#that are maybe beyond rekindling

[grapehyasynth]

I really feel tremendous grief for friendships that kind of petered away in the face of life's currents. There are people with whom I formed deep, unique, vibrant, life-changing connections, and then we had to go our separate ways and it was too hard to maintain long-distance. There wasn't a fight, it just sort of faded. And I feel like I have more friendships like this than friendships that have endured, so maybe I just have to get used to it. But if grief is all the love we have left over - well, I never did get to finish loving them. I love them, and I miss them, and I probably always will.

[age-of-moonknight]

“Instinct,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2022), #22.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Artist: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[skyahri]

Hate |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Kakashi Hatake, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha

Summary: Hate is a strong word, but it's also a very fragile one.

Warnings: Brief smut, kissing mentions of p and v. Some angst, but all comfort. Mentions of blood, violence, and death.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Kakashi Hatake

You hated how full of himself he was. He was always talking down to people, to his teammates and so-called friends. He goes out of his way to show people up no matter how inappropriate the situation may be.

He hated that you always stuck up for people he considered weak. He hated how much time and energy you put into helping others instead of focusing on your own training. He hated that you had so much potential, yet seemed to waste it at every opportunity.

As time went on and you were forced into each other's inner circles, your occasional arguments became a constant bicker. It got even worse when you were assigned to his ANBU team. You questioned his every move and fought every decision he made.

In return, he always gave you the least desirable night shifts. He'd make you write all the reports, saying something about needing to learn to respect your elders (he's only a few months older than you).

Once you were put in charge of your own team, things quieted down. Not because either of you had mellowed out, but because you didn't cross paths as often anymore.

Because of how rarely you saw him, you always made sure to make your brief encounters worth it. You had practically written a list of insults to throw his way. He returned the same energy with out hesitation.

Eventually, after his genin team had gone their separate ways and you had finally retired from ANBU, you had a seemingly infinite amount of time to rekindle your rivalry with him.

He always seemed to be heading in the same direction as you were. It didn't matter if you were on your way to the Hokage's office, the shops, or meeting up with someone- he was always there.

You tried to fight with him like the good old days, but it was different now that you were grown adults. Maybe the ungodly amount of trauma combined with the wedge distance had created in your odd relationship had finally put an end to your petty war.

Thinking back, maybe this is what it had been all along, and your stupid kid brain was too proud to admit what was really going on.

Your arguing had turned into kissing the moment he stepped through your apartment door. Things moved quickly, expert hands doing away with endless layers of Jonin uniforms in a rushed attempt to feel more of each other.

It felt right. Like the decades of tension had finally come to a head and you were being forced to deal with it in the most animalistic way possible.

"I hate you."

Your mumbling between desperate kisses. He doesn't acknowledge you immediately, opting to instead lift you by your ass so your legs could wrap around him. He pushes you against the wall, pressing his clothed election right against your womanhood.

"I hate you, too."

Neither of you acknowledges the elephant in the room, that the word you're looking for isn't actually hate. But that's beyond your cloudy minds right now.

Shikamaru Nara

Shikamaru has never really bothered with social pleasantries or subjected himself to cater to what people like and dislike. In fact, he often chastised people for caring what others think.

He always commented about what you wore, how well groomed you were, and the overall effort you put into your appearance each day.

You hated listening to it, which is why you always did your best to avoid him.

It wasn't even about you specifically. You hated hearing how rudely he'd shut down Ino when she would ramble on about anything. You hated when he complained about how loud Naruto and Kiba were despite knowing that they're just excitable people. You hated hearing the damn near sexist remarks he'd make about how stupid people were for giving any shots about how they looked.

It was annoying. It didn't seem to phase anyone else anymore, but that almost made it worse.

You were at your breaking point. Just one comment away from losing your composure and you prayed to God you'd be able to refrain from saying anything too harsh.

But alas, Kakashi had assigned you to yet another mission with him- the sixth one just this month.

At least he waited until you were at the Inn before he started up with you. You honestly don't know why he let you shower first if it was going to be such an issue.

"Finally. I thought you'd be in there forever."

"What the Hell is your problem with me?"

He paused in his tracks. He wasn't expecting you to say anything to his usual grumbling, and especially didn't expect it to be so hostile.

"You always take forever in the bathroom."

"It was twenty minutes. You'll live."

"It wouldn't be that long if you didn't bother with all the extra shit you use."

"Why is it such a problem that I care about what I look like? I don't ever involve you in it and yet you're always talking about it."

He rolled his eyes, about to blow off whatever you were saying, but you started up again before he could.

"All you ever do is bitch and whine and moan about dumb shit that doesn't concern you. I like to look nice. I like wearing clothes that compliment my figure and putting time into the health of my hair and skin. It's not the end of the world, so shut the fuck up about it already."

You walked past him and lay in one of the twin beds, tired from the journey and pissed about your teammate's usual poor behavior.

He didn't say anything. He continued with what he was going to do before the argument and carried on like nothing had happened.

He kept any conversations strictly professional for the duration of the mission, something you were ecstatic about.

It wasn't until a few days after you returned home that you heard from him. He showed up at your apartment unprompted, looking irritated and slightly flustered.

"After talking with my team, it may have come to my attention that I might be kind of an ass."

You invited him in, curious as to what he had to say. He admitted that he had never been called out on it. Most people don't take him too seriously and he may have gotten a bit too comfortable voicing every thought that crossed his mind.

Although he had mostly soothed any nerves you had, you still decided he owed you.

You dragged him into your room, sat him at your vanity, and laughed when he groaned. You pulled out all the stops for him. You took him through your entire routine start to finish and when you were done, you asked him hiw it felt.

He hated that it felt nice. He hated that he suddenly realized how dry his skin usually was and how clean he suddenly felt. He would never fully admit that to you, though.

Him showing up at your apartment the next day, conveniently around the time you usually started these things, was all the confirmation you needed that he no longer deemed it a waste of time.

Sasuke Uchiha

He hated going to the Hokage's office, not because he was still in the thick of earning his freedom after the war, but because he hated Kakashi’s assistant.

You annoy him. He hates that you so confidently push his buttons. He hates that you're just a civilian, but you've been given so much authority over him. It was an unfit existence for the last Uchiha.

You enjoyed messing with him. He would grumble when given his assignment and you made sure to mock him with a playful pout. You'd check in with the ANBU watching over him to make sure he was behaving. You always used that word- behaving. As if he were a child.

Unfortunately for Sasuke, Kakashi isn't in the village right now, meaning he's stuck taking orders from you. He swears Kakashi picked you to oversee him intentionally, knowing how much it would bother him.

He's sitting next to you, helping you go through seemingly endless piles of paperwork. He wasn't sure if this was better than all the D-rank missions he'd been assigned lately, but he begrudgingly accepted the change of pace.

He glances at you through his peripherals. The sun is just going down, the orange light illuminating your soft features. Your usual bratty expression was replaced with a more peaceful one.

This was most likely just as much a break for you as it was for him. He wasn't oblivious to the way you had to reel Kakashi in every day, damn near having to tie him to his chair to get anything done.

"You can go home. I'll finish up here and we can resume tomorrow."

He didn't argue, thankful for relief from the horrifically tedious task. As he was leaving the building, he suddenly got this feeling in his gut that he should stay.

Of course, not wanting to do more paperwork than he was required to, he ignored the feeling and carried on.

He should've stayed. Just an hour after he left, while you were packing up for the night, the tower was raided by rogue nin.

The alarm sounded in the village, immediately calling all available shinobi. Bee, the ANBU assigned to him, gave him permission to lend a hand, and off they went to the tower.

He teleported himself to Kakashi’s office, knowing you would most likely be in there or at least somewhere near. What he wasn't expecting, however, was you standing over a body, kunai in hand and blood splattered across your body.

"Y/N?"

You didn't move, couldn't move. He reached forward, tugged the blade out of your shaky grip, and let it fall to the floor. You let him, not really in the mood to fight any more than you had to right now.

"Is he dead?"

Your question caught him off guard.

"I've never killed anyone before."

Ah. Civilian. Right. Sure, you belonged to a Shinobu village and even worked under the Kage, but that was vastly different than being on the front lines.

He thought for a second. Was he in any sort of position to be responsible for you at the moment? Should he hand you off to one of the other nin and return home?

"Cover your eyes."

It took a minute for his words to register in your hazy mind, but once they did you obeyed. If there was one thing you knew would benefit you, it would be allowing him to take the lead for now.

He put his hand between your shoulder blades and guided you through the hallways, down the stairs, and away from the tower completely. He glanced around, but couldn't find Bee, so he opted to take you back to his apartment. It would cause a lot less trouble if he was where he was supposed to be after all.

At home, he sat you down in the tub and turned on the water. He left you there, letting all the blood loosen from your skin. He returned a moment later, setting a stack of clothes down on the counter and grabbing a rag from the cabinet.

Neither of you spoke as he gently scrubbed your face. When he was done, he got a little bit of shampoo and worked all the red out of your hair.

You were slowly coming out of your daze. It was nice being brought out by something kind and comforting. It was almost enough to distract you from the night's events. Almost.

When he was done, he handed you the cloth, telling you to finish up and see him when you're done. You nodded, standing up and undressing when the door closed. You noticed how clean the water ran, most likely due to how thoroughly the Uchiha had taken care of you.

When you stepped out of the tub, you noticed the clothes on the counter. Upon closer inspection, they were similar to the ones he was wearing now- a t-shirt and sweats.

You joined him in the adjacent bedroom where he waited patiently. He all but forced you into his bed, shutting down all of your protests. When he went to leave the room, you quickly grabbed the fabric of his shirt to stop him.

"Please stay."

He didn't fight you. He walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down, leaning against the headboard and staring blanky in front of him.

You were thankful for the comfort of simply not being alone. Not after tonight, when so much had happened and the trauma was still fresh in your mind.

He tried telling himself that this was not a personal act, but instead one that would aid his village. But who was he kidding? He was realizing you weren't all that terrible and he had just allowed his angst brain to manipulate him into thinking so.

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That���s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[multi-fandoms-posts]

X Men Masterlist 2

X Men Masterlist 1

Update: 10/31/24

Charles Xavier:

Unrestrained Desires

A Glimmer of Light

A Connection Beyond Time

A Surprising Encounter

United in Battle

Jealousy

"Marry...Me?"

Update: 11/05/24

Cherik:

Between Love and War

Seductive Power last Part

Chaos in the Multiverse 3/3

Chaos in the Multiverse 2/3

Chaos in the Mutiverse 1/3

A Dance of Powers and Desire

Imagine

Mighty Mutants and Diapers

In another universe 2/2

In another universe 1/2

Update: 10/21/24

Erik Lehnsherr:

The Last Name

Powers of the Heart

"Marry....Me?"

Passion in Chaos SMUT

"Erik would you...."

Imagine

Update: 10/19/24

McFassy:

Date night

Driving Fun in London

A sweet Moment

A Road Trip They Will Never Forget

Update: 10/31/24

James Mcavoy:

Once upon a time there was a secret, or maybe not.

Puppy eyes

Love in Hard Times

The Perfect Prank

Update: 10/16/24

Paddy:

Jealousy and Blood Paddy x reader x Cal

Unbridled Passion

Bound Paddy x reader x The Killer

A Different Kind of Love Story

Caught in Longing Paddy x Cal x reader

Wild Hearts united

A hard lesson SMUT

Update: 10/16/24

Lord Asriel:

An Unexpected Surprise

Don't Let Me Go Again

Update: 10/31/24

David Percival:

Double the Tension David x reader x Paul

Dangerous Game in Berlin 2/2

Imagine

Dangerous Game in Berlin 1/2

Rekindled Passion

Manipulation and Love

Possessive Passion

Update: 10/31/24

Victor Frankenstein:

Hidden Desire

The Heart of the Scientist

Update: 11/03/24

Bill Denbrough:

With you against the horror

[writingquestionsanswered]

I love planing out my ideas in great detail but when it comes to actually writing the story it’s like pulling teeth. It goes from being fun and interesting to being nothing more than a dull chore. I’ve tried planning less to see if having some things unknown might help, but that didn’t work. I could spend forever writing and rewriting my ideas and making changes to them. But when I try to write an actual story it’s like I physically can’t. What should I do?

Details Planned But Unable to Write

If you have the details of your story planned out but still aren't able to write it, it's probable that one of the following things is happening. See if any of these strike a chord with you...

1 - Details and Plot Are Not the Same - Sometimes writers say they have all the details in their story planned out, but what they actually mean is they've fleshed out character and setting details, maybe even backstory and some general scene ideas, but they couldn't tell you what the story's conflict is, what the inciting incident is, what goal the protagonist is pursuing and why, what's at stake, or what the major plot points of the story are. No matter how detailed your story is in terms of characters, setting, backstory, and even general ideas about scenes, if you don't have a conflict to tie them all together, you don't really have a story. You just have details. A plot can't be moved forward if it doesn't exist, and if you don't have a conflict, goals and motivation, stakes, an antagonistic force and obstacles, etc., you don't have a plot. Solution: take some time learning about Goals and Conflict, Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Basic Story Structure, and How to Move a Story Forward.

2 - You Lost Interest in the Story - If you have your story properly plotted in addition to having the details fleshed out, and you're still unable to write, it could be that you've simply lost interest in the story. This can happen when we spend a lot of time on a story, especially if we spend a lot of time fleshing things out. Solution: Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write, Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists, Getting Excited About Your Story Again

3 - Something in the Story Isn't Working - Imagine someone riding a horse and they come to a rickety old bridge, but the horse balks and refuses to cross. The horse may just be stubborn, but it's quite possible it's picking up sensory information its rider can't... creaks and groans the rider can't hear, a worrisome tilt or sway the rider can't perceive... If you sit down to write your well planned out story and can't, the same thing could be happening with your gut instinct. Like the horse that doesn't want to cross the bridge because it senses danger, something inside you is saying "this story doesn't work" and isn't excited to get involved. Solution: Read through your outline or plan and see if you can spot the problem. Maybe the character's goal doesn't make sense with the events of the story. Maybe the antagonistic force isn't doing enough to oppose the protagonist. Maybe the character arc is out-of-sync with the events of the story. If nothing else, talk it through with a trusted writer friend to see if they have any thoughts. Sometimes just hearing the questions they have about the story can be enough to highlight what isn't working.

4 - Life Stuff Is Getting in the Way - Even if your story is well fleshed out and thoroughly plotted, and everything works and you're excited about writing, there can be other things going on in your life that stand in your way. If you're putting too much pressure on yourself to write or reach certain writing goals, it makes writing feel stressful and our brains are wired to avoid stressful things. It could be that you're not feeling well physically or mentally. You could be distracted by other things you want to write or do. You could just be too busy with other things to really get into it. Or you could just be not in the mood to write. Solution: Try to pinpoint what's getting in the way and see if there's a work around. For example, if you think writing has become stressful and that's why you're avoiding it, figure out what you can do to make it fun again. Or, if you think you're just not in the mood to write, figure out some things you could do that would put you in the mood to write.

5 - Fear Is Getting in the Way - Details are easy, writing is hard. No matter how much planning and plotting you've done, actually putting those details into coherent words in a way that is compelling and well-paced--that's not so easy. And, the tough reality is that until you've had a lot of writing experience, your writing probably isn't as good as you want it to be. You want it to be good, and you know what would qualify as good, but you're just not able to produce that quality yet. And the only way to get your writing quality to that level is to let yourself write things that aren't as good as you want them to be. You have to write a lot of "just okay" stuff before you can write "really great" stuff. AND THAT'S SCARY!!! And--that's not even the only thing that can cause fear for writers. Maybe you have written a lot and your writing is where you want it to be, but maybe your fear is with the next step... sharing it with others. Maybe you're afraid others won't enjoy it as much as you want them to. Solution: figure out what's causing the fear, whether it's quality-related or next step related, then try to push through it. Remind yourself that writing not great stuff is part of the process. Remind yourself that sharing with others is part of the process (usually, unless you're writing for yourself.) Have a spin through the bottom half of my Motivation master list for other fears and solutions.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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See my ask policies

Visit my Master List of Top Posts

Go to ko-fi.com/wqa to buy me coffee or see my commissions

[icycoldninja]

Hello! Feel free to ignore this request but I had an idea for a while - a childhood friend of Dante and Vergil who used to be a very sickly child (think of heavy anemia) and who became a half/part-demon due to painful experiments after Dante and Vergil's home was attacked.

Imagine Dante and Vergil reuniting with said friend years later, surprised to see how they changed (got new scars and abilities and such) and that they're a devil hunter now. Maybe even rekindling some old childhood feelings and such.

Maybe you could add V into this too, somehow, since he's a part of Vergil and probably has memories of said childhood friend.

Hope you have a good day!

I most certainly will, thank you! May you have a great day too!

Sparda twins + V x Old Friend!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante didn't recognize you at first. You looked so different than what he remembered.

-He was surprised, too. The last time he saw you, you were barely able to get around your own house, and now you were a devil hunter? A pretty capable one, too. He wonders what happened.

-Turns out you were forcibly changed into a half demon through experiments, and while your existence was an unclean one, you were far more mobile than you were before.

-He wasn't really sure how to respond to all that, though. He was happy you could do more things now, but worried that you might hate yourself for what you've become.

-That aside, he was having a great time reconnecting with an old friend, chatting about the past, present, and future.

-Dante quickly decided he was going to invite you to join him at Devil May Cry after your conversation.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil was happy to see you out and about since he remembered how sickly and weak you used to be.

-He thought you'd just gotten better thanks to some miracle medicine or something, and never suspected you became a half devil devil hunter like him.

-Of course he questioned you, demanding to know how the hell that even happened in the first place.

-Learning of the experiments you had to go through made his heart ache for you--the first time it had done that in years. You never deserved any of that pain. Why did all the bad things have to happen to you?

-He promised to help you out if you need anything, which you thanked him for. The conversation then shifted to the good old days; for a moment, it was like Vergil was a kid again, sitting at your bedside, excitedly going on about his new favorite book because you were the only one who understood him.

-Vergil wants to hang out with you more, he wants you to hunt devils with him, he wants to start a book club with you; he wants to make up for all that time you guys lost.

● V ●

-V cannot fully remember who you are, but he recognizes you.

-He doesn't know why, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, he finds his head being flooded with memories he wasn't aware he had.

-After talking with you for a while, he deduces you must have been a friend of Vergil's--and a close one, at that.

-He cannot recall the details of your relationship, but he vaguely remembers that you were a very frail child. When did that change?

-You are surprisingly open about your past, quick to tell him all about the experiments that were performed on you, and what they did. You were a half demon now, though not naturally.

-V expresses his sympathy to your situation, but beyond that, there's not much he can do. At least you seem to be okay with it all.

[sapphybandit]

Could I learn more about what being poly means to you? I've heard it from a few people. I have trouble putting into words myself, but usually the times I've heard it explained by a new person its beautiful to me.

Poly is ever shifting, ever changing. It is the learning and re-learning of the self, beyond just Wants and Needs. The acceptance that moments and memories forged are eternal, that nothing can take away the love that was experienced when your two stars collided, no matter how long you were entwined. You gained new perspectives and experienced a world different to your own, forever etched into your psyche, broadening your understanding of your Self, and guiding your next steps forward. Maybe it wasn't perfect, it could've been extremely flawed even, but learning and growth still occurred. But its also more than that. Poly is a spontaneous drive to a late night diner across town for the Vibes. Poly is rekindling sparks once thought buried, from many years ago. Poly is feeling unbridled joy upon a partner's return from her own trip visiting another partner, as she emotionally recounts her adventures with a person you may never meet. Poly is re-discovering your bodies together in ways you never considered before. Poly is learning how to take up space, yet not demanding absolute control. Poly is communication & collaboration; Being open and honest, no matter how scary, while being empathetic, genuine, and fair to prevent wounding. Poly is having 3 to 4 loved ones snuggle on a couch together. Poly is knowing that you're never truly Alone, that you'll always have help. Poly is letting all aspects of the self breathe and spark and ignite vibrantly.

Poly is Hard. But, Poly is beautiful, and right for me.

[callmearcturus]

Paradise Killer is 6 dollars on Steam until May 16 and I am here to hard sell you all on it because it's one of the best games I've ever played.

I'm gonna go beyond giving you a bunch of punchy keywords and telling you it's queer as hell and making meme-y jokes, and I'm going to actually tell you what this game is.

So top-level, WHAT IS PARADISE KILLER?

Mechanically, Paradise Killer is an open-world murder mystery. There is zero combat but a lot of exploration of a very unique location. The majority of your time is going to be walking about Paradise 24, looking for people to discuss the case with and for clues that are scattered around the world.

One of the most interesting concepts in Paradise Killer that is both mechanical and narrative is deciding What Is Your Truth? What Is A Truth And What Is A Fact? From the moment you start the game proper, you can turn 180 degrees and begin the trial and decide who the killer is, before talking to anyone about the case.

For example, getting into the actual crime scene takes a lot of puzzle solving to unlock the sealed room where the victims were killed. But maybe instead of examining the crime scene, you talk to everyone on the island and think you have a good idea of what happened.

Meaning: It is perfectly valid to decide you have the answer to the mystery and just go complete the trial whenever you personally are ready. YOU decide when this ends.

Which frankly I think is a cool-as-fuck concept. Also, I fully believe if three different people find EVERY CLUE and talk to EVERY SUSPECT and hear EVERY PIECE OF EVIDENCE.... they might decide on three different truths entirely. And THAT to me is ingenious mechanical design I have not seen anywhere else in a video game.

Okay let's stop burying the lede and talk about the world of Paradise Killer.

The non-batshit version:

Paradise Killer takes place on a big, beautiful island, the 24th Paradise. The architecture is a delightful mix of black obsidian obelisks, brutalist monuments, opal crystals to slumbering alien gods, garden paths, luxury yachts, and a whole lot of gold and neon.

Neo-occultist urban residential vaporwave-core. If you are like me, you will be taking a lot of screenshots. My wallpaper on my computer is Paradise Killer.

Your interactions with the cast are done in visual novel-style, though I feel I have to shout out this isn't your stock Ren'py UI experience. Every single aspect of the way the game looks compounds the vibes even further.

And the characters are infuckingcredible.

(Notice the different font? This game has A FUCKTON OF ACCESSIBILITY OPTIONS, including dyslexic font options.)

Sammy Day Break, born under the sign of Shadow Zero, is the local distillery and bartender for the Syndicate. Talk to him about what's unique about the whiskey he's made on Paradise 24, or about the good old days of the Syndicate.

Is Doctor Doom Jazz, born under the sign of Cosmic Deceit, really that carefree about what happened? Is his willingness to rekindle his fling with Lady Love Dies just a diversion to hide something? Well, he's one of the most cooperative witnesses on the Island.

Crimson Acid has been through a helluva lot since the last time she saw Love Dies. Blessed by the gods with her stunning rack (of horns! OF HORNS!), she's become quite the idol now. So why is she also an information broker? And can you figure out what her true feelings for Love Dies are?

Between all of these conversations, you can explore the island and collect RELICS and BLOOD CRYSTALS (the local currency) and CITY POP SONGS.

Okay so the Slightly Batshit Version:

Shinji: The Syndicate worships alien gods who want to drown the world in war and blood. Lady Love Dies: I don't see how that makes us the bad guys.

You are LADY LOVE DIES, born under the sign KISS ME TO THE MOON, the INVESTIGATION FREAK. She was exiled to the Idle Lands several cycles ago for falling prey to the seduction of the god Damned Harmony and endangering the entire Syndicate. Only now, with the death of the Council on the eve of Paradise 25, is Love Dies summoned back to solve the murder.

The Syndicate are a group of functionally immortal humans from all across history who are trying to create the perfect bubble of reality, their utopic Paradise where they can safely revive their dead gods. They were granted many powers and boons by their first god, Silent Goat, and hope through rescuing more gods they will grow in power.

How do you create a bubble of reality to do all this totally ethical shit? Easy! You abduct a bunch of normie humans to live on your island to use as a mass sacrifice to generate energy to fuel the creation of each Paradise. If only the outsiders would stop getting in the way!

Paradise Killer's world is delightfully out of its goddamn mind and half of the fun of the game is just picking up little nuggets of information about each member of the Syndicate, the gods, why each Paradise failed (there was an outbreak of vampirism that took out like three of the Paradises???), and just the way this universe works.

Okay this post is already too long but I'm begging you all to give Paradise Killer a chance. It's gorgeous, it's funny, it's mechanically really interesting, it's chill as hell, it has an incredible soundtrack,

and you should try it.

I'LL SEE YOU IN A PERFECT 25 . . .

[yallthemwitches]

My fic Masterlist

In love with 70s wizard love.

Catch the Wind--Hating him was easy, a feeling as natural as time marching forward. But something had changed with James Potter and Lily couldn’t ignore it so easily anymore. He was becoming, Merlin forbid, attractive. Explicit, Canon Compliant ,Multi-chapter

A Matter of Fairness: James' Quidditch match is derailed by a very distracting Head Girl NSFW, Mature, Oneshot

Slipping Away:Snape didn't think his life could get much worse---until Lily was falling in love with James Potter right before his eyes. A compilation of 3 particular moments between 6th and 7th year. Oneshot, Mature for one scene, canon compliant

Legitimens: Perhaps the real James was doing it on purpose--using memories of Lily to either drive him insane or to push away the real secrets that hid beyond. If it was true, he was succeeding on all accounts.

During a duel, Snape attempts Legilimency on James. Canon compliant. Oneshot, Mature

Bad Moon Rising:James comes back from a Full Moon outing with the marauders to find someone in his bed. Explicit, Canon Compliant Oneshot, smut

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner: Vernon thought a dinner at the Evans' house would be perfectly normal like all the other times--unfortunately for him, Petunia's sister is home and she has company. Vernons POV, T, Canon Compliant oneshot

Simple Math: Remus notices something is off about James and Lily at the Prefect's meeting. Teen ( some suggestive content), Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Prompt: Hair

United Front:Lily and James have the best intentions when showing up to Petunia's engagement party. Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024: Prompt: Teamwork

Force Majeure: It’s tempting. He could say yes. Climb those steps and sit on her bed next to her. It was entirely possible to stay friends in that scenario. To do simply as she said: listen to a record as friends because that’s what friends do.Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Prompt: In Vino Veritas

Those Who Wallow: Against better judgement, Lily uses her invisibility cloak to spy on James. Teen, AU Role Reversal (sort of) Written for Jily Week 2024, Day 3: Role Reversal

The Sound of Silence: Minerva always had a soft spot for Potter. Maybe that's why when it was time to choose a Head Boy alongside Lily Evans, he was was clearly the only option--- A series of vignettes of James and Lily's seventh year through McGonagall's POV. Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Day 5: Matchmaker

Not a Bang, But a Whimper: During their sixth year, Severus Snape goes out after curfew to give information to Lily that he thinks will bring them back together. Unfortunately, he finds her already with someone else. Teen, Canon Compliant. A companion piece to my other oneshot "Slipping Away" for Jily Week 2024, Day 7: Continuation Station

Playing Dirty: When Lily won against Potter during dueling practice, Snape couldn't think of a better way to finally rekindle their friendship. But Potter was a sore loser and Lily seemed far too willing to entertain him. E, Canon Compliant, Oneshot in Snapes POV

The Seat with the Clearest View: Lily and the marauders were his constant, like two separate stars orbiting his universe. But year after year stars get older. Their orbits start to move closer. It is only a matter of time before they collide. Three part series of Jily through the years. Remus POV. Rated T

Crash Into Me: A collection of unrelated, prompt based fics and ficlets for Jily Kinktober 2024. E, various situations but generally plotless smut, Canon Compliant

Until the Light Takes Us: A collection of unrelated, prompt based fics and ficlets for Jilytober Fest 2024. G-T depending on fic. Canon Compliant

The Storm, The Aftermath: Due to a snowstorm, Lily spends the night at the Potters. The continuation of my Jilytober fic 'The Storm.' E (Though part one is rated T), Canon Compliant. Smut

Whispers in the Dark: When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught? Rated T, Canon Compliant

A Hundred Visions and Revisions: “I know it’s silly—but can you tell me the future? The way you see it,” she whispers, curling into him so the top of her head can rest right under his chin, book falling abandoned onto the floor. She knows he’s no divination master–she’s seen his grades to prove it—but they both know that’s not what she's asking. Rated T, Canon Compliant

[beyondthesefourwalls]

This Love Came Back to Me (5)

Summary: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: second chance romance, language, allusions of smut and potential full smut, stalking, unhealthy obsessions, delusions of feelings, unwanted attention.

Part Five Word Count: 4.1K

Part Four :: Series Masterlist

-----

-----

Friday couldn’t come fast enough, but when it finally did, Bradley felt like it dragged on forever. He hadn’t looked forward to a weekend this much in quite awhile, and he knew you were the reason. 

He hadn’t been able to see you since your date on Monday, having late nights on base the rest of the week. He had been tempted to make the 25 minute drive from his apartment to yours each and every night, but the notion of going too fast too soon had crept up in the back of his mind. You had settled into a relationship that felt stronger and more hopeful than what it had been seven months ago, but he was still mindful of the fact that it was, in some ways, new. 

But it was Friday, and you had plans to spend the weekend together again, and he couldn’t wait. He smiled even thinking about seeing you. The nightly phone calls you had all week were great, but they were nothing compared to seeing you in person.

He was on his way home now, windows down and tapping on the steering wheel in rhythm with the 80s playlist flowing from the speakers. You were coming to his place this time and he knew you wouldn’t be too far behind, having texted him when you left your office. 

Bradley’s smile slipped slightly as he thought about that. 

It had taken everything in him not to track that douchebag that you worked with down when you told him about the comments he had made to you on Monday, and then how he had almost certainly purposefully run into you. The thought of him physically touching you made him want to be sick. And then he had the audacity to send you flowers in return the very next day. 

It went beyond just not knowing how to take a hint, of that he was certain. He couldn’t wait for you to get out of there. He knew you had met with HR earlier in the week and that nothing had really come of it aside being told they’d “look into it.” It was frustrating, but he knew there was nothing he could do but be there as support. You had spent the week working on your resume and job hunting, one of the reasons he hadn’t pushed to drive out to you every night. He was just as anxious for you to find something new as you were. 

You deserved so much more than what you were getting. 

He had barely taken his shoes off once he was home when there was a knock on his apartment door. He opened it quickly, and he swore, you damn near took his breath away. For a moment, he couldn’t do much more than stare at you, standing there smiling at him, twirling your keys around your finger. 

“Hey there, Aviator.” 

Your voice broke him out of his stupor and he reached out. You giggled as he pulled you through the doorway and into his chest, the door slamming shut once you were inside. He kissed you firmly, tasting the sound of your laugh. 

“Missed you this week,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Yeah?” 

He shook his head at the shy tone you had adopted and kissed you again. He felt your grin get even bigger before you pulled away. Your gaze swept over him, and when you gave a low whistle, he felt a flush creep up his neck, even as he cocked an eyebrow.

“See something you like?”

“I never saw you in your uniform much,” you shrugged, eyes lingering on his pins. Your finger brushed over his last name. “You look good in khaki.” 

“You look good in anything.” 

He shot you a wink when you rolled your eyes. He squeezed your hip before letting you go, and you followed him further into the apartment. He asked you about your day as he grabbed you a glass of water. 

“Can we not talk about work tonight?” 

He set your cup down slowly in front of you, considering your question. You didn’t seem upset, or like you were avoiding talking about something. Your eyes were still shining and a soft smile remained on your face. So instead of pushing, he nodded.

“I have a proposition for you, then.” 

You looked at him curiously, and Bradley cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. It was something he had been thinking about all week, really. His friends had seen him leave the bar with you on Friday night, and he had strategically avoided all the text messages over the weekend aside from responding with a “I’m alive, but busy. See you at work.” in the group chat. He had arrived on base on Monday to a firing squad of questions. You had met all of his friends before, but Nat was the only one who really knew how hung up on you he had remained after your breakup. She was more cautious than the others in their excitement that he had gotten back together with you. It had taken a private conversation for her to show how happy she was for him; he was pretty sure he still had a bruise from where she had punched his arm when he jokingly cooed about her concern for his feelings.

Still, despite knowing all of his friends were supportive, he wanted them to see for themselves how happy you made him, how the two of you were good. Strong. And, if he was honest with himself, he selfishly wanted to show you off a bit, too. 

“How do you feel about going to the Hard Deck with me tonight? Phoenix and the rest of the guys will be there. We can stay in if you’d rather-” 

���Bradley,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. Fond amusement was written all over your face as you nodded. “I’d love to.” 

___

Bradley was hit with a bit of deja vu when he walked into the Hard Deck later that night. He couldn’t help but think about how last week at this time, he was spotting you from across the bar before you beelined your way over to him and back into his life, tilting his entire world on its axis. The bar was just as crowded, but this time, he was walking into it with his hand clasped tightly in yours. 

He knew his friends were in the back corner that they’re always in. Slipping his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt, he started to pull you in that direction when you stopped him with your free hand wrapping around his arm. 

“Can we get drinks first?” 

Looking down at you, he noticed how your eyes were slightly wider than normal, and how you seemed to bounce on your feet a little before settling. 

You were nervous. 

For some reason, that made his heart skip a beat. 

He gave you a soft smile and cupped your cheek with the hand not holding yours, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Without a word, he changed direction and headed to the bar instead. You kept ahold of both his arm and his hand the entire time, but he didn’t mind a single bit. 

“Hey,” he murmured once Penny had set your drinks on the bar in front of you. He waited until you met his eyes to speak. “I’m really glad you’re here with me tonight, Bug.” 

Some of the anxiety on your face fell at his words, a breath of air leaving your painted lips. You pushed up on your toes to kiss him, pulling away way too soon for his liking. 

“Me too.” 

He held his bottle up between you with a wink, and you laughed lightly, clinking yours against it before you both took a sip. He arched his eyebrows in question and with another deep breath, you nodded. With a hand on the small of your back, Bradley guided you in the direction of his friends. 

It was obvious the moment you were spotted by the group of aviators. Loud calls of both of your names rang out, along with some obnoxious whistling that had him rolling his eyes. Everyone greeted you happily, a few of the guys even offering quick hugs. Nat’s the last one to approach, her eyebrow arched in a way that is so very Phoenix as she drew out your name. She smirked in Bradley’s direction before looking back at you.

“You didn’t learn your lesson the first time? This guy is a pain in the ass, but he’s your problem now. You can only return him once. It’s in the policy.”

He let out a breath of relief he didn’t even realize he was holding. You laughed, accepting the brief hug that his best friend gave you. 

“That’s okay,” you assured her, looking up at him briefly. “Guess I’ll just have to keep him then.” 

He smiled and shook his head, but his heart pounded in his chest and he felt warm all over from the implication of your words. 

It didn’t take long for you to get sucked into conversations. You really had gotten along well with everyone before, and it seemed like time hadn’t affected that, either. Bradley loved seeing you laughing and having fun, effortlessly fitting in with the people who he considered family and who meant the most to him. It just solidified what he already knew, which was that you were meant to be here with him. 

You finished your second drink about an hour later, and Bradley kissed your cheek as he said he would go grab another for the both of you. But you shook your head as you slid off the stool you had been sitting on, telling him that you needed to go to the bathroom anyway and would just grab another round on your way back. 

“I’ll go with you,” Nat chirped. He let out a soft “umph” when she shoved her pool cue in his chest, telling him to take over her game for her. You giggled softly as the two of you walked away. Bradley watched your back until you disappeared from view. When he turned back, everyone was looking at him with varying levels of amusement. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, prompting laughter. He rolled his eyes as he moved to take the vacated spot at the pool table, and after some expected teasing that he took proudly, the conversation shifted to the trip Coyote was planning on taking next month. 

It had been less than ten minutes, nothing to really be concerned about considering how busy the bar was, when Fanboy nudged his arm with a laugh. 

“Yo, Rooster. I think Phoenix is roping your girl into one of her bar fights.”  

Bradley’s eyebrows knitted together as Fanboy’s words registered, but once they did, he turned quickly to look where he was pointing. Red-hot anger surged through him as soon as he spotted you, because it wasn’t just anyone Phoenix was going toe to toe with - it was Paul.

The pool cue clattered to the ground and he was moving before anyone could say anything. 

Phoenix was standing beside you, an annoyed look on her face. But it was your expression that had him forgetting his manners as he pushed through the crowd.  You were holding your arm close to your chest, your mouth slightly opened in shock or disbelief or both. You looked startled, and your eyes were wide with something that looked far too close to fear than Bradley was comfortable with. 

When he was close enough, he could hear Phoenix spewing something about personal space. Similar to how he was with him last week, though, Paul was looking right past her with his focus trained solely on you. 

“Hey!” he called, and three sets of eyes plus a few onlookers turned to him as he stormed up. He pushed himself between you and the red headed man, effectively blocking you from view. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled out. 

Paul’s eyes widened at first, before a flash of anger went over his face that settled into a cool indifference much too quickly to be genuine. But he didn’t look surprised. Instead, it was like he had been anticipating this confrontation and had prepared himself. 

“I’m not here to talk to you,” he replied. He shifted like he was trying to peer around Bradley’s larger frame to see you, but Bradley mimicked the movement. Paul’s jaw ticked in annoyance. 

“Yeah, well you aren’t here to talk to her either,” Bradley snapped. His voice was filled with a steely determination that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard come out of his mouth. “You’ve bothered her enough.” 

“I’m not bothering her!” 

Bradley scoffed at the absolutely delusional words he was hearing. It was only your hands settling on his back and your body heat as you stepped closer that prevented him from completely losing it. He reached back to settle a hand on your body while keeping himself in front of you. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to take a deep breath. 

“Whatever little crush you have on her, you keep it to yourself from now on. No more coffees or flowers or any of that bullshit you’ve been pulling. Leave her the fuck alone. She doesn’t want you, man.” 

Paul finally stopped trying to look around and snapped his eyes to him at that. Gone was the indifference that was there before. What replaced it was something that had Bradley tensing even more. His eyes were cold, infuriated even. The red head huffed out an angry breath, his spine straightening as he took a step forward.

“And you think you’re good enough for her?” he hissed. His hands shot forward and pressed into Bradley’s broad chest like he was trying to push him, but the larger man barely budged. That seemed to just make him angrier and he repeated the motion. This time, Bradley pushed him back with the hand not touching you. Unlike him, the smaller man stumbled back several steps, nearly losing his balance. Bradley went to take a step forward as his anger surges, but your grip on him tightened, the fabric of his shirt clenched in your hands. He heard you whisper his name into his back, your tone urgent and pleading. 

“Please,” you said, “he’s not worth it.” 

The air was tense, and more than just those in their immediate surroundings had begun to notice the confrontation happening. Bradley kept his eyes trained on the person who had caused you nothing but stress and who had put the fear in your eyes, but it seemed the man in question had noticed how all of their friends had pushed through the crowd and joined them. It was clear whose side they were on, even if they had no context as to what was going on right now.

Still, though, it was like Paul was weighing his options and his chances as he glanced around. Bradley almost couldn’t believe it. 

“Is there a problem?”

Penny, as always, had impeccable timing. Payback and Bob moved to the side easily to let her through, and though she was speaking and looking at Bradley with raised eyebrows, he could tell that she knew it wasn’t him who was the issue. 

Before he could say anything though, Phoenix spoke up. 

“As a matter of fact, there is. This douchebag here doesn’t understand keeping his hands to himself or the word no. Rooster was just giving him a friendly reminder.”

Bradley’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched at the thought of him having touched you. The only thing keeping him from really reminding him was your forehead between his shoulder blades and the grip you had on him. 

Penny knew them all well enough to know they’d never bullshit her, so she simply nodded. 

“You disrespect a woman or the Navy in my bar, you buy a round. Since you seemed to do both without even bothering to start a tab, I’ll make it easier for you by telling you to get the hell out and not come back.” 

She only briefly looked at the outsider as she spoke to him. She nodded at the guys, instruction enough to make sure her orders were followed through; she knew they would - they always did, and this was one of their own. 

Perhaps the first smart decision he had made that night, Paul seemed to realize just how outnumbered he was. He spoke your name in a last ditch effort to get your attention. You pressed yourself closer to Bradley’s back at the sound of it. He was unmoving in front of you. 

“Go,” he growled out. “Now.”

He turned to leave with a sigh. Before he could get far, though, Bradley stepped away from you and grabbed his arm. He knew his grip was tighter than it needed to be by the way the smaller man winced. Good. He stepped up to him, leaning down to speak directly into his ear, his voice laced with venom and a clear warning. “You’re going to leave her the fuck alone, or you won’t be walking out of here next time. I can promise you that.”

Paul glared up at him, but Bradley knew he heard. He released his arm with a sneer and watched as he scurried away, Fanboy and Coyote following to make sure he left like Penny had requested. It was only once he saw them go through the front door that he turned, and as soon as he did, he had your face in his hands. 

“Are you okay?” 

You nodded, though your eyes were still wide as you stared up at him. He watched as you took a shaky breath and it took everything in him not to follow Paul into the parking lot and introduce him to his fist. But you were his priority here - you always would be. “Baby, what-” 

“That guy was a fucking creep and his beady little eyes might be in my nightmares now.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut at Phoenix’s words and you turned your head just slightly away from her and into his hand, like you didn’t want anyone to see your moment of weakness. He wondered if perhaps Paul would be in your nightmares, too, or if he already has been. He felt queasy at the thought. 

“I think we could use another drink after that,” Nat continued decisively, turning to you and asking if you were in. 

He didn’t take his eyes off of you and saw how you bit the inside of your cheek by how your lips pursed and how you took a deep breath in through your nose. He could practically see the calm mask drop over your face as you opened your eyes. You sent him a tight lipped smile and squeezed his wrists, nodding once.

He hesitated for a moment before he reluctantly let his hands drop from your face. 

You forced as much joy into your tone as possible, telling his best friend that another drink sounded like just the thing you needed. When the other aviators who had gathered dispersed either to the bar or back to their regular spot, though, Bradley held you back. 

“We don’t have to stay,” he assured you. Selfishly, part of him wanted you to say you were ready to go, so he could take you back to his place and hold you tightly for the rest of the night, assuring you but also himself that you weren’t hurt. But you shook your head at his words. 

“He’s not ruining this for me more than he already has. For either of us. Just….one more drink.”

He spoke your name gently and shook his head, not quite knowing what to say.

“Please, B.”

Your soft, quiet voice cracked slightly and your eyes were pleading with him, and god, Bradley hated this so much. He hated him so much. 

But he pressed a kiss to your forehead, breathing you in for a long moment as you clung to him in return. Then he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you back to where you had been sitting before, accepting the drinks that Nat had gotten for the both of you.

___

You were quiet on the drive back to his apartment. Too quiet, in a way that left Bradley feeling on edge and out of his depth. You had pushed through two more drinks at the Hard Deck, a smile on your face and laughing at everyone’s jokes as you stayed integrated into the conversations happening around you. It was almost like the altercation with Paul hadn’t even affected you, you were so convincing. But he knew better. He could see the way your eyes had darted more often than usual to the entrance, or how your brows knitted together in thought if you went too long without talking. 

You were both the strongest and the most stubborn woman that he had ever known, and it wasn’t until after Jake and Nat had both slunk off and the others were starting up another round of pool that some of your facade had faded. You had barely needed to say his name before he was leading you out of the bar after a few quick goodbyes. You had kept a tight hold on his arm as you walked toward the Bronco. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surveying the packed parking lot more than he normally would, and he knew you were doing the same.

You kept your gaze out the window, your hands in your lap. He could hear the sharp snap, snap, snap of your hair tie against your wrist and finally Bradley reached over to place his hand over yours, stopping you from the unconscious coping mechanism you had. You didn’t say anything, but you turned your palm up and laced your fingers through his, squeezing his hand instead. He kept it there in your lap until he pulled into his designated parking space. 

You still didn’t look at him once he turned the ignition off, and Bradley felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with how the silence was killing him. 

With a sigh, he climbed out of the car, walking slowly around the back of it to your door, trying to give you a moment by yourself, no matter how brief. 

He mustered a smile when he opened the door to the passenger side. You did your best to return the gesture, but it was half hearted. He was just extending his hand to help you out when you finally spoke. 

“I think maybe I should go back to my place tonight.” 

Your words made his heart stutter in his chest for all the wrong reasons. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, clearing his throat when the words got stuck in it. 

“Is that what you want?” he gritted out, trying his best to keep his voice neutral. It was the opposite of what he wanted - what he needed, truthfully. He had promised to do everything to support you, and he knew being alone was something you valued sometimes, but god damnit, the thought of you alone in your house as upset as what he knew  you were, even if you weren’t showing it, didn’t sit well with him at all. He wanted you here with him, just like the two of you had planned. 

He hated that dickhead for making you feel like this. He should’ve followed him into the damn parking lot. 

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, and when you released it from between your teeth, he could see how it wobbled.  Bradley’s heart clenched. 

“Not really,” you admitted, your voice cracking with the words.

“Then why?” 

You shrugged miserably, shaking your head. You didn’t say it, but he could make guesses as to what you were thinking. You were too much. You didn’t want him to see you upset. He shouldn’t have to put up with this. 

The possibilities were all bullshit and couldn't be further from the truth.  

Bradley took a step closer until he physically couldn’t anymore, blocked by the car frame. He brushed his thumb over your cheek and you leant into the touch, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Come inside, Bug. Please.” 

You took a few deep breaths and his heart was in his throat until you finally gave a shaky nod and unbuckled your seatbelt.

------

Part Six :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: Does Paul give anyone else a serious case of the ick? I hope you enjoyed this one! Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement for posting more🖤

Thank you to Mak and Em for all of your help making this story come to life. And thanks to Mak for the AMAZING banner!

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[twstowo]

Chapter 1-1 [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You escape a tower where you had been kept for years.

♡︎ This is the continuation from my other post.

♡︎To everyone that liked my previous post I just want to say that I love all of you and I hope the stars, planets and universe aligns so that your 2024 is the best ever <3

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Amidst the empty, snow-covered landscape of a long-forgotten winter, a figure draped in somber black attire crossed the fields. His stride cut through the pristine white expanse, his flowing locks of snow-white hair blending seamlessly with the wintry hues around him. The biting cold seemed inconsequential to this man, hardened by relentless training to serve as a guard in the court of the future king of Briar Valley. Yet, despite his noble purpose, he found himself far away from his liege, drawn back to rescue a friend lost in time.

A letter had reached him from the parents of Y/N, a childhood friend trapped within the confines of a tower nestled within the lands owned by the rich couple. Silver had always harbored reservations about the idea of a tower, but he understood his lack of power amidst the chaos that had consumed their younger years. When the plea arrived, urging him to free his friend, he couldn't bear to remain idle. He felt an undeniable pull, a yearning to reunite with a long-lost friend and perhaps seek forgiveness for the lost time that had passed between them.

With determination etched upon his face, he embarked on this solitary journey, fueled by the desire to not only free Y/N from captivity but also to rekindle the bonds of friendship and make amends for the years that had slipped away. Following the map enclosed in the letter, he ventured into an eerie, desolate forest marked by lifeless trees stretching endlessly. Encountering peculiar creatures and treacherous assailants along the way, he pressed on, unfazed by the perils that beset his path. His determination was unwavering; he had journeyed from afar, yearning for this moment since their last meeting.

With each cautious step, he navigated the labyrinthine forest, drawing closer to the rumored tower guarded by a mystical creature claimed to exhale azure flames, capable of reducing a person to ash in moments. Upon breaching the tower's threshold, he discovered an absence of both the fabled beast and his long-lost friend. The room that was purported to house them stood vacant, shattering his expectations and leaving him at a loss.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You strode along a peculiar path strolling through the dreary expanse of the forest your parents had confined you to. Your memories were a fog, obscuring the reasons for your seclusion within the tower's confines. A nagging feeling warned against unraveling the mystery, urging you to steer clear of seeking answers. Lost in this unfamiliar realm, unexplored before now, you wandered alongside your feline companion, Grim.

"And where are we going?" Grim's fur bristled with frustration. It wasn't solely your desire to escape the tower that wearied Grim; the feline had grown attached to you and relished your notions of venturing beyond to explore the world. Yet, despite days of wandering, the two of you had found no exit from this enigmatic forest.

"Maybe we have been walking in circles?" Your words were hushed, uncertain whether this revelation would soothe Grim. After all, gazing out from the lone window in your tower room, the forest appeared endless, stretching far beyond the eye could see.

Traversing through the forest, you held onto the hope that eventually, some sign would emerge—a new path, a person, perhaps even an entire city. Your resolve remained unwavering; there was no turning back. The tower, a distant memory now, would never hold you captive again. Yet, a chill wind swept through the woods, prompting you to shiver uncontrollably. Your attire, comprised of aged white clothes salvaged from the tower's closet, and a weathered black cloak with a concealing hood, provided little protection against the elements. Grim, your mystical companion, often perched on your shoulders, found comfort in the cloak's embrace.

"If only there were another way to travel," you murmured, casting a glance at your magical feline, who rolled their eyes in exasperation.

"The great Grim isn’t going to carry you on his back!" His retort echoed through the trees, irked by the suggestion. Though capable of transforming into a formidable creature—once the guardian of the tower's confines—he seemingly preferred his diminutive feline form, much to your appreciation of his adorable appearance.

"Well, do you want to keep on walking forever? Because this forest doesn’t seem to ever end." you countered, feeling the strain in your feet from the prolonged confinement within the tower. Your pace had slowed considerably, akin to a sloth's lazy pace. Years of captivity had taken a toll on your body, and each step felt more arduous than the last.

Grim shot you a final glance, resolute in his refusal to transform into a means of transportation. However, he was not without alternative solutions, wielding his magical abilities to devise an unconventional plan. "Pick up that branch," he commanded, prompting your confusion regarding how a mere branch could aid your predicament. "Come on! The great Grim can't do everything alone!" His arms folded in impatience, urging you to comply. Reluctantly, you retrieved the branch as instructed.

Then, with an incantation from Grim, the ordinary branch underwent a peculiar transformation, morphing into a broom-like contraption. Its tips danced with vibrant, colorful blue flames reminiscent of Grim's ears.

"Holy Seven!" You gasped, seizing the strange broom with fascination, astounded by Grim's unexpected prowess. "This is incredible, Grim!" A wide smile graced your face. "But what on earth do we need a broom for?"

Observing your confusion, Grim sighed and facepalmed—acknowledging that your extended seclusion in the tower had left you unaware of certain common knowledge. Brooms, in many circles, were used for flying.

"This is our way out," Grim declared with a mischievous grin, while your eyes widened in apprehension at the revelation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Flying on the broom turned out to be an ordeal far worse than sore feet. Each moment aloft sent shivers coursing through you, surpassing even the biting cold of the forest below. Gripping the broom with all your might, you clung to it for dear life, terror seizing your senses as Grim navigated the skies with what felt like reckless abandon. Refusing to glance downward, “Anything new?” you shouted for any updates, determined to keep your focus forward.

"New? Why not see for yourself?" Grim's laughter mingled with the rush of the wind as you struggled to maintain an upright position on the broom. Finally, compelled by curiosity, you dared to steal a glimpse below.

And there it was—a sprawling city sprawled beneath you. Its architecture, a symphony of white and red-hued houses, stood amidst fields of vibrant greenery. Everything appeared serene and harmonious, a stark contrast to the unfamiliar world you had known within the confines of the tower.

As Grim skillfully guided the broom downward, relief flooded over you as your feet finally met solid ground. The sensation of touching the earth after so long brought a rush of happiness, drawing curious gazes from the city dwellers around you.

"After my magnificent assistance, I think I deserve a reward!" Grim proclaimed, his smile wide with expectation. You anticipated the request that would follow. "The illustrious Grim demands a taste of tuna!" His expression held a note of insistence, and you recalled the gold objects you'd brought along from the tower, potential assets for earning some much-needed money.

As you and Grim strolled through the bustling town, you couldn't help but notice the vibrant attire donned by the locals—mostly shades of red. The surroundings were adorned with bushes filled with crimson roses, and the air carried the sweet aroma of baked goods. Selling your possessions yielded the necessary funds for sustenance, and you studied the shops in search of canned tuna. Yet, an enchanting sight halted your quest—a bakery showcasing tantalizing red cakes, their appearance strangely delightful.

Upon entering, a bell chimed, alerting the man at the counter to your presence. He was handsome, with short green hair and a welcoming smile that eased your nerves. Engaging with another person after such isolation felt foreign, leaving you momentarily speechless until he prompted a response.

“Anything you want?”

"Ah! I'd like to try one of those red cakes!" You pointed at the tempting treats, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as he chuckled at your reaction.

"You mean the strawberry tarts?" He retrieved one and continued, noting your apparent unfamiliarity with the locale. "You seem like you're from far away." Your attire betrayed your outsider status amidst the city's vibrant energy.

"I've come from afar." You approached the counter as he carefully packaged the tart. Tendering the money, you hesitated, feeling the weight of conversation hovering awkwardly between you. "This place looks... really lovely..." Social interactions were a challenge after your prolonged seclusion. How did people engage in conversation, anyway? But before you could melt into the floor you heard the sound of the bell again.

The atmosphere in the bakery shifted with the arrival of the hooded figure, their face concealed. While the kind baker engaged them in conversation, you found yourself growing anxious about Grim's whereabouts. Scanning the shop, your worry escalated until an odd noise drew your attention upward. To your shock, Grim perched atop the ceiling boards.

"Get down, Grim," you urged in a hushed tone, attempting to coax him back without drawing attention. But Grim, seemingly preoccupied with exploring, paid no heed to your plea. As he wandered, his paw accidentally struck a weak spot, causing him to tumble down.

Time seemed to slow as you witnessed the unfolding scene—a cinematic sequence unfolding before you. With a horrified scream, you watched as Grim fell down, ultimately landing on top the hooded figure, sending both crashing to the floor. The hooded stranger, now revealed his face in a dark shade of red, while his widened mad eyes looked at you. You tried to reach for his hand to help him get up but he slapped it away.

"You—" His voice quivered with rage. He scrambled to his feet, his fury evident as Grim sought refuge in your arms, fur bristling. "How... How dare you! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!" You watched as a strange collar appeard on your neck, and the red headed turned to the baker. Riddle's anger seethed as he addressed Trey, his voice tinged with frustration. "What type of customers are these, Trey? You really can't just let everyone enter inside here."

Trey, clearly unsettled by Riddle's outburst, attempted to placate the situation. "I'm sorry, Riddle. They seemed lost, and I thought—"

But Riddle, with a dismissive gesture, cut him off, his demeanor unyielding. "Don't make excuses. Just ensure this doesn't happen again." With an abrupt departure and a reproach directed at Trey, he left the bakery without sparing another glance in your direction.

Concern etched on his face, Trey emerged from behind the counter and approached you, “I’m sorry, Riddle tends to be a litle explosive”.

Grim, perched atop the counter, chimed in, expressing his outrage at Riddle's threatening demeanor. "A little?! It almost looked like he wanted to kill my Human!" Grim exclaimed, hands on his hips, clearly displeased with the understatement.

"Well, I suppose you could interpret it that way..." Trey's response was sheepish, scratching the back of his head. "This isn't an ideal introduction to the Queendom of Roses for you." He stated while eyeing the conspicuous collar around your neck,

“How do I remove this?” you inquired, only to be met with an unexpected revelation from Trey.

"Only Riddle can remove it."

"No way! He didn't even let me get a word in!" Your frustration was palpable, rejecting the notion that Riddle, the irate stranger, held the magic to removing the collar. “Does this mean I will have to live forever like this?”

“I propose we off this Riddle’s head ourselfs!” As Grim enthusiastically proposed taking matters into their own hands, suggesting an extreme solution, Trey visibly grimaced, swiftly dismissing the idea. Your irritation at Riddle's unreasonable behavior grew, feeling unjustly targeted for no reason.

“If you really want I can tell you were the collared people hide?” There was a questioned expression on Trey’s face, not knowing if that would lead you anywhere.

"Wait, there are more people collared by this guy?" The notion of indiscriminate collaring struck you as incredibly unjust. Despite your seclusion in the tower, the concept of such tyranny was abhorrent. "And no one opposes him?"

"That's because he's the future king of the Queendom," Trey revealed, stunning you with the revelation of Riddle's immense power. The gravity of the situation dawned on you—the consequences of opposing someone of Riddle's stature could be dire.

"Where can I find these collared people?" Your desperation for a solution became palpable, realizing that these individuals might hold the key to breaking the spell.

Trey hesitated, scratching his head, hinting at potential complications in locating them. “Well-”

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

By now, you found yourself aligning closely with Grim's idea. Approaching the other side of town, a large group of collared individuals welcomed you. What upset you most was the maltreatment endured by those with collars—those exempt from Riddle's special treatment mocked the collared ones openly. You, too, had been subject to their derisive stares upon exiting Trey's bakery.

Joining the group, you inquired about their experiences with the collars, growing increasingly dismayed at the absurdity of each story you heard.

"He's nothing but a spoiled brat!" shouted a man, his eyes ablaze with defiant confidence. "We ought to band together and overthrow him!"

"See? Even this human has good ideas," Grim chimed in, nestled on your shoulders. "We should support him." Before you could intervene, Grim walked towards the outspoken man.

"Look! A cat with blue ears!" The group stepped back, intrigued by the peculiar feline.

"A cat?! I am Grim the Great! The most powerful and magnificent—" Grim began, boasting about his grandeur until you scooped him up, silencing his self-praise.

"Is that so? If you're as remarkable as you claim, then I'm sure you'll assist us in dealing with Riddle," another voice chimed in. A man with dark blue hair approached, extending a warm welcome. "I'm Deuce. And you?" he asked, his smile inviting and soft-spoken.

"I’m Y/N, and this is Grim,” You pointed at your cute companion who rolled his eyes at Deuce. “we're here seeking any knowledge on how to remove my collar," you explained, only to be met with laughter from the surrounding group, leaving you wide-eyed with embarrassment.

"Don't mean to dash your hopes, but unless you find Riddle in an exceptionally good mood—" His expression conveyed the unlikelihood of such an occurrence. "There's no way to rid of the collar..." The sentiment elicited audible sighs from some listeners, conveying a sense of resignation.

Cursed be the day I left that tower. At least there, you wouldn't have been collared by some random tyrant. “So what is the plan?” Turning to Deuce, you inquired, prompting a shift in his expression, a broad smirk forming.

"Glad you asked. Follow me!" Deuce's demeanor took on a newfound enthusiasm as you trailed after him. Wandering through the streets led you to a peculiar forest, distinctly different from the lush greenery you'd seen while flying on the broom with Grim. This new place felt darker, stranger, and oddly familiar. After a brief walk, you arrived at a large table, adorned with teacups and scattered cake platters, as if a tea party were in progress. A man in purple attire with cat ears sipped tea while a red-headed individual seemed on the verge of pulling his hair out.

"Looks like we've got someone eager to join the party," Deuce announced, drawing the attention of the other two men toward you.

"Great, and what can they do? Unless that cat can shoot lasers from his eyes, I'm not interested in this recruiting thing anymore!" the red-headed man retorted, appearing ready to storm off.

"Relax, Ace," Deuce replied calmly, though his words seemed to only enrage Ace further, prompting him to hurl a cupcake at Deuce. "That's it, I'm tired of this—" Deuce rolled up his sleeves and advanced toward Ace, who stood up, poised for a confrontation.

"You're not from around here, nya~" The sudden, peculiar voice startled you so much that you jumped and let out a startled scream. Your heart raced, proving not quite resilient enough for these unexpected encounters. The owner of the voice chuckled at your reaction, appearing as nothing more than a floating head to your wide-eyed gaze. "Sorry, sorry. Why don't you join our tea party?" A phantom hand rested on your shoulder, though nothing visible was there.

"What... What's happening...?" Your voice quivered with uncertainty as the enigmatic cat-man guided you toward the table. Nearby, Ace and Deuce tumbled on the ground, their faces smeared with cake. "An invisible cat, two guys throwing cake at each other... What else will I see today? A caterpillar smoking?"

"Perhaps it'll show up later," the cat guy replied with a cryptic air, leaving you unsure if he was joking or being serious. "Now, tell me about yourself~"

As you recounted your tale, the tea grew cold, and Ace and Deuce, their attire adorned with grass and cake stains, eventually joined the tea party. You detailed your tower confinement, your encounter with Riddle, and your awareness of the collared individuals. Che'nya listened intently, hanging on every detail.

"And why were you locked inside that tower?" he inquired, his grin teasingly cheeky.

"That's a good question," you admitted, realizing it had been so long that you couldn't recall the reason. Vague memories of your parents bidding farewell as a man escorted you into a carriage, destined for the tower, flickered in your mind. Struggling to piece together the specifics, your memories remained frustratingly elusive. Sensing your silence, Che'nya spoke up.

"Are you familiar with a story about a sorceress locked inside a tower?" he inquired. The tale was unfamiliar to you; however, you felt his penetrating gaze, probing for any hint of recognition. "I suppose not, but it's curious how closely your story aligns with hers."

"What do you mean?" you inquired, puzzled by Che'nya's fascination with this fairy tale.

"You see, this sorceress was so powerful, surely her magic could break Riddle's," he explained. Glancing around, you noticed Ace and Deuce attentively absorbing Che'nya's words as if they were the most profound.

"So, you think I'm the sorceress?" you ventured, feeling a surge of uncertainty.

"No, that's impossible, nya~" He swiftly dismissed your suggestion, chuckling as if you'd said something ludicrous. "But what if she is listening to our conversation?" In an instant, his demeanor shifted to one of seriousness, eliciting audible gulps from Ace and Deuce, their expressions now reflecting horror at the possibility of an unknown presence among them.

"If she's here, why would she help me?" you pondered aloud.

"In the story, this sorceress is cursed to live forever inside a mirror. Only someone from outside can help her escape—someone she could trust. But she only trusts herself..." Che'nya paused, savoring the suspense, taking a sip of tea. "And the two of you seem to be the same person, just in different universes."

"This is the most absurd thing you've ever said, Che'nya," Ace scoffed, rising from the table. "If that were true, why does Y/N still have the collar?"

"Because she didn't try to remove it," Che'nya promptly replied, exuding confidence. His gaze flickered to you, almost challenging you to prove him right.

Your hand reached for the collar, not anticipating any change as you attempted to concentrate on the thought of it disappearing. With closed eyes, you visualized being alone, solely you and the collar. Yet, there was an intrusion, a presence beyond Che'nya's invisible touch—a touch woven of magic, immaterial yet undeniably real. When you opened your eyes, Ace and Deuce stared wide-eyed as the collar slipped from your neck and clattered to the ground.

“No way…” Deuce’s voice came as a whisper, frozen in place as he stared at the collar on the floor.

“That's great, now take mine off!” Ace dashed to you, seizing your hands and pressing them against his collar, a wide grin spread across his face. “C’mon! I have things I want to do!” Despite his selfishness, you complied, attempting the same method as before. You closed your eyes, focusing solely on the collar, anticipating the peculiar presence, but it never opened. “Why is it not working?”

“I don’t know…?” You were equally perplexed. Che’nya disregarded Ace’s complaints, briskly approaching you.

“Well, this is perfect! Now we just need to get you inside the palace!” Deuce stepped closer, expressing his surprise.

“Wait, Y/N will do that? I thought you wanted someone familiar with the layout and stuff!”

“No, Y/N is perfect for the job.” Che’nya's innocent smile transformed into a sly grin, leaving you bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

♡︎Thank you for reading!

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[thespottedfeather]

Awakening

Ominis x f!MC oneshot

Aged up, seventh year, very minor smut, possible spoilers for Hogwarts Legacy

touching self/kissing/talk of inappropriate acts

prompt: Y/N Y/L/N realises she wants to do naughty things with Ominis Gaunt. The boy who hates her and blames her for his best friends' descent into the dark arts.

words: 2.3k

--

Nothing was going as you had planned. Nothing was going as you had wanted. When you first started attending Hogwarts you had just wanted to fit in and be a normal witch, make friends, learn to use magic and find your lot in life. You’d never considered having a physical relationship with a boy before, it just hadn’t even been on your radar. You had once thought that perhaps there was something wrong with you that you weren’t interested in fooling around with others your age. Just like the muggle teenagers you’d known before, the other teenagers at Hogwarts seemed to be doused with hormones that had at least one pair a week getting detention for getting caught doing who knew what in a broom closet somewhere.

Maybe you were just weird. Another thing to make you stand out from the rest. First, your magic hadn’t emerged until much later, leading you to start Hogwarts in your fifth year. Then, you could somehow see traces of ancient magic which led you to become the target of Ranrok and Rookwood. THEN, you had been given watch over the repository and were now the sole living Keeper of that ancient magic. Now, here you were, starting your seventh year at Hogwarts and just like your magic, your hormones had come to screaming life much later than most, as soon as you saw him across the great hall.

Not your best friend Sebastian Sallow, the objectively attractive Slytherin who had taken you under his wing and helped you fight against Ranrok and complete the Keepers trials. Not the boy you’d spent most of fifth year with, leading to rumours that you were dating and were going to run away together and elope. Not the one you had become so close to that you knew basically everything about each other. No, the reason your heart was thudding so hard in your chest it made your ears ring was because of the boy, no, man, who sat beside Sebastian laughing at something the brunette had said.

Ominis Gaunt.

The heir of Slytherin. The most eligible bachelor at Hogwarts. The only guy you’d ever looked at and wondered ‘what if?’. The one who hated you beyond measure. After Sebastian’s delve into the Dark Arts at the end of fifth year, Ominis, whom you had only a shaky acquaintanceship at best, blamed you for his best friend’s decline. You had all agreed not to turn Sebastian in for the murder of his uncle, but Ominis had since only ever regarded you with disdain. He had never said that he blamed you for it, but what other reason could there possibly be for his retreat from you? He practically stopped talking to you altogether, and anytime you were forced to interact he seemed to be in pain just being around you. Eventually you just stopped trying to rekindle your budding friendship and let him be.

You looked at him now, his perfect pale skin and blonde hair seeming to glow in the light of the floating candles. His crystal blue eyes bright with laughter, and his body, gosh, he had grown up in the summer. His broad shoulders held with proud, perfect, posture, and the bearing of a man who knew he was devastatingly handsome. How could he not? Sure, Ominis was blind, but he just oozed charisma. Perhaps that was why he was so snarky all the time, to stop all the girls, and some boys, who only wanted him for his looks from getting too close.

It didn’t matter. Because you, despite your newfound libido, would also, never get the chance to find out who he was behind that snark. Ominis hated you, and he probably always would.

--

Weeks had past since the start of the school year, and you couldn’t have been happier. Your classes were going well, the Quidditch season was due to begin soon, and you’d been getting a strange amount of male attention of late. You supposed you had grown up a little over the summer, but as you never really thought of those kinds of things before it wasn’t something you’d noticed until you had started getting winks and flirtatious comments from some of the braver boys in class. Even Sebastian, who you knew thought of you as a sister, had commented that you had grown quite beautiful. Right before he threatened to break Garreth Weasley’s arm if he dared to wrap it around your shoulders again while sitting beside you in the great hall. You had laughed then, but now you stood staring into a full-length mirror in the undercroft trying to determine what exactly had become so appealing about you.

You had taken off your robe and were turning this way and that looking yourself over. You supposed your clothes did fit a bit more snug in certain areas now. Your breasts had filled out some more and caused your blouse to strain ever so slightly, and your hips flared out from your waist in a curve you might have described as pleasant if you weren’t worried about feeling vain. You pulled a few poses to check out your figure at different angles and wondered what it might be light to have somebody else touch your new curves in more than a fleeting hug. You hesitantly cupped your breasts and gave a light squeeze trying to imagine somebody else’s hands doing the touching. Your mind immediately only placed one person in that place and your cheeks burnt hot red in the mirror as you pictured Ominis’ deft hands stroking across your body.

“What are you doing here?” a cold voice spoke from the doorway making you jump.

“Ominis?” you squeaked out turning to face the object of your very inappropriate imaginations. Thank goodness he couldn’t see what you had been doing, your core still pulsed at the idea of him touching you. Having him in front of you now, looking so very perfect, nearly had a whimper escaping your lips.

“Who else would it be?” he asked as he sauntered over, “Sebastian is at Quidditch practice,”

“I know that” you said weakly backing up as he got closer, “I was just, not expecting company,” you blurted out.

“You sound flustered Y/L/N, what were you doing before I got here?” he asked raising his was towards you an assessing look on his features.

“Nothing,” you said, much too quickly.

“Somehow, I feel like I walked in on something I shouldn’t have,” he teased, “But you are alone…” he trailed off and tilted his head slightly to the side, crystal eyes not quite meeting you.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” you stated, “I was just looking in the mirror,”

“Looking in the mirror?” he asked and it struck you that this was the first conversation you had had with Ominis where he didn’t appear to want to run away.

“Trying to figure out what all the fuss is about,” you told him and turned back to the mirror not able to keep looking at the gorgeous man before you without doing or saying something you’d regret.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and you realised you could still see him behind you in the reflection, so you tried to keep your eyes on yourself.

“I’ve been getting…attention, this year I don’t normally get,” you told him truthfully, if only to keep the conversation going, maybe you could be friends now, maybe he had forgiven you, “I don’t understand why,”

“I see,” he murmured, “Well, I don’t, but I get what you mean,” he jested making you giggle. He seemed to think for a moment before nodding his head and stepping up close behind you so that you could almost feel his body heat.

“Ominis?” you asked cheeks burning hot again after only just cooling, voice barely a sound, “What are you doing?”

“I’m interested in ‘seeing what all the fuss is about’,” he stated and raised his wand allowing it’s red glow to illuminate your body as he traced your curves without touching you, “Is it true?” he asked as he continued his painstakingly slow mapping of your body.

“Is what true?” you asked him, mouth gone dry from how intimate this situation was and he wasn’t even touching you.

“What Sebastain keeps saying,” he says, “That you keep staring at me?”

“Oh…” you squeaked, not realising you’d been caught in your sneaky admiration across the great hall at meal times, “Umm…yes?” you asked, not sure where this was going.

“Why?” he asked you as he finished tracing your left side and deftly moved his wand across to your right.

“Well, umm,” your heart a beating fast now, and your could feel it everywhere, “because, well…”

“Because…?” he asked drawing you out, allowing the tip of his wand to gently, oh so gently, stroke along your hip. You couldn’t take it anymore. The words tumbled out in a blur.

“Because you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen, and I can’t help but want to exist in the glow of your presence forever. I want to be close to you, I want to be able to touch you, I want you to touch me back in so many ways, if only I was worthy of such a gift. But I know that you hate me and so I just look at you from afar and dream of a time when you didn’t, when I got to enjoy your cunning wit, your incredible intelligence, your unending kindness, and be one of the people you care for right beside Sebastian and Anne,” your breath came out in pants and you flushed hot and cold all at once from embarrassment and dread at the thought you may have just ruined your one chance to renew a friendship with this absolutely beautiful man.

Ominis’ wand stopped moving against your body as he stared mouth slightly agape at your confession. You blinked hurriedly trying to regain some semblance of decorum.

“But, I’ll stop, I won’t bother you anymore, I’m sorry,” you mumbled and started to move away only to be stopped by Ominis’ cool hand gripping your elbow gently but determined.

“I don’t hate you,” he said gently, “What gave you that idea?”

“After fifth year, you started to avoid me,” you said glad that he was focusing on that part of your outburst instead of the more embarrassing parts, “You blame me for Sebastian, I know, and it’s ok, I’ve never resented you for it,”

“I don’t blame you for what Sebastian did,” he stated, “I backed off because I thought you loved him,”

“I don’t love Sebastian, I mean I do, as a brother,” you explained, shocked that Ominis had seemed to believe the rumours, “I’ve never looked at a guy with that thought it mind until this year,” you stopped, “Why would you have to back off?”

“Well, I thought that would be obvious,” he said, “because, how did you put it? ‘I want to be close to you, I want to be able to touch you, I want you to touch me back, if only I was worthy of such a gift’,” his voice was soft, a gentle purr directly into your ear, shocking you as you hadn’t realised, he’d moved so close.

“I…I had no idea,” you said, “I’m not good with emotional subtleties,” you explained, “I only realised this year that I even wanted to be close to anyone in that way,”

“and why is that?” he asked

“Because I’m weird?” you asked

“Not that Y/N, why did you realise this year?”

You were silent for a moment and turned to face him, looking up into his crystal eyes, getting lost in the galaxies within them, “because I saw you and my whole body caught on fire,” you stated bluntly.

“You can’t just say that kind of thing,” he said a lopsided grin on his face, “It’s very inappropriate, a man could get ideas,”

“Do you want to know what I was really doing when you came in here?” you asked, feeling brave.

“Is it going to give me ideas?” he asked tilting his head again in that way that drove you mad.

“I was touching myself,” you said and took his hand that wasn’t holding his wand and placed in on your waist, his fingers twitched against you and you guided his hand up to your ribs, “and thinking of you,”

“Y/N…” he groaned fingers gripping you slightly, “this is highly inappropriate,” he said walking you backwards until your back pressed against the stone of the wall. He braced his other arm above your head on the wall, the red glow of his wand illuminating his face in a way that highlighted the masculine lines of his face. Your hands lifted to rest on his chest, revelling in the feel of his tensile muscles beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

“I’m beginning to realise I want to do all kinds of inappropriate things with you Ominis,” you whispered.

“If we do this Y/N, I won’t be able to walk away again,” he said, his lips brushing against your own with each word, “If you decide you want another, I will not let that man live,”

“Merlin,” you moaned at the tone of his voice, “Just kiss me already,”

His lips were soft but demanding when they crashed against your own. A needy moan filled the air, and you weren’t sure which one of you it was that uttered the depraved sound. The kiss seemed to both last forever and not last long at all. Ominis’ body pressed up against yours and you felt deliciously trapped between him and the wall.

“You’re mine,” he stated, “I’m not letting you go again,”

“Took you guys long enough,” Sebastian’s voice called out happily causing you and Ominis to jerk apart, “I was beginning to think I’d have to lock you up in a broom closet together until you saw sense,”

“Go away, would you?” Ominis snapped making you giggle.

“Oh Ominis, you have to at least take her to dinner first,” Sebastian teased before laughing manically and running away as Ominis sprang towards him with the intention of whacking him upside the head.  

--

Send me prompts :)

-Feather-

[oogaboogasphincter]

would u do a part 2 of after the beep when bunny gets home from work? because it’s very much delicious and i ate it up with a little salt and pepper

Stress Relief | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

🩷 hiii anon! 🥺 i can’t even begin to apologize for how long this took me to get to you, i’m so beyond thankful for your patience <3 i hope i delivered for you! 🫶

After an agitating day, your boyfriend Dieter helps melt all your worries away by delivering on the dirty promises he left in your voicemails earlier that morning.

word count/warnings: 4.9k+ words EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY MDNI! // hurt (reader has a terrible horrible no good very bad day) then comfort, reader and dieter have a verbal argument (in which reader throws a pillow at dieter) but it’s quickly resolved, phone sex mention, dieter threatens to blackmail your boss lol, anal play (f!receiving; fingering, licking), anal sex (f!receiving), masturbation (f), oral (m receiving), recreational drug use (weed, reader and dieter both use but it’s not a factor in their consent), insane amount of pet names (baby, kitty, bunny, sweetheart, sugar, lady, girl) // ao3 link

(this can be read as part 2 to after the beep but it can also be a standalone!)

“Dieter!?”

You shout as you wrench the door open with your rain-slicked hand and kick it closed behind you, leaving a muddy bootprint on the crisp white wood. The roaring thunder fails to drown out your enraged call, but you’re left unanswered nonetheless. The house Dieter is staying at - one of his actor friend’s vacation homes - is darkened by the storm outside and seems to sigh at your anger, upset that you roused it from its storm-induced slumber. But Dieter’s rental car is in the driveway, so you know your boyfriend is here somewhere. You yank your soaked jacket off and don’t bother finding a peg for it, throwing it on the hideous accent chair that probably cost more than your rent. 

Despite the boisterous thunder, the quiet inside swells to an intimidating glower. By now Dieter should’ve come lumbering out of whatever pit of candy wrappers or wrinkled pajamas he plunged himself into, but the air remains undisturbed. You keep your footsteps light as you walk around the unfamiliar house, peeking in and scanning each room for him. 

“Hey, Diets?” you ask another room, devoid of any activity. Your anger has softened now, eaten away by a growing concern of what Dieter could’ve possibly gotten himself into between when you left to go to work this morning and now. You know he was upset that you were leaving, but he always is. Hell, his voice gains a whiney edge when you just want to leave his grizzly embrace for all of thirty seconds to go to the bathroom. He left you those deliciously vile voicemails earlier in the day, detailing exactly what his erotic plans were for you later this evening, but it had been radio silence since then. 

More calls, no answers. Your mind races with options, getting more worrisome as your brain’s overthinking cogs are given more unresolved time to spiral with. Did he go meet up with a friend and forget to text you? Did he get let go of by a project, a studio - god forbid it isn’t his lawyer - and he’s drowning his sorrows with some chosen vice? Did he make one too many wrong friends on one of his many esoteric adventures and they have come back to haunt him? 

You circle back to the living room, taking out your phone to call the friend that owns this house. Maybe Dieter got picked up by them to have drinks and that’s why his rental is still here? You dial the number with a crease in your brow, and as you lift the phone to your ear and it starts to ring, you spot your dastardly lover: dead asleep on the couch, curled into himself. Only his muss of graying curls bobs from the surface of a sea of pillows and blankets with every light snore.

Your rage is rekindled to its fullest extent as a bolt of lightning cracks across the sky outside. You swear you can feel your eye twitch as you stand drenched from head to toe in rain before your dozing boyfriend, swaddled in cozy, dry warmth. 

“Dieter!” You take one of the pillows and lob it at him, hitting him right on the head. You don’t feel bad because you know it didn’t hurt him and it irks you when his eyes burst open, holding his hand to his forehead like it did. He blinks slowly, his eyelashes sticking together with sleep as he mumbles quietly, “What the fuck?” Then his eyes - those irritatingly gorgeous puddles of melted chocolate - widen when they take you in. His expression morphs into compassion and he shakes the blankets off, stumbling to his feet with lingering drowsiness.

“Bunny, what happened?” he asks, reaching for your arms to hold you. You take a step back from him, still steaming with anger. You get even more irritated when you feel the hot tears that prick your eyes every goddamn time you get upset. Stifling them back, you straighten your back and unleash your anger. 

“What happened? What happened is that I stayed late at work, even though my boss was being a fucking asshole, and when I went to leave, my car battery died, and since I stayed late, everyone else had already left, and my boyfriend didn’t answer my fucking calls!” You jab a finger into the air, aiming at his chest. “So I had to leave my car at work because no tow or rental company would help me, and I walked here in the fucking pouring-down rain!” 

You turn on your heel and slip against the marble floor, which you honestly should’ve seen coming but you’re too irate to think rationally right now. Dieter reaches his arms out again, wanting to steady you, but you beat him to it and stomp away angrily. With your face hidden from his sight now, you let your tears silently flow down your cheeks and blend with the fat raindrops on your neck. Dieter follows behind you, quickening his pace to match yours and subsequently slides in his slippers in your wet wake. He tries to get you to stop, sympathetically calling out to you by name. 

You beeline for the bedroom and lunge into the adjoining bathroom. Just as Dieter catches up to you, he’s pleading, “Bunny, wait, just let me-” 

You shut the door in his face and lock yourself in, leaning your back against it and crying into the darkness. You let yourself sob out loud, releasing all the pent up anger, frustration, sadness and shame you’ve been holding in all day and that hit its climax when you started arguing with Dieter. 

Your sweet, beloved boyfriend. 

The two of you haven’t officially labeled yourselves as of yet, but you know it’s more than the booty calls it began as. You… care about him. You never thought you’d see the snarky, charming jerk as anything but. However, over the past two and a half years you’ve shared a bed with him (among various other furniture and locations), he’s revealed a soft vulnerability that you were convinced he faked in order to come off to the public as empathetic, intellectual. But he’s the real deal; all those philosophical musings, whether fueled by questionable substances or not, were spoken from his heart. That four letter word that scares the daylights out of you both rings in your head, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Just because you don’t have the wherewithal to vocalize your feelings right now, it only serves to engorge the guilt you have for shutting Dieter out, both literally and figuratively. He’s only trying to help you, trying to provide a safe space for you to lash out, cry, or forget about your grievances, like he always does. With a sniffle and a deep sigh, you open the door and jump a little when he’s standing right there; he was waiting for you to be ready. He never left. 

His genuine care for you makes your eyes well up and flood again, your voice hoarse as you begin, “I-I’m sorry, I just…”

Dieter holds his hand up in a sign of peace and softly interjects when you trail off, “Hold on. Before you say anything more, sweetheart, know that you have nothing to apologize for.”

Your last bit of resolve is blown to smithereens and you practically fall into his arms, where he catches you and envelopes you in his warmth. Openly sobbing again into his chest, Dieter presses his warm mouth against your temple and just holds it there for a moment, letting his touch calm you as he caresses your damp hair away from your face. When your spluttering gasps subside, he speaks quietly and compassionately, “I’m the sorry one. I had the balls to bother you earlier, knowing you were stressed and busy, and then being the lazy asshole I am, I fell asleep and was dead to the world for hours. I’m sorry.”

When you fish your face out of his shirt, the damp spot that your eyes made on the fabric makes you cringe. Dieter reads your discomfort and rubs his big palms up and down your back, silently pardoning you. He’s had much more vile substances on his person before, a few tears from his lover isn’t anything to make a fuss over. You shrug and collect your thoughts that finally have some sensibility to them, “It’s okay. I just had a bad day at work, they gave me so much extra shit because I scheduled a few days off so they were trying to wring me for all I had and were even pushier than usual and were yelling at me even when I was doing all the right things and what they asked and- and then my fucking car-”

You cut yourself off with a gasp, not having realized that throughout your spill you didn’t stop to breathe. Dieter strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers as he coos to you, the cool metal of his rings grounding you, “Hey, shhh. It’s over now, right? You just relax, baby, okay? Focus on taking some deep breaths, like we practiced. In through the nose and out through the mouth, remember?”

If you weren’t so distraught, it would make you chuckle. You were the one that had given him that technique to calm his own anxiety, and here you were forgetting your own advice. Dieter sets an example for you, breathing slowly through his nose and out through his mouth, and you follow along until your sobs stop catching in your throat. His hands never stop stroking you, sending waves of comfort through you. Soon, your body has stopped trembling because of your volatile emotions, but you shake in your skin from the cold rain that has seeped into your bones. 

He notices and chuckles breathily, rubbing your arms to instill some heat into your blood. There’s a hint of mischief in his smile, one that you sense will swell into some menacing devilishness as the night deepens, “Let’s get you warmed up, hm?” 

He sidesteps you to go deeper into the bathroom behind you, going to the bathtub which he takes a seat on the edge of and turns the faucet on. With his palm upturned, his forefinger points at you and wiggles in an upward motion. 

“Off,” he instructs. His eyes rake over your dripping frame, following the cold droplets’ paths over the rain-soaked clothes that mold to every delectable curve of your body. His yearning stare wedges an extra beat into your heart rate and makes it hard to swallow. 

Despite the unceremonious manner of your strip, your locked gazes are brimming with passion, ferocity, boiling with the heat of the night to come. Your sopping clothes land on the floor with a splat and Dieter sighs at your figure in all its nude glory, moving his hand to palm himself unabashedly through his pajama bottoms.

He leans back and swishes his finger through the water once the tub is filled, checking the temperature. He jerks his head toward the warm pool, “Come here, sweet thing.” 

His fingers graze along your bare hip as you step into the bath and retract back to his cock when you sink down out of reach. The water feels heavenly, and fulfilling Dieter’s wish without the need of verbal instruction, you lean your back against the slope of the tub until the water’s surface meets the underside of your chin, letting out a deep sigh. You’re about to close your eyes when he brushes a stray hair out of your face, wrangling your attention to the sweet smile that graces his lips. 

His voice is soft but firm in its sincerity, “I’ll have your car picked up and checked out.” Knowing you better than you know yourself, you’re about to pipe up to offer that he really doesn’t have to do that, that you’ll pay for the rest even if he insists on covering the tow. He leans in closer, so close you can taste his breath on your lips, robbing you of all thoughts other than the ones that spiral around him. “Don’t worry about any repairs it needs. I’ve got ya, sugar,” he supplies with a wink. 

“Your boss will be receiving an unsightly letter to treat you better or else. There’s also a blackmail package available, featuring a rather smelly, heaping pile of a ‘substance’,” his fingers scrunch in allusive air quotes, “that Bravo Enterprises can’t disclose only for the purpose of ensuring surprise for the recipient, of course, that can be left on his desk. If the lady so desires.” You’re giggling before he’s finished, smacking him on the bicep that leaves a wet handprint on his t-shirt sleeve. 

“I appreciate the offer, but no thank you. I don’t want to be fired, or jailed, depending on what this ‘substance’,” you mimic his air quotes, “is you speak of.” 

“But,” you look up at him from underneath your lashes, shyly, “how could I have known my boyfriend would send in a letter of complaint?” 

He kisses your forehead proudly, stroking your cheek with his thumb affectionately, “That’s my girl. Now, I want you to sit back and relax for a while. Let the stress of the day melt away.” His hands dip shallowly into the water to rub his thumbs into your collarbone, moving onto your shoulders to massage soothing circles there after that. His voice drops an octave, with a satisfying rasp that runs parallel to velvety smoothness, “I need you relaxed for what I’m going to do to you later, anyway.”

With your eyes closed, you smirk in anticipation. He gives a parting kiss to your cheek, leaving you to shed the stifling stress of the day on your own time. Before he does, he asks, “Want some?” 

You peek one eye open and are being offered a little white rolled paper with a twist at the end. 

“No thanks,” you shrug, “Maybe later.” 

A little while later, there’s a knock on the door so soft you don’t hear it. Dieter pokes his head in, his boyish scruff rearranging into a smile when he sees your eyes still closed in peace. He quietly lays a folded bathrobe on the counter next to the sink and steals one last admiring glance at you before he ducks back out. 

When the water has lost its warmth, you exit the bath and shrug on the thoughtful, fluffy robe with a smile, knotting the belt loosely around your waist as you go into the bedroom. Dieter is lying on his back on the bed, toying with a vibrator in his hands. The scene makes you chuckle and the playful sound draws his gaze. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, “Get over here, sweetness,” and you oblige, standing in between his parted thighs. The robe you’ve had on for all of sixty seconds becomes a redundant heap on the ground. Dieter’s hands cup your asscheeks, pulling you closer to him so he can envelope your nipple with his tongue. He bites down on your pert bud softly as you do the same to your lip, moaning through your teeth. His tongue drags a path across your chest to your other breast, where he laves his desperate tongue against the erect little peak there too. When he pulls back, he looks drunk off of you already. 

He pats the center of the bed, his tone gruff and lost in his allegiance to your pleasure, “On your knees.” 

Dieter puts the weight of his palm on your back, sculpting you into an arch. You’re on your knees but you’re also on your forearms, too. He kneels before you, sitting back on his haunches, and lifts your gaze up to his with a finger underneath your chin. “You remember what I said on the phone?” he asks, using his free hand to squeeze his bulge through his boxers. You nod, resting your cheek on his thigh and batting your lashes up at him. “Mmhm…,” you lick a stripe up the seam of the crotch, “You said you were gonna fuck my throat.”

He pulls his underwear down to his knees, freeing himself. The thick heft of him lightly smacks against your nose and a pornographic moan rumbles up from your center, whose emptiness is gnawing away at you. “Until I gag,” you tack on, remembering all his erotic details. His shoulders deflate with a sigh, his eyes shine with rapture, “Smart girl,” and he feeds you his cock. 

You take it greedily, engulfing it in your hot, warm mouth. Harsh, helpless breaths escape his chest as he stumbles through the foggy abyss of ecstasy, regaining enough consciousness to thread his fingers in your hair and glide against your waiting tongue. “Fuck,” he whispers on every thrust, taking the time to rut in and out of your mouth until enough saliva collects to aid his descent down your throat. You take it all like a good girl, his good girl. His stubbly balls nestle against your chin when he reaches that impossible smoothness at your end and he anchors himself there, waiting for that godsent sound of- 

You gag wetly around his length. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you try to look up at him, despite the compromising position. He helps you out and leans back so he can stare at you in amazement; his wrought expression has you dripping from both ends. 

He ruefully retreats from your cavern and a thick string of saliva leaves the two of you connected. He swipes it from your lip with his thumb and drinks you down as he shuffles on his knees behind you. 

Planting himself at your opening, he sighs contentedly as he settles in to patiently work you up until you go crazy. “Open up for me, kitty,” he rubs the backs of your thighs and you concede to lay your head down on the bed, splitting yourself for his ravenous eyes. You wiggle your ass back and forth when he doesn’t do anything but sit there admiring and your antics earn you an abrupt, satisfying, open-handed slap to your ass. 

In his voicemail smut, he promised he would open you up, nice and slow, and he does just that at a tauntingly sluggish pace. His languid, sensual tongue draws rivulets up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, before his warm breath ghosts across his tight destination at the peak of your apex. Your breath catches in your throat delightedly when his wet curiosity finds your hole at last, tracing it with his tongue then deftly swirling it around your perimeter. It makes you bite your lip and your breathing come more strenuously. You’re tight, you know that and he knows that, but you don’t doubt his capability to unravel you until you can take his whole length with no resistance. 

His raspy, comforting voice murmurs into your cheek, echoing his promise, “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll open you up. Nice and slow…” He starts with his tongue again, lubing your backdoor entrance until you can feel his heavy saliva slide down to your aching folds. You rub at your clit lazily while he massages your hole with his thumb, gradually exposing you to increased pressure. Your resistance fades in time with his patient ministrations, to the point where he can lick into you. You both groan out in relief, him at your taste and you in dire pleasure. He reaches to swap your hand for his and draws perfect circles around your clit while his tongue works magic against your hole, bringing you to the peaks of two orgasmic heights whose blissful slopes have you feeling relaxed afterward, like jelly. It takes a little while of licking into you for him to be able to slide his thick finger in there, wriggling it around. 

It tickles more than you expected, making you giggle before you’re choked out with a moan as the ticklishness ignites into absolute pleasure. The tingles crawl up your spine, fizzing out in the base of your neck and skittering sparks of dopamine all over your brain. 

He squeezes a second finger inside in between contractions of your muscle, convulsing and expanding in time with the merciless waves of ecstasy that pour over you. Dieter watches with rapt attention as you stretch around him, your impeccable body adjusting to him deliciously. When your body starts to pull him back in on every retraction of his fingers, his cock twitches. You’re ready. 

He gets to his knees, stretching over to the bedside table to grab the lube - just for extra comfort. You whimper ceaselessly underneath him on all fours, your body on fire for him. You squirm with impatience, a fiery need for him to fill you to the brim thrashing through you. Hurried by your mewling, Dieter’s fingers slip against the bottle and knock it to the floor. “Fuck!” he spits, bursting you into pieces with laughter. 

He regains possession of the bottle and settles your devilish attitude with a single smack to your asscheek. The cap pops open, the cold gel runs into his palm, and he warms it up in his hands before he coats you everywhere you’ll need it. Dieter gives himself a few additional strokes too, groaning at the thought of what’s about to come (quite literally). 

He pushes his tip against your hole, testing you, relishing in the remaining pressure your body still keeps. It feels so good to be broken by him, like he’s knocking down a barrier you don’t have the strength to keep up anymore. You want to surrender and he lets you. 

He pushes inside and you gasp sharply, immediately followed by warbling babbles of how good he feels, how big he is, how good it fucking feels! He eases into you slowly, gliding deeper until his hips are nestled against your cheeks and all he can see is his hairy base above where he’s buried inside you. His splayed hand runs from the nape of your neck down your curved spine. “Shh, bunny,” he soothes. His hand comes to a stop just above your tailbone, pressing into the small of your back to arch you further beneath him. You bend to his will and groan as the new angle seats him impossibly deeper inside. 

Your pussy drips for him, warm and fresh, and your hips wiggle of their own accord to make his intrusion a pleasurable one. His fingers wind around your pelvis and hold you steady, tongue tutting at you over your shoulder. 

“Move, goddamnit,” you seethe, on the verge of tears. You feel helpless beneath him, a prisoner to your own desire, and your voice comes out just as vulnerable despite its biting rage that he still hasn’t moved. 

Upon hearing your desperation, he doesn’t make you hold out any longer. His first thrust is gentle, experimental, opening you up even further. Breath heaving, whole body shaking with every inhale that squeezes you tighter around him, “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…”

“Holy fuck,” he blurts out in an echo to you, staring down at his thick cock lodged in your tight hole. 

Even as he starts to gain pace, he maintains a consistent degree of gentleness to his thrusts so as not to hurt you - that’d be no fun for anyone involved. 

“Feel so good, bunny,” Dieter whispers breathlessly, neck craned up to the gods with eyes closed and imperceptible, breathy oh, oh, ohs flowing from his mouth on every plunge. Meanwhile, your face is smashed into the sheets, squealing with a sensation so pleasurable that is ill-monikered by “an itch that needs to be scratched”; this is more like a firework in the night sky that you jump to catch every singing ember of. 

You grip at the bedsheets with white knuckles, grinding your teeth together. Dieter splays his hand on the crown of your head and lifts you up to release your stifled, heavy breaths, “Let go, bunny,” he encourages. Your resolve instantly weakens and your orgasm overtakes you swiftly, knocking you without warning. Wracked with blinding pleasure, every breath you take is either a scream, a desperate moan, or a wrecked sob for him to keep going! 

He does, fucking you until you’re a mess beneath him. You faintly remember his threat on the phone, something like he’d pull out midway through your release and make you gape. But thank fucking god you appealed to his sympathy enough tonight that instead he treats you, keeping his length nestled in your ass for you to pulse around, choking on air as your heart pounds in your chest. 

Not too long later, your reverie is dissolved when he lands a smack to your ass, “Good girl,” he purrs. He leans over your body, his breath cool on your feverish skin as it tickles your shoulder in a whisper, “Your turn.” 

You whimper when he pulls out and stay stuck in your feline position, back arched like a cat and wishing he was still hitting it. Dieter lies down in front of you, his cock resting erect against his tummy and his stupidly big, pleading eyes beg for you. “Please, baby,” comes whimpering from between those plush lips. 

You nearly choose to leave him dangling on the edge; after all, you know how much he likes to be cucked (and how much you like to cuck him). But you want him too badly. Like in his dirty dreams this morning that he analogged for you, you mount him and begin riding. His big palms ascend your sweaty skin to cup your breasts that bounce as your thighs work to propel you up and sink you down in quicker succession. He leans forward to take one plush mound in his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue - but you twist your fingers in his ruffled hair and tug him back. It felt good, but the devastated crease between his brows makes you feel even better. This push and pull, give and take of dominance and submission always had to equalize with you two; your egos were too prideful for the game to be finished with a clear decision. 

With the score tied, you finally find the patience to slow down; you gyrate your hips, grinding down on Dieter and meeting his shallow thrusts in a symphony of movement. That is, until that biting urge deep in your tummy needs another orgasm thrown to it to be satiated and stop growling at you for more. You resume bouncing, not going as fast as you could but opting for a poignant, striking rhythm instead. 

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna-” he chokes.

“Fuck yeah baby, do it,” you hiss like a temptress, watching the restraint drain from his eyes and give way to the unstoppable bliss that erodes him until he’s nothing but. You lift your hips up for him to pull out and he takes himself in hand, pumping feverishly as white hot cum spills into his lap. The muscles of Dieter’s stomach jerk in tandem with his spurting, even after he’s reached empty. He runs his hand down his sweaty, wrecked face, breathing haggardly as you roll off his lap and lower your mouth to his hips to lap him up. He tastes mostly salty with a hint of sweetness, viscous and easy to swallow down. It might not be your arousal your tongue cleans him of, like he fantasized earlier, but the sinful sight drives him up the fucking wall regardless. 

Both of you lie there, him on his back and you on his chest, for a long time, just trying to catch your breath. Dieter reaches over to the nightstand for a joint and raises his eyebrow, asking your permission, which you give with a nod. He lights up and passes the smoke to you through parted lips, before handing over the rest of it for you to finish off. The thing about weed’s specific effect on you, that Dieter is very familiar with, is that it makes you feel warm, cuddly, and… aroused. With a mischievous giggle, you grind your wet folds against his thigh, asking for more, to which he grunts and gives a dry chuckle. 

“I’m not 25 anymore, bunny, you gotta give me a little bit of time to recover.” 

“What do you think I was trying to get off work for?” Your fingers waltz up his ribs with a mission to tickle him, but he catches on and swats you away with a smile. You love that shit-eating grin he gets, but it tarnishes your own when you’re hit with the thought that… you’ll miss it. 

You turn your face away to look down at the burning paper, trying to disguise the disappointment in your voice, “You’re leaving soon, right?” 

He sighs bitterly, but not at you, “Yeah, I am. But I was thinking…”

Your ears perk up so that you don’t mistake not even one word in his soft, raspy voice, “If you could, if you wanted to… you could come stay with me for a little while.”

You meet his eyes to gauge if he’s fucking with you - to your delight, he isn’t. “I have that fuck off huge house that production gave me with nobody in it but me and some makeup and costume people who are in and out for a few hours each morning. Ha,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows in time with his words, “In and out.” 

He can never take anything seriously for very long, but that’s the Dieter that you fell in- nopedon’tsayitthatwordistooscaryheonlyinvitedyoutocomestayforalittlewhilethatdoesn’tmeananythingseriousthatdoesn’tchangeanythingbetweenyoutwo. But the softened glimmer in his eye… it’s not a high from the weed. 

“I’d love to.”

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[delimeful]

helpless (8)

warnings: well-intentioned kidnapping, infection/sickness, wounds, a teensy little bit of mad scientist moments, i think that's it?

-

By the time he reached the campsite, the human had grown concerningly lethargic.

It was probably to be expected, seeing as he’d spent the entire night out in the chilled air, damp and wounded, but Virgil was stressed out about it anyhow. Infections were miserable, creeping things, and they were also considerably more dangerous to those who couldn’t just cut their losses and grow a new leg during their next molt.

He couldn’t quite tell if the human felt feverish or not– his sense of touch was finely honed to sense vibrations, but wasn’t nearly as discerning to tell temperatures beyond burning hot and hibernation-inducing cold. He didn’t even know how hot a human had to be before it became concerning, honestly.

Luckily, he had three friends who did know, and hopefully even knew how to deal with sickness if need be.

Three friends who were all currently in varying states of rest, sprawled out across the dimly-lit clearing. Virgil felt a little bad about waking them up, especially since they were all working so hard to construct a suitable living space during the daylight hours, but he figured current circumstances took priority.

He glanced down at the human held in his upper arms, noting that they seemed to have drifted back into unconsciousness again. On the way to camp, they’d jerked awake every few strides, blearily struggling and even attempting to bite him through the gag, and then fade back into a hazy near-sleep the moment their panicked energy died out. He didn’t want to wake them up again, especially before he could explain to the others that he hadn’t just randomly abducted a stranger.

The ideal one to wake up first would be Patton, but with his human arms full and his first friend’s lingering phobias… Virgil shuffled over to where Logan lay, instead. With a front leg, he carefully tapped at Logan’s shoulder until his friend began to stir. “Psst, hey. Logan.”

“Virgil, what–,” he muttered, squinting up at him as he sat up and fumbled for his lenses. “Is that a corpse?”

“Shhh!” Virgil hissed, which admittedly was not the most reassuring response he could have given to that particular question. “They need help.”

Logan adjusted his glasses and blinked once, catlike, at the sight of the stranger and their bindings. “It would certainly seem so. Who is this?”

“I don’t really… know?” Virgil replied, looking sheepishly away from Logan’s raised eyebrows. “Someone left them tied up and bleeding in the woods. I think they might be feverish, but I’m not sure. They’re shaking, but that could also just be from, y’know, fear.”

Midway through the process of pushing himself up to standing, Logan paused for a moment. “If they’re from the nearby town, there’s no reason for them to be afraid of you. Your actions in rescuing one of their own should have spoken for themselves.”

Maybe that was how it worked when you were a normal human, but it wasn’t how things had ever gone for Virgil. He could easily recall just how sharply the stranger had flinched back at his approach. “They were definitely scared, Lo.”

“How illogical,” Logan commented, dusting himself off.

Virgil backed up to give him room, his lips quirking up into a half-smile at Logan’s attempt to hearten him. “They were trapped and injured, and I’m a giant spider monster. It’s at least a little logical. Should we wake the others?”

Logan shot him a look but let the change in subject pass. “We’ll have to rekindle the fire for more light in order to properly assess their injuries, so we may as well. Use some of the spare linen and get them laid down, I’ll wake them and then go retrieve some fresh water. In the meantime, look them over and make sure there’s no excessive bleeding.”

Personally, Virgil felt that any amount of bleeding coming from a stab wound was excessive, but he didn’t argue, only nodding as he lowered himself into a squat and began pulling some of the spare blankets into a makeshift cushion for the stranger.

There were murmured exchanges behind him, presumably Logan filling the other two in, and the slow increase of light from both the freshly-fed campfire and the dawn, slowly breaking over the horizon. Virgil set the stranger down on their back and carefully used a small knife to cut off the portion of pant leg covering the wound, making sure he kept the sharp edge turned away from them, just in case they woke again.

The gash wasn’t terribly deep, but it was long enough that leaving it unattended all night had been a bad idea. The bleeding had slowed to a crawl, at least, though the inflamed edges of the wound weren’t promising. The sooner Logan got back so they could clean the injury out, the better.

Behind him, he could hear the odd two-limbed steps of one of his humans. Oh, good. Hopefully, a more human presence would help the stranger if they abruptly snapped back to consciousness again.

“What’s all this abou— good heavens is that a dead body?!” Roman half-shrieked in surprise, loud enough to startle nearby songbirds into scattering from the treetops.

The stranger’s eyes slit open as their body twitched in preemptive panic, and the sight of Roman staring down at them with eyes wide as tree rings didn’t seem to reassure them even a little, as their gaze immediately flickered to Virgil and became vicious again. Fantastic.

“I’m guessing Logan didn’t actually fill you in, then,” Virgil muttered, massaging his temples in an attempt to ward off the headache that was rapidly forming. At least the stranger seemed too out of it to do more than glare.

“Seeing as he didn’t mention anything about our apparent hostage situation, no, I guess not!” Roman shot back, voice reaching new levels of high-pitched. He glanced over his shoulder as though he expected them to be mobbed at any moment.

“They were like that when I found them,” Virgil said, trying and failing to not be fond about Roman immediately claiming co-custody of the newest issue Virgil had dragged into their camp. “Someone left them tied to a post and bleeding, they were out there the entire night.”

“The town seemed a little large to be doing something as archaic as sacrifices,” Roman said, frowning. “I felt fairly certain we thoroughly checked the forest to make sure it wasn’t occupied by any other territorial residents, too. Did we miss someone?”

Virgil grimaced. “It might be because of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Roman proclaimed, with an awful lot of confidence for someone who had wholeheartedly believed Virgil was a maneater upon their first meeting. “Nobody from the town has even seen you, anyhow!”

“Well…,” Virgil trailed off sheepishly as Roman whipped around to face him. “There was a kid who got lost a few days ago, and I was worried she was going to try crossing the river while the current was strong, so I couldn’t leave and get one of you guys…”

“Did you explain anything?” Roman asked, tone resigned. “Like, anything at all? Even a little?”

“…I didn’t speak to anyone except the kid,” Virgil admitted, drawing his legs in defensively. “I didn’t want to get stabbed!”

“Who’s gettin’ stabbed?” Patton asked, having finally dragged himself free of his bedroll. He still had a blanket pulled tightly around his shoulders as he wandered over.

“Nobody!” said Roman.

“Me, theoretically,” answered Virgil at the same time.

“Well, that’s not very knife of them— Um,” Patton drew to a halt, staring at the stranger they were now all crouched around. “Hold on, it looks like it might actually be this guy who got stabbed? Are we kidnapping people for realsies now, or did someone just try to stab Virgil again?”

“Hey, I got over that,” Roman protested, and Virgil snickered despite the situation. “And no, we found this one pre-stabbed, apparently. Sort of a dashing rescue situation, I believe.”

“Oh.” Patton tilted his head consideringly, unperturbed by the stranger’s slit-eyed stare. “Why’re they still gagged, then?”

“… Damn it.” Virgil dragged a hand down his face, exhausted. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

“Allow me, my amnesiac arachnid friend,” Roman replied, and reached forward to find the knot in the makeshift fabric muzzle.

The stranger went tense, and Virgil hurriedly grabbed Roman by the scruff and pulled him clear just in time, as they jerked forward sharply with curved fangs bared around the gag, making Roman reel further back with a yelp.

The gesture was violent but completely ineffectual, especially since waiting a few moments longer would have given them a much better chance of actually sinking their teeth into something. Going by the distant glaze to their vision, the stranger was barely coherent, working off instinct alone. Virgil was sort of reminded of a snake snapping forward, or maybe a cornered cat swiping with claws extended.

He set Roman down a safe few meters away, anyhow. Desperation was the quickest way to dangerous behavior, in his experience.

“My goodness, that was certainly uncalled for,” Roman said, a bit miffed. “I’ve had more than enough experience getting bitten by someone likely venomous, thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” Virgil replied graciously, and then ducked away from Roman’s attempt to punch his shoulder. “What? I got over that, didn’t I?”

“Guys,” Patton called, voice cutting through Roman’s grumbling. “I think they’ve got a fever.”

He had a palm pressed to the stranger’s head, and though they were shifting slightly like they wanted to jerk away, the motions were feeble. Their earlier attack had clearly taken a lot out of them.

As Patton began shuffling them into a more comfortable position, Virgil ended up hovering nervously anyhow. He really didn’t want to find out whether or not that venom was lethal, especially not if the person it was being tested on was Patton.

Roman had moved to begin the process of rekindling their campfire, but it was the sunrise that ended up casting enough light for everyone else to see the glinting scales along one half of the stranger’s face.

“Wow, they’re so shiny!” Patton said, completely unperturbed. After facing his biggest phobia to befriend Virgil, he’d developed an entirely blase attitude towards any and all other mythological creatures and related magic that they’d encountered. He still hid from regular spiders, though.

Roman glanced over and did a visible double take. “I’d just like to check– we’re certain we aren’t abducting an actual dragon, right?”

“If they were a dragon, they would have returned to their giant, way more armored and defensible form, and we would have had much bigger problems than one measly snapping turtle impression,” Virgil replied dryly, and then tacked on, “... probably.”

He didn’t know any magic that could contain a dragon in a smaller form, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any out there. The idea made the hair along his back prickle on end. Better to stay cautious– dragons held grudges like one wouldn’t believe.

“I’ll look after them, if you guys don’t mind me taking a break from working on the homestead for a while.” Since he’d already kidnapped the guy, probably better that he was the only one to potentially incur any draconic wrath. Plus, he was good enough at dodging to avoid being bitten, something he couldn’t confidently say about any of his humans.

“Really?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were worried about scaring them?”

“I worry about a lot of things,” Virgil replied unhelpfully.

“Yeah, and I’m sure once they’re a little more conscious, they’ll see there’s nothing to be scaled of!” Patton contributed, and Virgil muffled a snort.

“You’re the one who got invested in the situation in the first place, I suppose,” Roman said with a shrug. “The real challenge is going to be keeping Sir Spectacles away from anyone who looks like they’d make an excellent primary source for his bestiary.”

“Are we talking about my research?” Logan asked, hauling a bucket of water into the clearing with the same mild disgruntlement he applied to all menial labor. “I’m not opposed, but aren’t there more pressing matters to address at the moment– oh.”

He drew up short, eyebrows raising at the sight of the stranger’s scales, and quickly set the bucket down to begin fumbling for one of the notebooks he always had tucked into his vest.

Virgil sighed, and pretended he wasn’t endeared. “First aid first, Lo. Interrogation and observation can wait.”

“Ah, right,” Logan agreed, a bit put out. “Let’s find a more suitable area for them to rest in– the sun will be overhead before we know it. Of course, we have no way of knowing whether or not they’re exothermic…”

Virgil shook his head, amused despite himself, as Logan trailed off into muttering to himself even as he returned to the task at hand. When he glanced down at the stranger, it was clear to see that they’d lapsed back into hazy unconsciousness, which was both worrying and a bit relieving.

At the very least, he’d have to ensure that they’d be spared Logan’s intense brand of curiosity until they felt a little more coherent.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi! Do you have any tips how to not lose interest in a story and be enough interested to start/do write if? Personally I just get hyperfixated on a story idea I have, do the brainstorming, even the planning, sometimes world building and if I get serious I make lists about almost everything but never end up writing even if I have interest still, but at most cases at the point I could start writing I just loose interest and get bored of a story when I'm done figuring out what it'll be about and maybe because I don't really like thinking about the climax or the end of the story...

Hyperfixation on Planning Story, But Can't Write It

I do have some tips on rekindling your interest in your story, which I'll link below, but first I think it's worth addressing the specific issues you mentioned: that you don't like to think about the climax or end of the story.

Have you thought at all about why you feel that way? There are a few potential reasons I can think of:

1 - Your story doesn't have a conflict, so your story doesn't have a natural climax or ending. Stories revolve around conflict, or in other words a problem that needs to be solved. This problem could be in the character's heart and mind (internal conflict), in the character's situation/life/world (external conflict), or you can have both at the same time. Many stories these days have a parallel internal and external conflict. Stories are ultimately about someone (or a bunch of someones) trying to solve a problem. In order to solve that problem, they need to reach a particular goal or accomplish a particular thing. The bulk of the story will be their struggle to reach this goal as they overcome the obstacles along the way. The climax of the story is where they face down the cause of the conflict once and for all, whether that's a villain (like an evil wizard or corrupt corporation) or a force (like illness or a natural disaster) and try to solve the problem once and for all. Everything after that is the aftermath... whether they succeeded or failed, patching up their "wounds" from the "battle" (again, it doesn't have to be actual wounds or an actual battle), and settling into the post-conflict life. That's your ending.

2 - You have a conflict, but haven't figured out how it would be resolved, so the climax and ending are fuzzy. If you have a conflict but aren't sure how it would be resolved, it might help to think of the conflict as a problem that needs to be solved. For example, in The Hunger Games, the conflict was the Hunger Games Event... the problem was that Katniss volunteered to compete which put her life at risk. So the solution to the problem was to survive the event.

3 - You know what the climax and ending are, but you are enjoying the characters and world and don't want the story to end. This is one I think many writers can relate to. It can be really hard to let go of a story when you've enjoyed writing it, have gotten attached to the characters, and feel comfortable/familiar with the world. It can also be a little scary to think about diving into a whole new story. But, we do have to learn to let go of stories when they're finished and let them come to their natural conclusion. You can always go back to the world and characters, even if just for yourself, later on. It wouldn't be weird to write "fan-fiction" of your own story, and many writers turn these kinds of stories into prequels, sequels, companion series, and companion short stories that their readers enjoy, too.

Here are some tips for getting excited about your story again if you just need your motivation rekindled:

Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write 5 Reasons You Lost Interest in Your WIP, Plus Fixes! Getting Excited About Your Story Again Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists Feeling Unmotivated with WIP

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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