as if it’s not even you who starts singing, but it is. Your voice fills the empty arena along with the piano’s melody and keeping your eyes closed a little longer you let your mind settle. When the first verse ends you open them and watch his hands work on the keys, right as he starts singing the vocals, leaning a little forward so his voice reaches his mic.

It’s different. It’s electric and freeing, hear your voice through the massive speakers, to be in the lead and have Harry be just the support in the song. But it feels so right, better than anything you’ve ever felt.

Line after line, you hit all the notes and by the end of the song you are able to strip all your fears down and give yourself over to the music completely. As you sing the last few notes you feel Harry’s eyes on you and turning to face him, you are met with his warm, pride-filled smile and bright eyes, glued to you while his fingers press down the last notes.

The music dies down, the voice of the piano vibrates in the air a little longer until it completely disappears and the silence returns into the stadium.

“Love,” Harry quietly calls out for you and you turn completely towards him. “That was absolutely perfect.”

“You think so?” you ask, voice barely more than just a whisper, your eyes never leaving his gaze.

“I know so,” he huffs, smile widening. He brings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead as you let out a breath you’ve been holding in for way too long.

He doesn’t try to make you perform that evening, knowing well it was enough for one day, but he does make you sing it with him in each city in the upcoming weeks. Before every concert, he empties out the area around the stage and the two of you sit down at the piano, singing your song until you feel comfortable enough to stand next to the instrument instead of sitting next to him.

The tour reaches New York and Madison Square Garden is getting ready to host Harry Styles for two evenings. The place is massive and you find yourself sitting at the edge of the stage when Harry emerges from backstage.

“Looks wild, right?” he asks sitting next to you, his thigh brushing against yours as he gets seated.

“Yeah. Pretty amazing.”

“This place has the most magical vibe.” “Yeah?” Turning to him you watch him take the arena in, his eyes glistening at the sight in front of him. You know it’s not his first time performing here, but it’s nice to see the excitement in his eyes regardless.

That feeling returns to your chest, the one you felt when Harry told you he wanted you to sing the song. The urge to be part of this amazing something that’s so much bigger than you.

“H?”

“Yea?” he turns to you smiling.

“Can I… Do you think we could sing our song tonight?”

You watch the pure surprise and excitement wash over his face, his smile stretching across his face as he stares back at you in awe.

“You want to sing it?”

Shyly, you nod your head and in a heartbeat his arms lock around you, pulling you into the tightest hug. The two of you almost fall off the stage, laughing together at his dramatic reaction.

“Of course we can sing it, Love. Would be an honor!”

Harry is quick to let the band know about the addition for tonight’s set and though everyone seems surprised, they are all supportive about your solo. As the time goes and the concert gets closer, you can feel the nerves building up and soon enough, you start to doubt your choice to sing the song tonight.

Right before it’s time to go on stage Harry takes your hand and pulls you aside, taking your face in his hands gently, making you look into his eyes.

“I know you are doubting yourself, but just know that I’m very proud of you, even if you decide to not sing the last minute.”

“I could do that?” you whisper, your hands finding his sides and you let them rest on him, a way to ground yourself in the windwhirl of your thoughts.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to make you do something you don’t really want. Though I know you will be amazing if you choose to sing.”

Nodding you let a weak smile appear on your lips and you notice as his eyes flicker down to them before he moves his gaze up to your eyes. He then pulls you into a proper hug before walking back to the rest of the band and vocalists.

Everything goes as usual and once again, you can’t take your eyes off Harry on the stage. Just watching him perform fills you up with life, enough to keep you from running away. About halfway into the set, as the crowd is still cheering after the previous song, Harry jogs over to you.

“You ready?” he asks over the noise and before you could think about it, you nod your head.

Two guys from the crew pushes the piano further to the front and they help to set everything up as you awkwardly stand at the side. Once your mic is in the stand you walk over there, heart hammering in your chest, hands shaking like crazy.

“I have a special song for you tonight,” Harry announces into the microphone as he makes his way over to the piano. “Please welcome the lovely Y/N here, who is gonna enchant you with a song we’ve been working on lately.”

The crowd screams and you allow yourself to look around with a weak smile. So many people, you think to yourself, everyone watching you.

“It’s called Homesick, and it means so much to us, so we hope you’ll like it Justas much as we do,” Harry adds before settling on the bench and his eyes find yours. “I’m proud of you,” you see him say, only able to read his lips since the crowd is screaming so loud. “Ready?” he asks and you nod, taking a shaky breath.

He sends you a warm comforting smile before glancing down at the keys and then he starts playing. 

Just like the first time, you close your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the melody and nothing else. The lump in your throat is quite uncomfortable, but you open your eyes and see that Harry is looking straight at you, nodding in encouragement, as his fingers push down the keys to the notes right before you have to start.

“Here, where the sky’s falling, I’m covered in blue, I’m running and I’m crawling, fighting for you…”

Harry smiles wide when your voice flows through the speakers, filling the whole place, making everyone go quiet in a heartbeat as the song carries on. You feel your chest slowly deflating, the nerves cooling down with each sung note.

“You give me a reason, something to believe in, I know, I know, I know. You give me a meaning, something I can breathe in, I know, I know, I know…”

The chorus comes out perfect, your voice melting together with the piano and you finally feel your muscles relax as you slowly let go of every toxic thought that’s been tainting your mind. Harry leans closer to his microphone and his voice gently joins yours in the next verse.

“There’s a crack in my window, a bird in my room, angels all over that watch over you…”

Chills run down your spine hearing his voice, your eyes never leaving his gaze that’s fixated on your standing figure. You get lost in him and the song, something that came from the both of you, a piece of you and him. Standing there, singing this piece makes you feel closer to him than ever and you desperately want this feeling to last forever, hoping the song never ends though you know it’s gonna happen.

“When I’m walking on water all my dreams have come true. Still nothing means nothing without you…”

Homesick is exactly the feeling that bubbles inside you when you think of Harry. Because there’s this man you love so much, who is a home away from home to you, yet you still feel like you can’t be home entirely. Not in the way you’d want to. But standing on the stage in the spotlight, singing together with him as thousands of people are watching the two of you, yet you still manage to forget about them, for a moment, you feel like you finally arrived home. You are there, with him.

“Tell my heart to lie, but I know deep inside it’s true. That I wish I was there with you. That I wish I was there with you, oh I wish I was there with you.”

He plays the end of the song without tearing his eyes away from you, and there’s just a heartbeat of silence before the crowd starts screaming deafeningly, but that short moment… is yours and his.

Tugging your hair behind your ears with your shaky hands, your eardrums on the verge of breaking as you let out a laugh that was kind of a sob as well, relief washing over your body. Harry is quick to jump to his feet and rushing over he envelopes you in a tight hug.

“I’m so so so proud of you, Love. You were everything!” he mumbles, arms holding you so tight you almost lose your breath, but you want him this close, or even closer. You need to feel him, because it doesn’t feel real. His hold brings you a sense of existence only he can give you.

“Thank you, Harry,” you breathe out when he pulls back to look into your eyes, the screaming hasn’t died down even a tad little.

“No, thank you, Darling. You shined like the star that you are,” he grins, playing a sloppy kiss to your cheek before his arms fall off you.

You’d die to stay in this moment a little longer, but the show must go on. The crew pushes the piano back and soon enough, the next song starts. You stay in your spot for the rest, but you keep catching Harry smiling in your way, always making you blush.

The end of a concert is always a little hectic, everyone is all over the place. Still coming off the high you just experienced, you head to the dressing room you share with the other vocalists. They are going on and on about how amazing Homesick was, and you somehow still can’t believe tonight happened. Packing your stuff you barely notice that the door flies open, but you see Harry appear from the corner of your eye.

“Ladies, would you please give me a moment with Y/N?” he asks and the girls are quick to leave the two of you alone. You stand there, kind of dumbfounded, not sure why he is acting so dramatic. Once the door closes and it’s just you and him, he stares at you, chest heaving, his hair wet from his sweat, but he still looks breathtaking.

“Harry—“

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he cuts you off, your breath gets caught in your throat as you stare back at him, completely frozen. Opposite to what he just said, he remains standing in the same spot and you’re not sure what’s happening. “Can I? Please say yes, I can’t hold myself back for any longer,” he then adds.

“Yes,” you breathe out without even thinking about it. In a heartbeat, Harry crosses the room, chest smashing against yours as he wraps his arms around you, lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that almost makes you moan into his mouth.

It’s all a hot mess, teeth clashing, hands all over each other before his palms run down to the back of your thighs, urging you to jump. When you do, you wrap your legs around his waist and let him walk over to the table nearby, so he can place you on top, standing between your thighs as he keeps kissing you hungrily, his tongue melting together with yours in this sweet chaos. It keeps going on and on, neither of you wanting to let go of the other, but you are eventually forced to stop, coming short of air. Panting wildly, lips swollen from his kisses, you look at him to meet his gaze.

“You have no idea how hard it was to stop myself from kissing you on stage.”

“What?” you breathe out.

“Y/N, I’m fucking crazy about you and seeing you come over your stage fright, sing that song… our song, fuck, that did some unbelievable things to me. Please tell me you felt the same thing!” He is begging, not just with his words, but with his eyes as well and it crushes your soul entirely.

“I did. Harry, I always do when I’m with you.”

“Fucking Hell,” he breathes out before kissing you again. “You are… everything, Love,” he mumbles against your lips and you can’t push down the smile stretching across your face, hearing him say the same words he said right after the song.

“You’ve told me that,” you tease him, his gaze meeting yours as he flashes you his famous half-smirk, heart fluttering at the sight of him.

[bubblesuga]

A Match Into Water

Summary: Sometimes all Yoongi needs is a warm cabin, and you. W/C: 2,068 Warnings: mentions of smut, cussing, slight angst but mostly fluff

There’s something undeniably gorgeous about the Rocky Mountains of the western US. The sun shines brightly in the middle of the day and cloud coverage is practically non-existent, yet the snow resting on the peaks of the mountains persists like the buzzing of a bee desperately trying to find it’s hive. 

At times, it becomes more of a hindrance to Min Yoongi. He doesn’t like the cold. Hell, he hates it. The brush of the cold winter breeze drags his mood down into the deepest depths of a sinking black hole that he just can’t seem to pull himself away from. This vacation was supposed to help him, bring his mood up and inspire his creativity. Unfortunately it seems to have had the opposite affect. 

“Oh come on,” the girl who followed him on this company appointed vacation is cute, she knows English and helps Yoongi get around, “you’re supposed to be having fun.” 

“You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?” Yoongi drawls, sipping his warm coffee and sitting in front of the wide window of the rented cabin. American coffee sucks. 

“I’m insufferable? Min Yoongi, you have not left this cabin once since we arrived. You’re like a fucking cat that doesn’t want to move from the one spot of sun inside the house.” her voice is loud, confident. Her lips curl downward and for a moment, Yoongi feels disappointment rush through his veins. He prefers her smile more than he’d be willing to admit. 

He shrugs, taking a long sip, “I like the sun.” 

She groans, falling back onto the well decorated couch, “Can you at least try skiing?” 

“Skiing involves the cold.” 

“Yeah, Yoongi. It’s winter.” 

“Maybe I didn’t want to come here! Maybe I wanted to stay in Korea, I wanted to write the album, and I wanted to move on!” Yoongi bites back, setting down his cup and turning to her. Her face is red, but she stares up at the ceiling as if she’s alone in the room. Yoongi resists the urge to lay beside her, to stroke her hair and ask if she’ll kiss him. 

She huffs, pulling herself up and meeting Yoongi’s eyes, “I’m sorry you didn’t get that opportunity. You’ve been in a rut and your company thought it’d be best for you to get away.” 

“Ah, and why’d they bring you here with me then?” 

“I’m your assistant, you dick.” she stands again and walks away momentarily. For a moment Yoongi thinks he went too far, sometimes the venom at the tip of is tongue moves too fast for him to catch with his lips. It’s not even true, he wants her here more than anyone else. 

When she reemerges from Yoongi’s room, she holds a jacket and warm sweats. 

“Change into these, we’re going down the mountain and shopping.” she’s demanding, maybe Yoongi should listen to her. 

“Why? If you’re my assistant, shouldn’t you be listening to what I want?” not without a little fight, though. 

“Now, Min Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, downing the rest of his coffee and slipping off the hoodie he already wore for the warmer jacket you brought out. She tries not to let her eyes linger on his briefly exposed abdomen when his shirt slides up with his hoodie. Instead, she opts for a nice look at the scenery outside. 

Yoongi’s legs briefly feel the cold of the cabin on his bare legs as he slips on the warm sweats. He’s let himself become comfortable with his assistant, more so than the past women who followed him around and listened to his every wish. This one is different. She’s feisty, opinionated, determined. He likes that a lot. Especially when she crosses her arms and pouts when he tries to fight her decisions. 

He glances at her, the sun reflecting off the snow and shining in her gorgeous eyes. He knows he shouldn’t feel the things he feels for her, but she makes it so damn difficult not to. How was he not supposed to fall for the pretty girl who smiles big and tells him when he’s being an asshole? Everything about her was exactly what he wanted in a woman. So, maybe listening to her wasn’t such a bad thing. 

~*~*~

“When I graduated college, I traveled throughout the world for a year. It made learning English pretty easy.” she shrugs, twirling the pasta around her fork. After shopping for a few hours, Yoongi insisted on stopping at the one Italian restaurant in the small valley at the bottom of the mountains. He only insisted because he knows it’s her favorite. 

“Ah, without you here I would be screwed.” Yoongi shrugs, reaching his fork across the table and digging it into a piece of chicken on her plate. She doesn’t make the effort to slap his hand away, instead reaching for his sangria and taking a sip. 

“I think that in a lot of aspects in your life. Where would you be if I didn’t pick out your outfits for the day?” she giggles as she speaks, already knowing the answer to her ridiculous question. 

“Hm,” he hums, slurping up some of his own food and pausing to swallow, “struggling to tell my right from my left sock.” 

Yoongi grins from ear to ear the moment her laughter leaves her lips. 

This is how their days together were usually spent in Korea, so the fact that the slush covered streets didn’t deter the two of them made moments like these even more special. 

“Why don’t you date?” she asks suddenly, stacking their plates as they were cleared off. 

Yoongi nearly chokes on his drink, taking a deep breath through his nose before swallowing the liquid in his mouth. He clears his throat, “what makes you ask that?” 

“Well,” her face turns slightly red, “I’ve seen all the other members dating. Bring people home. I’ve just never seen you do that so I was just curious as to why.” 

He can tell that she feels like she’s over stepping a boundary. Maybe she is. Of course it’s not appropriate for an assistant to ask her boss why he isn’t so keen on finding a woman to date. Yet, Yoongi isn’t upset by the question. Shocked? Possibly, but he doesn’t feel the need to deny her of an answer. 

“I have my eye on someone, I’m just not sure if she knows that I like her yet.” his words fall off his lips unstirred, landing into a pile on the table that Yoongi suddenly feels desperate to wipe away. Why even give her the notion that he may be interested in her? 

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite brighten up her face like her usual ones, “Who’s the lucky guy or gal?” 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, “Lucky, eh?” 

“Well, yeah,” she laughs nervously, as though she didn’t mean to say what she said, “you’re a catch, Min Yoongi. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

He chuckles, that same breathy chuckle that seems to have an affect on women he meets. It comes across as careless, unwavering in his attempt to pull off his cool persona, yet it’s really just a ruse to hide the fact that he wants nothing more than to take this woman home and fall asleep with her between his arms. Yoongi meets her eyes momentarily, catching a shine in her shaking pupil. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes drag to his assistants lips. They’re cherry red, stained with the remnants of his cherry sangria. He bets they’d taste amazing. 

Nodding, he speaks, “Would you feel lucky to have me?”

Her breath stutters as her eyes go wide. She seems to contemplate for a moment before she opens her mouth, “U- uhm, I’ll go get the bill.” 

Abruptly, she turns away and walks towards the front counter. Yoongi sighs, waiting for a moment before placing a 20 on the table and collecting both of their things. Multiple bags from various stores around the valley fill his arms and he quietly follows her back out into the street. 

In an almost unspoken decision, the two of them begin their trek back to the car and Yoongi drives them back into the mountains just as the sun is about to set. 

Though silent, Yoongi could tell his assistant was nervous. Her fingers fiddled in her lap while she stared out of the window into the dark wooded road. 

Perhaps he had been to abrupt. Perhaps he should have broke his interest to her a little slower. Or not at all. It probably would have been better for anyone if he didn’t say anything at all. 

~*~*~

His usual night routine began with a shower. Afterward, he brushed his teeth and blow dried his hair. Then, he turned on the bedside lamp and opened a book Namjoon had suggested to him ages ago. ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ has become some sort of sick irony to him now. Minus the mistress, living awkwardly with a woman and not being able to leave quite yet was how he lived his life. 

It’s only been 2 days since he said anything to her, yet it felt like an eternity. There wasn’t anymore jokes, nor did he feel like he could speak to her as an equal. She called him Mr. Min, and it hurt. 

Suddenly, he hears a knock on his door frame. He glances up, and she stands in his doorway in her sleep wear. An oversized T-shirt and shorts that hid subtly beneath.

“Hello.” he greets, closing his book and setting it on the night stand. Sliding his glasses off his face, he turns his attention to her. She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, swallowing nervously. 

“When you asked if I would feel lucky to be with you, what did you mean?” 

Oh, so we’re getting right into it. 

Despite only being a couple years younger than Yoongi, she seemed nearly child-like as she asked the question. Her eyes stay glued to her feet while she sways gently. 

“Just that. Would you feel lucky to be with me?” 

She nearly scoffs, “What kind of a question is that?” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “Answer the question.” 

With a huff, she walks into the room and sits at the foot of Yoongi’s bed, “Of course I would be lucky to be with you, dumbass. You’re Min Yoongi.” 

“No,” Yoongi isn’t satisfied with that answer, “would you be satisfied with just being with Yoongi. Not Suga of BTS, not Agust D. Just... Yoongi.” 

She tilts her head adorably, her forehead creasing with concern, “That’s what I mean. You’re Yoongi, I’d be the luckiest girl in the world.” 

He smiles, crossing his legs and leaning forward, “That’s what sets you apart from other people. They don’t want just Yoongi. They want the identity I’ve created for the public.” 

“So that’s why you don’t want to date?” 

“I do,” he sighs, “I just want to with you.” 

She swallows, “Are you asking me out?” 

Yoongi shrugs, “If that’s what you want this to be, then yes.” 

As though the heavens had opened up and an angel had descended right in front of Yoongi, her face is bright with delight. She leans forward, crashing her lips onto Yoongi’s.

He’s quick to wrap his arms around her, bringing her as close to him as possible. Her frame fits against his perfectly, just as he had imagined so many times before. Yoongi feels his abdomen ignite with butterflies while her hands move to cup his cheeks. She rests her forehead gently against his, her breathing ragged. 

“Maybe this vacation wasn’t so bad.” Yoongi jokes, kissing each of her cheeks. 

Her eyes flutter close, “I’ve been telling you that from the beginning.” 

He grins, “I wanted you to prove it to me.” 

“Well, did I?” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond, he simply brings his lips back to hers. 

He gently lays her onto the bed, careful not to break the kiss. Her hands grip the back of his shirt as if he could disappear in her arms. It takes everything in him not to begin kissing down her neck, the last thing he wants is to scare her off. Yet, she encourages him. 

“I’m on the pill.” She whispers against his lips, and Yoongi grins. This was going to be a very fun night.

[gallickingun]

the space between || b.k.

SUMMARY: It’s been a long time since Bokuto has had a Saturday morning off, and you plan to use it to your full advantage. 

PAIRING: Bokuto Koutarou x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: mentions of nudity, emotional cuddles, etc. WORD COUNT: 4.2k+

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a cute, quick little fic about cuddling in the nude with Bokuto and here we are, four thousand words later. I hope you guys like it, my first Bo piece! 💕

The plush of the mattress jostles and you find yourself stirring from the realm of slumber, eyes still glued together with the sleep that fogs your mind. You are living in a haze, a mixture of your sleep deprivation and the boneless way your body lies within the sheets, joints and muscles aching from the tortuous pleasure you’ve been put through by the man you love most.

You want to stretch and open your eyes, to crack open your lids to find him sleeping next to you, a divot in the duvet where his hefty body has taken residence. But it is too difficult and too tiring to even think of putting forth effort at this point, your appendages practically creaking with the gentle movements you attempt to make. And so you settle for nosing yourself further into the down of your pillow instead, drinking in the warmth and the smell of his shampoo off the sheets.

“Sleepy head,” his voice is just a touch too loud for you to find enticing this early in the morning, despite how ravenous you were to hear it only a few hours prior, “s’time to get up, c’mon.”

You whine, screwing your eyes shut even further to the point where your vision throws speckles of fire against the backs of your lids. Every one of your muscles aches and you cannot force yourself to do anything other than lie there and take whatever verbal or physical assaults he chooses to instill upon you.

It starts with his palm, warm and expansive, running up your thighs. You clench the muscles as you feel his weight settle between your knees, his body still above the covers, your bare skin still hidden to him from the neck down. He chuckles and the baritone of it makes your spine shudder, your toes curling in anticipation, the build up before the burst.

With Bokuto, there is always a burst.

A gentle kiss is pressed to your navel, the bow of his lips finding the dip in your skin despite the barrier of a high thread count between the two of you. In response, you turn your head so your cheek is pressed into the pillow, embarrassment flooding your body in the form of a heated flush, singeing his fingertips as he roams your skin above the sheets. You’re too attuned to his ministrations, and everything that he does sends your body into a flurry of desire, as if your atoms were built to suffer until he brings a soothing balm of his own to you in the form of his fingerprints.

“Not ready yet, Bo,” you reach for him with one wavering hand, futile save for the fact that he longs for your skin nearly as much, if not more, than you long for his. Your thumb finds his bicep and it allows you enough of a guide to flatten your palm against the muscle, mapping out he curve along his deltoid, where you hook your middle finger to keep yourself steady, anchoring yourself to him like he was some sort of lifeboat, “Come back to bed.”

Your voice is slurred enough to make even the strongest of men weak, Bokuto thinks. The lilt each syllable carries, the way your eyes roll behind translucent lids, it’s all too much for his flimsy form. He can spike at what feels like one hundred miles per hour, but when he’s this close to you, his muscles atrophy and his heart stops beating.

You are a force to be reckoned with, and his heart always begs for just another whirlwind of you.

Bokuto is laughing again, this time nuzzling the apex of his face along your abdomen, counting out your ribs with the tip of his nose. It’s almost as if he’s making sure that you’re still all here, like he might have lost bits and pieces of you in the night. His breath is warm against your skin, adding to the heat the your body is accumulating from the promise of what is to come if you prove yourself tantalizing enough.

His hands pull the covers down to pool around your hips, gooseflesh pin-pricking your skin at the sudden change in temperature. Bokuto loves watching your body react, each inch of your seized up and stone cold, and he full-well intends to satiate your need for warmth. He kisses the bone of your right hip, nose trailing along the swell of your belly until he kisses the hollow of your navel, a gentle sound resonating in the soft space between your soul and his, “I’m right here, baby doll.”

You pout, forcing yourself to crack one eyelid open so you can half-glower down at him, even though the look has no malice or intent behind it. Bokuto pushes himself upward to snag your lower lip between the bite of his teeth, playfully nipping at the fullness of your skin. The closeness allows you the opportunity to slip your boneless arms around his neck, arching your back upward until your chests are flush with one another. You leech from his heat, begging to be enraptured by his body and stolen by his affections.

Bokuto’s body complies, his blood coursing scorching tendrils through his veins, making his skin sear against yours, a stark contrast to the coolness of your own. He appreciates you for a moment, eyes drinking you in, the way that your body pebbles beneath him, cool and compliant, awaiting his touch. He knows that he has you underneath his thumb, that he could have his way with you in any version of this that he wanted. He has your trust entirely, which is why when he leans down to kiss you square on the mouth, your frame molds to his own, and he is not sure where he ends and you begin.

The melding of your mouths has yet to cease his heartbeat from quickening, time after time. He does not grow weary of your tongue and gums beneath his own muscle, licking at the seam of your lips so he can devour you whole. You welcome him, of course, prying your teeth open so you can feel his heat extend to your own skin even further than before.

Your fingertips wind into his hair, tugging at the dark roots before you allow one palm to stray, trailing down over his shoulder. Bokuto is clad in a tank top, indicative of his morning workout, but it is thin enough that you can feel the corded muscle underneath the fabric, and you take full advantage of the diaphanous clothing to explore the range of his back and shoulders. The tactile difference between his shirt and his tresses forces you to focus on something, allowing you to keep your mind on this plane of existence rather than ascending to another. You moan when you feel the curve of his tongue prodding against your lips again, your knees trying to break free from the pinned position he has you in so you can bare yourself entirely to him.

Bokuto reaches upward to brush his knuckles along your jawline, abandoning your ribs for something closer to your heart. He is smirking against your mouth as he pulls away before he can become too enraptured in your taste and familiarity, “I’ve already had my morning jog and you’re still in bed, babe. I should punish you for being so lazy.”

Your backside throbs at the mention of punishment, still raw and angry from the memory of the long night that has hardly even passed, given the position of the sun outside the window. You feel the warmth of the rays trickling through the shades, golden light creating a tanned hue on Bokuto’s bare skin. You trace the thin beams that have formed shadows against his neck and shoulders, your fingertip finding his jugular and pressing down firmly to feel his pulse shudder under your touch.

The both of you flush with a lustful heat, your ears and nose changing color in tandem with one another. Bokuto can feel you trembling, knows that your mind has wandered to what his hands that are currently gentle and soft can truly do. He nudges his cheek against yours to feel the warmth of your embarrassment collecting there, the shade of your skin different now.

“You have the weekend off, no practice,” your hands flex against the back of his head and his shoulder, “and you seriously don’t want to just stay in bed? You’re always talking about how you don’t get enough sleep!”

Bokuto runs his hands over your torso, circling your waist with his expansive palms, sending a trail of blazing heat in his wake as he maps out the contours of your abdomen. He is laughing again, shaking his head so those silver tendrils fall in his face, obscuring you from his vision, “I guess you are pretty tired, huh? I wore you out last night.”

“Bo!” You reach up to smack his arm, gripping onto his bicep afterward. Your entire body sings with the remembrance of the way he folded you practically in half, his fingerprints ghosting against your skin now in the form of bruises, a tangible memory of his impressive brute strength.

He scrunches his nose as he grapples your forearm, circling his fingers around your wrist so he can pull your hand towards his face, kissing the innermost part of your arm as if he were planting a garden with the ministrations. His lips find your pulse point and he runs his nose along the grain of your arm, running the tip of it up to your wrist before he cracks his eyelids open to fixate onto you with that warm, golden gaze.

“What, did’ya already forget? Do you need a reminder?” Bokuto slips one palm underneath your thigh to grip the globe of your backside, squeezing the flesh harshly. It stings on impact, your hips canting forward to meet his with uncontrollable fervor. You have to bite down on your tongue to keep a moan from slipping between your teeth, the salacious feel of his hand against your ass doing little to quell the fire bubbling up within your belly.

“Koutarou, you little shit,” you’re growling out the syllables under your breath but he knows you have no follow-through, there will be no promise of anger or punishment. Another garbled set of words tries to flee from your tongue but you cannot focus on them because your mouth is otherwise occupied.

Bokuto hitches your leg upward, the sheet falling down from your knee so your thigh is now bared to him. He shivers at the sudden change in texture, from silken fabric to supple skin. It’s difficult for him to concentrate on your mouth when your leg is brushing against his hip in such a way that drives his mind mad. And yet, somehow he finds a way, silver lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks as he closes his eyes, narrowing his focus to the taste of your tongue and the curve of your gums. He is enraptured by you, nothing but a heap of broken bones begging to be pieced back together at the mercy of your hands.

And you oblige him, just as you always do. Your fingerprints are the key to his soul, pressing firmly against his skin and opening him like no other.

You search him, pulling out those groans of ecstasy and aborted thrusts as his hips stutter against your waistline. Bokuto’s mouth draws downward, creating a line of open-mouthed kisses that leave behind a damp trail, as if it were gasoline, clear and slick along your skin. You beg him for the match as you moan his name, your skin matching his in heat now that he has engulfed you like a flame, threatening to light your whole body to a raging fire if you let him linger long enough.

“Maybe you’re right,” he gasps against your jugular, practically wanton in nature as he hovers over your body.

Leaning back, Bokuto reaches for your leg, tugging your calf upward so your ankle rests against his shoulder. He angles his head so he can kiss the bone there, a thin layer of skin keeping your barest parts from him. He chuckles and the warmth of his laughter spreads through your limbs like a raging bonfire, searing just beneath the surface.

He turns so he can look you in the eyes, “Maybe I will come back to bed.”

The smile that graces your lips makes it all worth it.

Bokuto allows you to strip his torso of the offensive article of clothing, the fabric added to the pool of your clothes on the floor beside the bed. Your hands waste no time in mapping out his torso, pectorals and oblique muscles receiving extra dotes of attention. He nips at your collarbones, admonishing you from allowing him to continue to strip down so the both of you are evenly matched, full patches of skin on display so neither of you can hide from one another.

Even bare, his frame no longer hindered by bulky clothes, Bokuto still proves to be a massive man. Bulging muscles and thick bones that pave the way for his thick extremities and loitering weight. When his knees dip into the mattress, you find yourself rolling towards them, the slope of the bed changed with his added weight. You giggle as you try to hold yourself upright, eyes squinting shut when he reaches across the space between your bodies to grip your rib cage. His hold on you is gentle but firm, keeping you in place without bruising you.

The two of you settle into one another as if you’ve been doing this your whole lives, falling into a position that leaves the both of you comfortable and close. Your head is tucked beneath his neck, your chin on his collarbone as you lie still, his breath warm as it dithers into the crown of your hair, your mouth open as you breath against his throat. The tanned flesh sprouts goosebumps and you can’t help the laughter that piques your voice, your nose nuzzling his jugular as his apple bobs when he tries to breathe.

“C’mere,” he murmurs against your forehead, kissing you shortly after the word is spoken. Bokuto’s palm runs down your side, gentle as he hooks his three middle-most fingers around the curve of your thigh, “you feel so good, baby, so warm and soft.”

You roll your eyes and lean back to look up at him, “Just what every woman wants to hear, Bo, that I’m soft.”

“What the hell is wrong with that?!” Bokuto gently bumps his forehead into yours, successfully hitching your leg up over his thigh so your waists are now flush with one another. You hook your ankle around the backside of his thigh reluctantly, narrowing your line of sight until your irises are but slits hidden behind half-hooded lids.

He scoffs, “I swear, you find something wrong with everything I say, woman.”

There is no true frustration behind his words, but you tilt your head upward to kiss him anyways. Your affections usually bring about some form of amnesia, as Bokuto is too enticed by the taste of your tongue to remember you admonishing him only moments prior. His fingers press harder against the muscle of your leg, trailing down so he can trace the dip of your calf and ankle, like he might be mapping out your anatomy so he could memorize it for later.

“I’ve missed you,” you manage when you pull away from him, ducking your head so your forehead bumps his chin. Your whole face is coated in an embarrassed heat, eyes beginning to water at the memory of too many nights spent alone in this bed while he travels the world to play out his dreams on the court.

Bokuto can feel the shift in your demeanor, and he pulls you closer to him on instincts alone. Your chest presses into him and you swear your heartbeats are in time with one another, the slow rhythm like a song that plays for only each other to hear. His hands try to find any part of you that he can touch, your skin calling to him in the quiet of your bedroom, begging to be praised and flourished with affections. He pulls the sheet up to your waists, allowing you some form of privacy despite it only being the two of you who live in between these walls.

“I think about you every day,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice an octave lower than usual. Your chest tightens at the sound of his downcast tone, and you know that those usually bright, amber eyes have lost their golden hue, turning a sad, sallow shade in favor of the standard color. Bokuto nudges his nose over your cheek, sporadic kisses pressed against your skin as he speaks, “I always go back to the hotel room, thinking you’re going to be there by some stupid accident. I look forward to your good morning texts and every time I get to call you, it’s like it’s just you and me, alone in the world. Does that make sense?”

You have tears streaming down your cheeks, but he was too wrapped up in his own range of emotions to notice. Once he recognizes the dampness plaguing his collarbones has nothing to do with his own natural sweat production, Bokuto is tilting your head up with a knuckle underneath your jaw, his thumb gently pinching your chin, “Hey, sweetheart, wh-did I say something wrong? I swear, I’m so fucking stupid with words, I just-”

His rambling musings are cut short by your lips surging forward, swallowing him whole with a simple gasping moan. You dig your nails into his body, sinking into whatever patch of skin is closest. You need this tactile comfort, to remind yourself to come down from this high that he has created by stringing together a few simple syllables.

“I love you,” your voice is haggard and slow, but it does not matter, not in this moment, “I love you, Bo.”

The palms of his hands sear into your shoulders as he runs the heels of them along the curve of your body. He rubs up and down, creating a friction that warns you that you might catch fire if he does not show you distance. You welcome the heat, welcome the burn, because the ache that it leaves behind when he is gone is so much more intense than if he were to keep you at bay. You look up at him, eyes wide and begging for some form of solace in his gaze, “And I’m proud of you, for doing this. Pursuing your dreams.”

“Nah, baby doll,” Bokuto pushes your hair from your face, fingertips lingering on your cheek, held there by some existential force that he cannot fathom, “you’re my dream, yeah? S’all you.”

He angles your head upward again, tilting his wrist as he cups your face, kissing you gently for what feels like hours on end. Your mind slips into a sort of haze, gentle colors passing behind your lids as he prods and tugs at your lips. You feel euphoric, champagne bubbles drifting upwards from your stomach, effervescent and unrelenting. He is a high you would dare to chase for the rest of your life, even if he sits just out of reach. You don’t mind getting drunk off of his love if it leaves you with this overwhelming sense of adoration that warms you from the inside out, leaving your fingertips buzzing with the promise of what is to come next always being better than what has come before.

“Volleyball isn’t forever,” he whispers like he does not want it to come true, but knows it must despite his reluctance, “but you? I’ve got you for life.”

You cannot help the tears that swim down your cheeks, creating glittering rivulets of saltine droplets, sticking into your hair and onto the pillowcase. Bokuto chuckles as he swipes at the sticky skin, brushing away any evidence of your emotions. You want to refute him, to tell him that he can make volleyball something he could do forever if he just worked hard enough. But you know that isn’t true – he is but a mortal, despite your thoughts otherwise, and mortals break, they wither into nothingness. He can not spike like a twenty-something year-old athlete forever, and even if he chooses to coach, it may never bring about the fulfillment that the sound of squeaking his sneakers on a court can.

Bokuto is gentle as he kisses you, a simmering heat spreading from your lips to your toes the longer he stays connected to you at the mouth. His hands fawn all over you, searching each dip and cord of muscle and bone and skin as he does so, mapping out your frame like he has not done this a dozen times and will not continue to do it for the rest of his days.

The hoarse phrase of, “I love you,” is whimpered into the spaces between your teeth, where your soul and his collide. Your heart rolls from within the cage of your ribs, knowing full-well that if it were possible, if you were to look hard enough there would be a bruised outline against your skin from where the organ were beating so quickly that it might look as if it were trying to escape.

As if sensing your thoughts, Bokuto’s hand against your cheek drifts downward, ghosting over your throat before resting against the left side of your chest. His thumb brushes along the swell of your breast, but you know the action is far from sensual in nature, the heel of his palm digging in just enough so he can feel the thumping of your heart underneath your skin and bones. He breathes in slowly as the organ thuds under his touch, taking you in moment by moment, unwilling to miss even the slightest movement or sound.

Your hands find his cheeks, holding his jaw gently in your hands as your lips volley back and forth, soft, audible smacking echoing from your mouths as you kiss. The way his thigh slides between your knees has you clenching around him, your own body trying to accommodate the sizable appendage as he slots himself closer to you.

Bokuto has always been desperate for your affections, from the beginning of your relationship to now, nothing has changed. He wants to be as close to you as possible, practically suffocating you with his proximity and even though you feel like you’re drowning within his hold, you would never come up for air again if it meant being with him. There is little space between you now, bodies melded together underneath the thin sheet, warmed by the golden rays of sunlight beaming through the window. You wonder how ethereal this must look – sunshine on your skin, golden hour in your hair. You two must be the picture of intimacy, wound together and unable to be separated, two bodies become one in the moment of heightened grace and poise.

“Bo,” you manage to breathe his name as he relinquishes your mouth in favor of your throat. Your hands latch onto his shoulders when he leans in closer, rolling his body upwards against you. The hard wall of muscle that ripples when he moves is enough to bring any woman to her knees, let alone one so weak for him such as you.

He lands a kiss to your collarbone before angling his head so he can look you in the eyes, “Yeah, babe?”

You don’t want the tears to fall, but you can’t help it with the way your eyes are watering and when you blink, a fresh set of salted pearly drops are dripping down onto his skin , “Will you hold me?”

Bokuto is wrapping you up into the tightest embrace you think you could handle before you can wheeze out your final syllable. You are warm all over, completely wracked in heat as he holds you closely, your head against his chest so you can count out his heartbeats until your own rhythm has settled. You curl your arms around his shoulders until your palms are flat against his contoured muscles, finding solace in the burning planes of skin there, his body heated from a mixture of lust and adoration that fuels his very being when he is closest to you.

“Of course, baby,” Bokuto is ever the sturdy one, keeping you sane despite your attempts to turn otherwise. He kisses the crown of your head as if he were planting a flower bed, gentle petal-like pecks along each lock of your hair. A light, airy string of laughter is huffed along your forehead, an open-mouthed kiss placed soon after, “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

You believe him, because Bokuto has always been there to piece you back together when you want to fall apart, crumbling to the ground like shattered and tattered pieces of the person that you are. His strength is unparalleled, and you do not wish to search for anyone who might come close to him because not only would it be futile, but it would be a waste of your time.

After all, how could you ever find someone who so perfectly fits into the spaces between you like he does?

[peaceoutofthepieces]

this is just a little scene to test out this idea I had a while back and see if I’d actually like to write it and if anyone would like to read it, so please let me know what you think!!

~^~

Robbe stuffs his phone back in the pocket of his slacks and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s only been playing this game for a little over a week and he’s losing. He hadn’t expected this outcome; Noor was only supposed to be playing along. Instead, she seeks Robbe out even in private, she texts him at any hour of the day, and while it’s sweet and he likes Noor, it isn’t what he prepared himself for. It’s a bit overwhelming.

Everything is a bit overwhelming.

He almost wants to change, or at least ditch the blazer, but before he can make up his mind the door opens behind him. He turns around just in time for Noor to pop her head in, and she smiles wide when their gazes catch. She takes a moment to take him in, and Robbe just stands and watches back and does his best not to twitch in discomfort. He’s not a child anymore, and he’s done this plenty of times. Always with perfect composure.

Now would be a terrible time to break.

He fits on a smile as Noor makes her way over to him and runs a hand down the front of his blazer. “Good, you’re already dressed,” she praises, smoothing out a crease. “Very handsome.”

“Thank you,” Robbe says, swaying forward and accepting her quick kiss. “Not as stunning as you, though.”

Noor grins, and Robbe thinks to check what she’s actually wearing. She does look stunning, he assumes. Theoretically, he knows the way the deep-red dress hugs her frame makes a nice picture. Noor always looks beautiful. Robbe isn’t lying when he compliments her.

He isn’t supposed to be lying to Noor about anything. They’re supposed to be on the same page.

He might have been mistaken, somewhere amidst their agreement. Somewhere along the line, at the very least, he must have missed some kind of memo.

“Noor, uh.” He averts his gaze, then allows it to flit back, softening and warming his expression to turn his words into a gentle suggestion. “We don’t have to worry about publicity tonight, okay? I want you to be able to have fun.”

Noor’s brow furrows. “Isn’t this weekend all about the publicity?”

Robbe hesitates, because she’s right and he wishes she wasn’t. He knows exactly what is expected of him tonight, but they have their own say in the matter. If Noor doesn’t want to be glued to his side, she has no real obligation to be. As long as they’re seen once, twice, together in the bar and together by the bedrooms, everyone would eat it up. Playing everything up isn’t a necessity at the moment. Robbe has been hoping for such a break.

“Yeah, but, it’s also for us to enjoy,” he tries.

“And I’ll enjoy it with you.” Noor adjusts his collar again, raising her brows. She laughs then at his hesitant look and links their hands together to begin tugging him towards the door. “Come on, stop fretting. I won’t do anything I don’t want to.”

Robbe wishes he could say the same so easily.

Instead he mostly keeps his mouth shut as he traipses down through the hotel after Noor, letting her lead him to the bar on the main floor. It’s easy to spot his parents, once they’re there, standing at one of the tables surrounded by stares and whispers. The attention of the room shifts to him and Noor as they enter, and Robbe forces himself not to duck away from it. In truth, it’s not the attention or his parents that he notices first.

It’s Sander.

He’s standing at the table next to Robbe’s mother, talking animatedly as he leans his arms on the wood, dressed in a jacket and shirt of his own. A jacket, shirt and jeans. His shirt isn’t even a shirt, but some kind of silky patterned blouse, his jacket is beige and too baggy, and his jeans are plain black and too tight, and he looks stunning.

So annoying.

Robbe lets the frustrated breath out through his nose, ignoring the heat under his collar as Noor leads them right over. It doesn’t help that Sander is the first to notice them, turning his head at the right moment and stopping mid-speech to smile. He doesn’t look at Noor at all, but he moves his gaze over Robbe in one long sweep, flitting slowly back up to his eyes.

Robbe raises a brow, unimpressed. Sander merely lifts his drink in greeting and lets his smile slip into a smirk.

Noor greets his parents enthusiastically, squeezing his dad’s hand and giving his mother a hug. She even grants Sander a kiss on the cheek, which he reciprocates with his eyes still settled on Robbe. He doesn’t take them away until Noor is tucking herself back into Robbe’s side, and then he glances at the space between them—or rather the lack of—before dropping his gaze entirely. He focuses instead on his drink, which he lifts and takes a long slug of. Robbe finds himself watching the parting of his lips, the tilt of his head, the slope of his throat. Then Sander looks at him looking and he snaps his gaze away.

“Don’t you two look lovely,” his mother teases, smiling at him and Noor.

Robbe rolls his eyes good-naturedly and lays his arm over Noor’s shoulders as she laughs and wraps her arm around his waist. “Don’t we always,” he retorts, in the same wistful tone.

Sander hums and draws Robbe’s attention back to him. “Actors,” he says lightly. His smile is teasing, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which bore into Robbe. “Always camera-ready.”

“This one even more so than me,” Noor agrees, pinching Robbe’s cheek as she grins at him. Robbe huffs a laugh and carefully moves his head away. Noor pays no attention, already roped back into conversation with his father.

“I was telling a few people about you earlier,” the man tells Noor. “There’s a friend or two of mine interested in meeting you to talk about upcoming projects. Why don’t you do a round with me so we can greet some people?”

It’s an act of kindness, Robbe’s sure, but also one of convenience. He’s sure his father would genuinely like to help Noor, but having her involved in some fancy new project, thanks to his guidance, would certainly be a bonus. Robbe’s grip tightens minutely on Noor with the sudden, irrational urge to keep and protect. Just because he isn’t quite as honestly invested doesn’t mean he doesn’t like her. He doesn’t want her to be used.

But Noor has already lit up, and she nods excitedly, giving Robbe’s hand a squeeze. “Of course.”

“While you do that, I’m going to say hi to the Stoffels,” his mother says.

Robbe perks up. “Jens is here?”

“No, just his mother and Lies.” When she sees Robbe deflate, she tuts. “You’ll be alright, Sander already bought you a drink. You’re big boys, you can keep each other company.”

His gaze flits back to Sander, mostly out of surprise, just in time for Sander to slide a tall glass across the table towards him. Robbe eyes it dubiously, wrapping his hand around it but not bothering to take a taste. He’s preoccupied with Noor squeezing his arm and twisting to press a kiss to his cheek before sliding entirely out of his grip.

“I’ll come back to save you soon,” she promises. Robbe thinks if she meant that, she wouldn’t be leaving him with Sander in the first place. But she’s already turning her back, following his father away, and his mother had disappeared instantly, and now it’s just Sander and him and an array of half-empty drinks.

Robbe finally lifts his own glass and takes a sniff.

Sander snorts, and Robbe looks to find him shaking his head. “Serious?” He raises a brow.

Robbe simply shrugs.

“You know, out of the two of us, you’re probably the one more likely to have drugs.”

Robbe flushes. “I didn’t think you drugged it,” he mumbles. “I’m just trying to figure out what it is. Besides, just because you didn’t spike it doesn’t mean no one else did.”

Sander shakes his head again, lips quirked in amusement. “I kept my eyes on it the whole time.”

“Why’d you get me a cocktail?”

“Because,” Sander shrugs. He doesn’t say anything else, and Robbe simply keeps staring at him. Eventually Sander wiggles his brows and nods at the drink. “It’s about time you try something new, Ijzermans.”

Something crawls up into Robbe’s throat and lodges there. He doesn’t have any retort. It sounds too much like a challenge, like it comes with a hidden meaning, and the knowing glint in Sander’s eye as he stares Robbe down only seems to confirm it. There’s suddenly a comfort to be found in the eyes on them, in the fact that even though they’re alone at the table, they aren’t alone. The surroundings, rather than making him itch, suddenly seem safe. It’s only private enough that they can speak without being overheard, but there are other tables all around them, a few feet away in each direction. Robbe can see Noor if he turns his head. He hears Mrs Stoffels’ distinctive laughter in the background as he eyes his drink, swirling the liquid around. It’s a deep, jewel-like blue, that fizzes slightly as he shakes it.

He glances back up at Sander. The other boy is simply staring at him, still with that faint amusement, brows raised expectantly. He nods at the drink once more.

Robbe brings it to his lips and takes a tentative sip. He’s aware of Sander’s eyes on him as a sharp, fruity taste explodes on his tongue, but he can’t quite keep his face under control. It screws up in displeasure, and Sander laughs abruptly, raising a hand to cover his mouth as his shoulders shake.

Robbe swallows the liquid and scowls at him. “What the fuck is this?”

“No idea,” Sander says idly. “Had something with ‘sea breeze’ in the name. Enjoy.” He raises his own beer in a toast, and Robbe’s scowl deepens as he leaves his glass back down on the table.

He drags one of the stools towards himself and climbs up, resting his elbows on the table. He’s still directly across from Sander, but he’s not looking at him. He focuses on his glass instead, tapping his fingers against it in a quick, tinkling rhythm until Sander huffs.

“What,” Robbe says flatly.

“Nothing.” There’s a pause, and then Sander huffs again. “I just find it funny.”

“What?” Robbe repeats, slightly more curious. He even raises his head to look at the younger boy again.

Sander puckers his lips, then shrugs. “How hard you try to pretend you don’t like me. How hard you try to pretend you do like her.” He nods at something behind Robbe.

Robbe doesn’t have to look to know he’s talking about Noor. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Okay,” Sander rolls his eyes. When Robbe doesn’t respond, Sander gives him a dry look. “Come on, Robbe. I’m giving you a freebie.”

There’s no freedom in what Sander is implying, but Robbe doesn’t bother pointing that out, because it would be too close to admitting Sander is right. Instead he simply stays silent, which is almost as bad.

“You need to stop living your whole life like you’re in front of a camera,” Sander tells him. His tone seems to have softened slightly, and Robbe allows a glance through his lashes to see if his expression matches. It does. Sander’s gently frowning as he takes a sip of his drink. “It sounds fucking exhausting.”

Robbe blinks. It is exhausting, but he hadn’t thought Sander would be the one to point such a thing out. He hadn’t thought Sander would make such a genuine observation in the first place. Even with all those looks, Robbe hadn’t realised how much Sander has actually been watching.

He takes a little sip of his own drink to delay responding and finds it isn’t as bad the second time, so he takes another. Then he makes a quiet admission. “I prefer being behind the camera.”

It doesn’t seem to be the response Sander was expecting, but he also doesn’t look too surprised. “You want to produce like your dad?”

“Not really. I mean actually being behind the camera. Filming itself. Maybe directing. Editing. I don’t know.” He takes another drink and then licks his lips, ignoring how Sander tracks each movement. “I like making things look good and I like creating and watching, but not when it’s myself. It’s never my decision to act.”

This does draw out Sander’s surprise. “Your dad makes you?”

“No,” Robbe quickly denies, shaking his head. “He just asks, and I never know how to say no. Or he asked the first time, and now it’s just how it goes. It’s not like I hate it, it just—sorry, it doesn’t matter.” He remembers who he’s talking to and cuts himself off. It’s not that he’s admitting anything bad, or even that Sander isn’t someone he should be admitting it too—he doesn’t think Sander would betray him to his father, even though that’s who Sander’s working for and the only reason he’s even here. It’s not that he’s being too honest and Sander is untrustworthy; he’s being just honest enough that he might keep going. That’s where the danger creeps in.

This becomes clear when Sander shakes his head and places his hand over Robbe’s, mindless or reckless or both. Sander doesn’t seem to notice the fire that sparks from the touch, setting every inch of Robbe’s skin alight.

“It does matter,” Sander argues, and now he appears unbearably soft. It’s a far cry from his usual aloof, confident persona, but somehow Robbe feels no surprise at the glimpse of tenderness. “I’m sure if you talked to your dad, he’d understand. He’d probably even help you get wherever you actually want to go. He didn’t need to take me on, but he’s understanding.”

Robbe bites back a scoff, but he can’t quite contain the little burst of anger that makes him snatch his hand away. It startles Sander so much, he feels slightly apologetic. “You don’t know anything, Sander.”

Sander purses his lips. The gentle expression has mostly dissipated, but there’s still some lingering determination. Robbe feels a faint thrum of heat in his stomach under Sander’s heavy stare. “Maybe not,” he acquiesces. “But I know it’s not enough to not hate something. You should be allowed to want something. And you deserve whatever that is.”

There’s that lump in his throat again. Sander seems so sincere that Robbe feels shy. It’s ridiculous how much sway Sander has over him when they barely know each other. Robbe can’t figure out what it is, only that there’s an undeniable tug in his gut when he’s in Sander’s orbit, urging him to get closer. Alongside it, there are the warning signals that blare in his head, alarms that tell him he’s in front of a fire or at the edge of a cliff. Pushed too far, he’ll burn and tumble.

“Robbe,” Sander urges, drawing his attention back. Even darkened, his eyes are so green. “You deserve whatever you want out of your life. Direct it on your own.”

That might be the problem—having Robbe in control. He’d always thought his life was for the universe to play with, guided by various twisted strings of fate, split into infinite versions. He’s beginning to dislike the thought. All the happenings that are out of his control are the ones that scare him, that cause real harm. His mother’s illness, his parents’ split, his own fame. Sander Driesen.

He’s beginning to think Sander might be the scariest thing.

It’s terrifying, the intent with which he’s watching Robbe now, scarier than being in front of a camera has ever been. At least there, he can act. It’s Sander who strips him bare. It’s terrifying and liberating.

Robbe takes another sip of the drink Sander had bought him, and finds the fifth time is easier again. It loosens the lump in his throat enough for him to meet Sander’s eye and say, “Maybe I will.”

[ihni]

Out of the ashes, part 22

For whumptober day 22, “They made me do it”

~~~

The video playing on the TV showed Hargrove sitting curled up in the corner, running his hands over his head repeatedly and rocking his body.

Everyone in the room had gotten so quiet that despite the volume being on low, they could all clearly hear the sounds of Hargrove crying. Keening sobs, drawn-out whines, and uneven pleas. “Please … Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to. He made me!”

Steve looked from the Hargrove on screen, to the Hargrove that was right there with him. The real one was so pale, it looked like all color had fled his face. He swallowed, and it looked painful. He still didn’t look away from the TV.

Steve was torn between walking up to Hargrove and pulling him away from there, or walking up to the TV and turning it off. Both were viable options, but he couldn’t decide which needed to be done first, which resulted in him just standing there like a tool, unmoving.

The women, thankfully, both acted. When she noticed the paleness of Hargrove’s face and the cause of it, Robin swore under her breath and dove for the remote, fumbling with it until she at least managed to press ‘pause’, freezing the picture. She then moved to stand in front of the TV, hiding it from view. Joyce, meanwhile, moved to the side in the corridor and kept talking, forcing Hargrove to look away from the TV to keep his attention on her.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“They …” His voice broke. “They filmed it?” When he looked up at Joyce next, he had such a vulnerable look on his face that Steve ached with it. It felt like intruding on something private to even see the guy like this, so he glanced over at Robin only to find that she looked as uncomfortable as he felt. She didn’t look away, though. Instead, she spoke up:

“We were going there to find evidence. Steve found you, but me and Nancy, we found this … this room. Not an office, exactly. It had a bunch of TV’s, and machines, and file cabinets. They were all locked, and we were in a hurry to get out of there, but we took everything that wasn’t locked away. Folders and tapes on top of the cabinets, papers on the desk … We didn’t know what it was, at the time, but, uh …” She faltered, throwing a glance at Steve before taking a deep breath. “But a lot of them seem to be about you.” She nodded to his wrist, where they’d all seen the numbers tattooed. “And about … what they did to you.”

At that, Hargrove scrunched up his face, as if trying to keep the tears at bay. He swallowed, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Joyce repeated and leaned into his line of vision so that he would look at her. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you, and you have been so, so wronged. But if I have anything to do with it, nothing like that –“ She motioned to the TV, “– will ever happen to you again.” She straightened up, a hard glint in her eyes. “I promise you.”

It was unclear if Hargrove took in her words, as his eyes were once again glued to the TV screen. Robin had moved around the coffee table when she spoke so she was standing shoulder to shoulder with Steve, and since no one had thought to actually turn the TV off, the screen was still jumping on a green-tinted frame of Hargrove on the floor in that room, mid-sob. The real Hargrove took a couple of steps closer, uncaring of the rest of them, and just stared at video-him.

When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “He …” He screwed his eyes shut. “He made me do it.”

~~~

(First) (Previous) (On AO3) (Next)

[shewholovestoread]

The Haunting of Bly Manor - Ramblings

HERE BE SPOILERS, BEWARE!

The Haunting of Hill House was an exceptional piece of television, both in terms of writing as well as execution. Any follow-up, regardless of its actual merit will be judged unfairly especially because the show is conceived as an anthology- each season is independent, a new story, a new house. In that regard, the key to enjoying Bly Manor is to watch it with no ties to Hill House. A tough thing to do but a must. If you watch Bly Manor, expecting the story and scares from Hill House, you will find it sorely lacking.

Bly Manor and Hill House could not be more different from each other. Other than a few repeated cast members and some behind the scenes crew, it's a completely new concept. Like its predecessor, the season resembles its source material only in the broadest of strokes. There are a bulk of characters, story arcs that don't exist in The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. Instead, Mike Flanagan and his team of writers have woven in other, more obscure stories by James into this television adaptation and the season is richer for it.

The beauty of a show like Bly Manor and indeed even Hill House are its characters. The story is engaging and keeps the audience glued to their seats, the characters though elevate it to a whole new level. I am perhaps waxing poetic but as I sit here having just finished the last episode, I find myself going back to the characters. There is such abundant richness to them, so many layers, even to the ones that we would mostly dismiss as the "villain". The show infuses such heartache into their stories that to label any of them as villainous would be to completely miss the point. Which is not to say that there aren't characters who do absolutely despicable things, like a certain Peter Quint, nor does the show offer them a redemption, merely understanding, a look into their lives.

Unlike Hill House, where a majority of the ghosts retained their menacing and malicious edge, the last 2 episodes of Bly Manor completely rid the ghosts of the house of all that makes them frightening, revealing them to be nothing but unwitting bystanders who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The heartache is a running theme especially among 4 principle characters- Hannah, Owen, Dani and Jamie. Hannah who constantly finds herself in different times, who hasn't yet realised that she's no longer among the living, existing like an echo, repeating the actions in death as she did in life. Filled with regret at the life unlived, the regret of being in love with Owen and never telling him. For Owen to be in love with Hannah but also held back, whether due to his mother's illness or just never being sure of how Hannah felt about him.

I tip my hat to Mike Flanagan. In Hill House he gave us Theo Crain, the only complaint being that perhaps Trish only existed in the story to serve Theo's character. He does a much a better job in Bly Manor with Dani and Jamie. You can see the yearning in Dani's eyes almost as soon as she meets Jamie, there is an instant pull. And then through her flashback, you can see that it was her guilt that was holding her back. And once she let that go of it, you could see her embracing the happiness that came from being with Jamie. Their love for each other was one of the high-points of the show. The way the show concludes, leaves a bittersweet taste, in that, at the end, Dani does come back for Jamie and they can finally be together. And that was just beautiful.

Bly Manor is also beautifully made show, though if I were being honest, I missed some of those brilliant single takes shots from Hill House which were so superbly executed. The structure of the season bares some similarities to that of Hill House, in that almost each episode focuses on a particular character but it's not necessarily from their point of view. With each passing episode, the story slowly unfolds, until the last episode brings everything together like a tapestry unfurling, finally presenting the whole image in its entirety. That's the other thing to watch out for in the show, it is slow, it takes its time, the first episode especially. We have become so used to fast-paced storytelling that there is something soothing about one that takes its time, that also occasionally pauses and lets its inhabitants breathe and simply exist instead of pushing along one story arc or another. I almost miss it which is why shows like this are a treat.

The acting is also top-notch, though some of the accents take some getting used to, most notably Henry Thomas as Henry Wingrave. All of the others, especially the kids Benjamin Evan Ainsworth and Amelie Bea Smith as Miles and Flora respectively were amazing. Special mention also to T'nia Miller who played Hannah Grose with such depth and sincerity. I'm going to mention all of the main cast members because of how amazing they all were- Victoria Pedretti as Dani Clayton, Amelia Eve as Jamie, Oliver Jackson-Cohen as Peter Quint, Tahirah Sharif as Rebecca Jessel, Rahul Kohli as Owen, Carla Gugino as The Narrator. Special mention also to Kate Siegel who only appeared in one episode but owned every frame she was in.

Mike Flanagan was being honest when he said that Bly Manor is gothic romance. It is not the horror-fest that was Hill House. Bly Manor, like Guillermo Del Toro's Crimson Peak, is a love story with ghosts in it. At its core, its about people deeply in love. Some of it, transcendent like Hannah-Owen and Dani-Jamie and some of it toxic like Rebecca-Peter. The Haunting of Bly Manor is a beautiful show and to watch it in the shadow of Hill House is a gross disservice to it's beauty and nuance.

P.S. – Petition to have Victoria Pedretti in the next season of The Haunting and to get a happy ending and if we get a wlw ship, that’s just an added bonus.

P.P.S – Netflix better not cancel this show! Seriously, keep your cancel-happy hands away from this.

[orderoftheavengers]

Scarlet Legilimens

House: Ravenclaw

Species: Human/phoenix hybrid (formerly human)

Blood Status: Pureblood

(Pointless) Wand: Cherry, 13 inches, phoenix feather  

(Pointless) Broom: Firebolt Supreme

Patronus: Red-billed firefinch

Specialty: Legilimency, Occlumency, Flying, Dark Arts, Wandless Magic

Sorting

Wanda Maximoff is a living example of how the traits of Ravenclaw House may be applied to the most heinous villainy, and the most self-sacrificing heroism. As a villain, she is crafty and manipulative; as a hero, clever and intuitive. Her fighting style, for good or evil, is always more sneaky and innovative than “bold.” Ironically, her mind is also her weakest point as well as her strongest, as poor Wanda continuously ends up as the manipulated as often as the manipulator. A born Legilimens, her abilities, strengths and flaws are all mind related.

Note the “cleverness” and “ready mind” mentioned by the Sorting Hat needn’t always come in the form of a bookish nerd, as Luna Lovegood, Sybil Trelawney, Profeesor Quirrel and Professor Lockheart are all Ravenclaw. Wanda may not spend her free time studying or watching the Discovery Channel, but she does spend much of it experimenting with her powers, and letting her imagination loose. When faced with unbearable loss, she wasn’t immediately able to face her grief head-on, like a Gryffindor; nor, as a corrupt Ministry leader lied, did she try to resurrect her lost lover; instead, she escaped into her own mind, imagining up an (almost) complete fictitious life for herself and Vision, in a matter of seconds, without even realizing she was doing it.

Wanda is capable of impressive courage, ambition and loyalty, to be sure; but all of those things have wavered, when her reality was turned upside-down. She shed years of indoctrination after reading Ultron’s mind and seeing the grim truth. (And yes, she can read a machine’s mind! That’s a Ravenclaw right there.)

Durmstrang Experiments

Wanda and her twin brother Pietro were born to wizarding parents, in the tiny European nation of Sokovia. Wanda was a born Legilimens, like Queenie Goldstein, able to peek into others’ minds without having to perform any spells. A poor family, their father made ends meet by enchanting posters and lobby cards of old Muggle sitcoms to play out entire episodes, which he then sold to Muggle-enthusiasts in the wizarding world. Their home was decimated by a spell invented by Tony Stark, who never intended for it to end up in the claws of banshee terrorists. The twins ended up in a crap Muggle orphanage, which only intensified their prejudices. By the time they entered Durmstrang, a school infamous for professors that supported Dark Magic and even Voldemort, they were ripe for indoctrination and radicalization.

Due to Wanda’s being a Legilimens, the twins were selected for a dangerous experiment by their headmaster Professor Beowulf Von Stucker. Using the Mind Stone, the twins were to be fused with their wands. Wanda’s first name suddenly became very appropriate, a la Remus Lupin. Wanda merged with her phoenix-feathered wand, transforming the born Legilimens into a powerful human/phoenix hybrid. Her telepathic powers were enhanced, and she gained many powers of a phoenix, including flight, inhuman strength for her levitation spells, and being nearly indestructible. Being part wand also made her able to do wandless magic with no effort. Pietro, meanwhile, was merged with his Veela-hair wand, making him a human/Veela hybrid, and gifting him with a Veela’s dancing speed and silvery hair.

(A very special thanks to AlasterBoneman for the idea about Wanda's wand being integrated into her body.) Order of the Avengers Wanda and Pietro are finishing up their first year when they cross paths with the Order of the Avengers, and they don't exactly make a good first impression. Their vitriol against the Avengers and Tony Stark makes very little sense, especially given that Wanda is a telepath, and should easily see they aren't the villains (not to mention how much she has in common with Natasha, whose life story Wanda personally digs up). But, the twins are still only about eleven, and kids that age can be pretty stupid. The Avengers trace Loki's confiscated broom-scepter to Durmstrang, where the dark wizards from the Order of Hydra are keeping it. Wanda, having recently studied with a Boggart, uses her Legillimency to make the Avengers relive their traumas. Tony's fear shows Wanda that he clearly wants to protect the world, and yet she makes the very un-Ravenclaw decision to keep pursuing "revenge." Her plan inadvertently leads to Tony and Bruce accidentally creating a dangerous and ear-bleedingly-irritating gargoyle named Ultron, who the twins personally work with. Wanda even shocks Bruce into green-wolf form, and sends him on a rampage through one of the dormitories at Durmstrang (but it's not her or Pietro's House, so she could care less). Finally, after much too long, she puts her mental powers to some use, and reads Ultron's mind. That's when she puts two and two together. By then, Ultron has unleashed an army of Cornish Pixies to levitate Durmstrang Castle miles into the air, planning to drop it in an explosion of magic that will alert the Muggles to the existence of wizards. Huddled in a swaying castle tower, she confesses her guilt to Hufflepuff Clint Barton. Clint invites her to redeem herself by joining the Avengers. Durmstrang is saved, but sadly, Pietro takes a killing curse for Clint and another first year. wrought with grief and guilt, wanda begins her second year of schooling at Hogwarts, where--after an unusually long time on the stool--she is sorted into Ravenclaw. Her lonely mood is raised slightly when she finds the attractive new Golem, Vision, hovering to the Ravenclaw table alongside her.

The Scarlet Witch Hunt

Perhaps living on her own for a while is what finally helps Wanda regain the confidence to think for herself. When Vision suggests that they both drop out of their respective schools and just run off together, she urges him against the idea. When Vision senses a disturbance in his Mind Stone, she inspects it for him, but reports, “I just feel you.”

They are interrupted by a rude crowd of Trolls under their window, calling for Wanda’s blood. She’s fine to ignore them, but Vision—ever the logical Ravenclaw—is compelled intellectually argue with the Trolls in his lady's honor.

“Wanda is a redemption-seeking-antihero like Tony, who she has not expressed any hatred for since the Ultron fiasco—not even during the whole ‘Civil War’ calamity! In fact, of everyone on Team Cap, she was the least awful to Tony! The only verbal exchange between them during the whole drunk Quidditch match was a brief pout about being 'locked in her room,' which she had no problem with until Hawkeye came and pressured her. She was literally the only person in the Squid prison not insulting him! And just a few minutes ago, when I wanted her to run away with me, she was telling me to keep my loyalties to Stark, and when the news reported him missing she was visibly scared for him! Seriously, where are you Trolls even getting that she still hates Tony?”

One Troll with particularly long horns shouts back, “Well what about that cleavage and slutty red leather? Tony Stark was never a slu—er, wait…”

Vision is now standing in the window frame, unbuttoning his fly.

“Vision?” Wanda asks nervously. “What are you doing?”

A glittering, purple stream poursd out from her boyfriend’s “better wand,” threatening to deface the crowd below.

“Vision no!” she cries, quickly containing the violet river in an energy ball.

Steady hand…    she carefully lifts the ball of glistening liquid higher and higher into the air. …Not gonna screw this one up—

“I say Wanda, is that a giant flying donut?” Vision asks curiously.

Wanda glances up, and there is indeed a gargantuan space donut in the night sky, coming right for them. The strange sight distracts her, causing her hand to slip—just as she’s levitating Visions liquids right over said donut.

This enchanted pastry is in fact the vessel of some of Thanos’s most vicious minions. And Wanda has just drenched them in Vision’s you-know-what.

While Wanda gasps behind her hand, Vision suggests, “Let’s go for a walk.”

On their way down the quiet lamp-lit streets, they are soon stopped by a group of Thanos’s putrid goblin children, currently slightly more putrid than usual.

A blue female goblin roars, “Now you’ve really succeeded in pissing us off!”

Before she can stop herself, Wanda blurts out, “Pissed off? Smells more to me like you ‘been pissed on!”

Somewhere, a boxing bell dings, and a badass wizard’s duel begins.

Just when Wanda and Vision are cornered, a train passes by, causing all parties to freeze dramatically for no apparent reason. Wanda tries to make her body move, to take this opportunity to blast her opponents, but some force has her glued in place, as low music hisses theatrically throughout the night. The train passes, to reveal a shadowy figure, posing heroically. Instead of shooting the figure with a hex, one of the goblins simply throws a spear, which the figure catches expertly. Wanda and Vision both know that there is only one person on the planet would could make an entrance with this much ham and cheese.

Steve Rogers dramatically stepped into the light, revealing his fluffy new beard, and the duel gets a bit more epic.

Oh Snap

In the wizarding nation of Wakanda, Black Panther’s brilliant sister Shuri does her damndest to save her fellow Ravenclaw, and safely remove the Infinity Stone from Vision’s forehead. Sadly, Thanos’s forces overwhelm her, and Wanda is forced to kill her lover--the last family she has left. Many would assume only a Gryffindor would have the resolve to do this, but a Ravenclaw’s wisdom and pragmatism can go a long way.

Ever the sadist, that purple f*ck Thanos uses the Time Stone to resurrect Vision and kill him again, in front of Wanda, and even has the gault "comfort" her in a patronizing manner.

And yet, she’s not so distraught when Thanos’s Dusting curse comes for her. It could be that she’s so despaired by now that she welcomes death. Or maybe the half-phoenix simply doesn’t react to dissolving into ash the same way other beings might…

…in any case, she is resurrected over the summer by Bruce Banner. Vision, sadly, isn’t. In her grief, Wanda accidently traps herself and the entire school of Hogwarts inside the Mirror of Erised, but that's another story entirely. 

Wand, Broom and Patronus

Cherry wood is associated with some of the most powerful and lethal wands.  Phoenix feather wands are considered to have the widest range of magic, and are among the post powerful, yet also the most difficult to tame. 

The red-billed firefinch is one of the few bird species where the females sport some red coloring. These birds are tiny and quiet, but very active. They are flexible about where they live and with whom; they can mix with other bird species, and can live in the wild or captivity, provided they always have plenty of space. Their nests are different from other birds', having a dome shape and being low in bushes. Not unlike the hidden fortress Wanda creates, to hide her family. These crafty birds also build mock-nests to fool predators.  

AN: This has undergone some changes in both the story and image, since the release of "WandaVision." If anyone is for any reason attached to Wanda's old broom, the previous version is saved in my Stash. I plan to reuse that fire design somewhere else, possibly for Harry's Firebolt in my more serious Potter art.

[bonesofapoet]

Revival of a Soul

[alucard x you]

author’s note: so i said this would Never See The Light of Day, but given the disaster that has been both this week and this year, screw it! im releasing my shameless writing bc like. its the little things, you know? maybe someone else wants to read about alucard shoving them up against a wall! to hell with it!!! and im also pretty proud of this one, so there’s that. alcohol, blood mention, implied spicy times. takes place between s2 & s3

word count: 846

Over a glass of wine, you spilled dreams and bled your thoughts.

They echoed in empty air, filled stagnant silence with the life and death and peace you had fought excruciatingly hard to win. They sprawled like ink, scattered beyond the humble dining room to the far reaches of the castle, the grounds, the forest and beyond. You didn’t need a filter now, in this moment, with this new life.

Alucard had heard many things in his short existence, but nothing was as sweet, nothing was as welcoming as the sound of your voice. Warmth filled his veins while you let free what had made a home deep inside yourself – what had to be hidden during the hunt, the mission, the promise of a brighter future. His spirit soared for the first time since he could remember, and he knew you would be the death of him. Not his father. Not his past. Not Belmont’s incessant whining.

He had felt nothing of the sort in any of his lifetimes, it seemed, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop the smile that crept slow and contented and real on his lips. It lingered, and your heart blossomed at the peace this moment brought.

Over a bottle of wine, you shared secrets.

The western skies had become a timeless portrait of coral hues and violet tones bleeding into wispy gray clouds. They hid the descending sun from both of you trying to get a glimpse from an upstairs balcony, one with minimum battle damage. Neither of you were worried about remaining hidden while you watched the sun fall down, down, down, as you drifted closer, closer, closer to the other, bottle long forgotten in favor of being drunk on company instead.

The Muses sang in your heart as you were painted in amber rays when they were freed from the clouds that held them prisoner. The Muses sang in your heart when you looked at the strange half-vampire beside you. He was close enough you felt the touch of his arm as he moved closer, felt his own warmth. You welcomed his own secrets as they found a home in your life, your soul, your future. The Muses sang and sang and sang when he smiled, gilded in gold, divine against the setting sun.

You knew then, that you would never look at anyone the way you surely were looking at him.

The balcony became your home until the moon rose high in the sky, full and bright. It bathed the new castle grounds in radiant silver that felt like a dream. It’s reach was far beyond what you could see, but your eyes lingered on the ruins in the distance, the ones through the trees. Seeing the bones of Belmont Manor still rattled you, if only a little.

“None of this feels real,” you said, eyes glued to the skeleton, the legacy of a family once larger than life. It almost seemed haunted now, but you supposed it was in it’s own way.

Alucard shifted, leaned against the bent filigreed gate at your fingertips, silence growing comfortable, thick, stretched taut over the history in decay before you.

“No,” he said, voice drawn low against the quiet night. Your eyes found his when you heard his voice, breath caught dead in your throat when you saw him kissed by moonlight, consumed by shadow. Chiaroscuro brought to life. An avenging angel incarnate, not the son of the devil. His hands toyed with ivy wound around the iron. “I guess it doesn’t.”

It also didn’t feel real when he pushed you up against vintage, patterned peeling wallpaper, either.

Moonlight streamed through a cracked window, glinted on tarnished gilt sconces and baroque portrait frames that adorned the nearest room with four intact walls. Belongings were strewn across the floor, clothing soon to follow in their footsteps.

It didn’t feel real when he kissed you fiercely, full of of passion. His kiss said more than words ever could, said what he’d wanted to tell you this whole time – but showing you? That was easier than finding words, and more fun for everyone involved.

The walls of Dracula’s castle were secret histories brought to life, brought to ruin. They were hell brought to Earth in a fury of magic and fiery burning brimstone. The secrets within those walls had been twisted into vengeance and fear and death.

The walls of Alucard’s castle, however.

Those would be filled with a lover’s touch. Soft words whispered tender and sweet, dripping of hope for the future where there was peace. Only peace, and only love that was breathless and pure and healing to all those who entered within those walls from then until the end of time.

It was a promise, silent and true, when you looked into each others eyes that night – that whatever happened next, whatever evil dared disturb your gentle domain – there would be nothing that would take him from you. There would be nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you safe.

That was a promise. Bound in blood. Signed by the devils within you.

[ficforce]

Little Wound Part 2

Joker/52 x Little Lady Reader SFWish Mentions of abuse and non-con

“What are you doing?” Joker threw a glance over his shoulder to Licht and gave a small shrug, The scientist hadn’t visited him for well over a month and a half, “I thought you just wanted to lay in bed all day, now you’re building furniture - why?” “Because flat pack furniture is easier to move through The Nether than already built pieces.” Licht rolled his eyes and entered the room that used to be where they stored random finds, “I know why you’re having to build it from scratch, I meant, why are you doing it in the first place?” Tightening a screw on the metal frame of the double bed and then picking up a vacuum-sealed bag, Joker heaved a sigh at the scientist, “Because,” he threw the bag on top of the frame and cut it open so that the mattress inside could grow, “You said, ‘Get up and do something’.” “I meant to fight the bad guys, investigate Ameratsu, go stalk the kusakabe kid… Not make a better bedroom to lay around in…” He was trying to keep his tone amicable but he really wanted to blow the long-haired man up with some faulty concoction. The room wasn’t at all how Licht would expect Joker to like it, the steel walls had been sprayed a soft colour, the steel ceiling was white, the usual bare bulb now sported a nice lampshade that matched the… “Did… did you lay a carpet?” Joker smiled proudly, “Yeah, so take your damn shoes off.” It hadn’t been easy for him to set up, what was essentially a steel box like most of the manmade hideaways in The Nether, into something that looked like it belonged on the surface in a regular house. “I’m going to get a wardrobe built, a chest of drawers, gonna have a dressing table too. Later I’ll grab some bedding and what do you think of a bedside table with a lamp?” “I think you’ve finally lost it.” This time he did frown and his voice dropped, he couldn’t hide how disappointed he was that Joker wasn’t taking the truth seriously anymore.

He wasn’t blind and Joker lit up a new cigarette, sitting down on the bed to rest his aching body, “It’s for Y/N, Licht. For when I rescue her.” Licht was quiet for a moment, staring at Joker and then at the room and the work going into it, “I think you’ll need help stealing more electric and diverting clean water pipes to make a little bathroom.” x - - When Y/N opened her eyes and she saw a ceiling above her and a lamp on a little table beside the bed she was on, she was confused. She sat up slowly, looking all around her to take in the bedroom she appeared to be in and when she looked down at herself she wasn’t in the shapeless, white uniform of the shadows but in pair of clean pyjamas. The last thing she remembered was fighting with a man with mismatched eyes and then the world morphing and changing as something made her think she’d finally gone mad. Then… “Fuck!” Her eyes widened and Y/N looked around the room harder than before, she stumbled out of the bed and hit the main light switch to disperse all the dark corners of the room. She was alone. Opening one of the two doors she found a tiny room containing a toilet, the smallest sink in the world and a shower. There was an artificial mirror stuck to the wall, she wouldn’t be able to smash it for shards to use as a weapon, a shelf with a few cosmetics she recognised from her time at Company 3 and a towel hanging neatly on a hook - no rail for her to use as a weapon either. Heading for the second door, Y/N wasn’t surprised to find it locked. This was a prison made to look like a cosy room. What was Joker up to? Was he going to lull her into thinking she was safe and then kill her - it was hardly any different from what she had done to him… would he try to humiliate her too? Not a day had gone by where she hadn’t thought of his pleading eye and the way he had reached for her; how he hadn’t stopped even after she had poured her drink over him as he lay there helpless. And now he was back. He had killed the Captain and taken her as his prisoner. Y/N hid beneath the bed, it was obvious he could find her there but as she balled herself up as small as she could go, the tiny space was somehow comforting, despite her claustrophobia beginning to act up and telling her to get out into the open. A scared gasp left her lips and she shoved a shaking hand against her mouth to muffle the onslaught of panicked sounds trying to force their way out. What was he going to do? Was he going to torture her? Cut her? Strangle her? Whip her? Would he… no, this was Joker… but then she had betrayed him. The thought of going through more torture was more than she could stand. The captain had continued to hurt her even after she completed her mission, he had beat her and whipped her and he had continued to defile her at every opportunity. He told her it was for her own good, that he was making her stronger. Sometimes suffering was just suffering. It didn’t make her stronger, it didn’t build her character… it had only hurt. So maybe if she could find that kind part of Joker, the one he had let her see, she could convince him to just kill her quickly. Y/N had wanted the pain to stop and the Captain had told her that the only way she would ever truly be one of them was to get rid of the original Five-Two, until then she would always be a spare card.

Her teeth began to chatter as she hugged herself tighter and her eyes stayed glued to the door. Unable to tell if it was night or day or even how long she had hidden for, Y/N fell into an exhausted half-sleep.

When they opened again she was back in the bed, the small lamp dimly lighting the room as it had before, only this time there was a tall figure sat at the dressing table with his back to her. Y/N felt her body move before her mind could register it, she scrambled into the corn of the bed, the blanket tangled around her legs and heard shaped pillows tumbled to the floor in her rush. The movement made Joker turn around to face her, he figured if he stayed sat she might not freak out too much, “Hey, it’s alright, Little Lady. I swear I’m not gonna hurt you.” He doubted she would believe him. “I don’t believe you.” See? He gave a little sigh, “I don’t blame you. I get it - I was in that same shitty situation. That green-eyed bastard used to beat me to a bloody pulp, he got worse the older we got. He beat me, got into my head, whipped me down to the muscle and on the odd occasion he was feeling a little randy, he’d fuck me too.” He’d been the one to change her out of her old uniform and clean her up, Joker had seen old scars and marks he vaguely remembered from their time together but he had also seen the new marks and scars - she’d really been through hell. “If I had been in your place, I would have done the same thing… I don’t think I would have been kind enough to leave you unfinished though.” He saw her flinch and he gave her a small grin, “But nice job on recognising you couldn’t take me head-on, gaining my trust and stealthily attempting murder like that - that was impressive!”

She had so many opportunities to kill him before that night. Like the times he would fall asleep beside her and be completely vulnerable. That had been one of the things that plagued his mind the last year but also gave him a scrap of hope; she hadn’t even finished him off and that had allowed him the chance to survive. The Shadows would have taught her to always make sure the target was dead before leaving… maybe she had wanted to give him that chance to survive. “Let’s just talk about it, Little Lady,” the man stood up from the chair and took a step toward her, “You said talking was how normal people do thi- Y/N? Wait, hey, it’s oka-” Joker stopped and lifted his hands in surrender as she got off of the bed to run into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Leaning against the door he called through to her, “Y/N, Little Lady…” she didn’t reply and he heaved out a loud sigh; he had known this would be hard. “Don’t be scared of me, I forgive you.” He had forgiven her the moment he had felt the knife in his body. “I just want to help…” From the other side of the door he heard her begin to vomit and he opened the door, he had guessed she would try to lock it so made sure it wasn’t an option, “I’m going to touch you.” Joker wasn’t asking if he could, he was informing her so that she might not react too badly. He placed his open palm on the middle of her back and stroked up and down until she stopped being sick, the retching sounded painful and it was hardly a surprise because it must have been a while since she had eaten - she’d been there for less than forty-eight hours already. “Okay, let’s get you back to bed.”

“No!” Y/N’s reaction was almost violent as she threw herself away from him in the tiny space and he winced at the force that her body hit the wall, it was enough to shake the shelf above. He watched her breathing become rapid and shallow, her chest heaving and a cold sweat had started to break over her brow. She was beyond terrified. Joker gave her a little space, wary of the wildness in her eyes, “You’re scared this is all a lie and that I’m going to do worse to you than the Captain did. I get that, I know you won’t believe a word I say and I know that if I let you leave here then you’ll either get yourself killed or do it by your own hand. So you either stay here and be scared or let the Stockholm Syndrome start to kick in.” How was he still so bad at people-ing? Did he even register what he was saying half the time? Y/N was half tempted to yell at him for being so stupid but she didn’t have the energy. Instead, she huddled up and hid her face again, “I did everything the Captain told me to… he just kept pushing and pushing and pushing me until I fucked up.” The words were muffled and her breathing was still too fast but Joker understood her just fine, he noticed her nails biting into her skin and without thinking her reached for her wrists to stop her. The action made her scream so loud that couldn’t avoid wincing as it shredded his ears; he didn’t let go even as she struggled and thrashed in his hold. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you but you’re hurting yourself,” Despite knowing it was probably the wrong thing to do, Joker dragged her to him, he let her wrists go and her nails soon found their way into his clothed arms and even into his hair as she tried to escape the forced embrace. It was better to attack him than herself he supposed. “Listen,” he said as firmly as he could to make her understand he was serious, “He was a bastard. A sick, twisted, son of a bitch, who thought he had the right to take what he wanted, that he could punish and treat people however he wanted and tell them it was their fault. He didn’t teach you a damn thing, his lessons were just his excuse for raping you. For making you think you deserved to be violated and defiled.” Y/N froze completely at his words, “He did the same fucking thing to me, from the time he was old enough to get an erection to the time I ran away. If I had thought for a second that killing just one person, no matter who that person was, that it would save my ass for even just one time - I would have fucking done it. Man, woman or fucking child.” He could hear her still struggling to breathe properly but it was enough for him that she wasn’t fighting him anymore, “He’s fucking dead, Y/N. I sliced him up into pieces and now the rats are chewing on what’s left.”

Y/N’s grip in his hair didn’t loosen and he had to twist his head a little to relieve the pressure on his scalp, “He’s dead?” “Dead.” “Then why… why can I still… why is he still in-“

“In your head?” he murmured, “Yeah, he was in mine too - drove me kinda mad.” Finally, she seemed to be able to take a deep breath and her urge to fight him was replaced with a trembling that seemed to go through every nerve and limb. The man loosened his hold a little, giving her the chance to get away if she wanted; to his surprise she stayed in his embrace, her fingers unlatching from his hair as she slowly dropped them to his shoulders and put her face into his neck.“I know you’re scared and I know you can’t trust me yet… But listen up, I promise I’ll let you feel the warmth of the sun again.”