#unlike the prompt with was originally from | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skzdarlings · 6 months ago

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the rescue ; skz; aotm!hyunjin x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood: ❛ i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty. ❜ would 100000% fit Hyunjin 🩶 + requested by anonymous: ❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜ with hyunjin? thank you

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: artist of the month!hyunjin was inspo here. gangster stuff, reader has been kidnapped and is in a see through nightdress, most violence off page though, bad guy hyunjin who is actually a good guy, arranged marriage, multiple smut scenes, not great communication but gets better lol. smut includes fingering, blow jobs, pussy eating, piv, spanking, light choking, husband/wife kink. word count: 6300 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

“I’ve already explained,” you say, equal parts frustrated and exhausted. “My husband isn’t coming for me.”

The gangster cronies still don’t seem to understand. You are tied to a chair in their basement (because they are preposterously corny goons, tying you up like a comically silly damsel in a ridiculous film) while they berate you for your husband’s tardiness.

You have tried explaining, over and over, that Hyunjin is not coming, but they won’t accept that answer. The fools try in vain to reach him again, but his line leads straight to a dial tone.

He went radio silent after the initial video contact, when your captors demanded a price for your healthy return.

Hyunjin was quiet on the call. Your husband is a quiet man in general, though he knows how to use his charms and work a room, and he has certainly perfected the art of severe intimidation. When your marriage was arranged, one mob family to the other, you mistakenly assumed you were marrying a monster.

Hyunjin is very reserved when not conducting business. He doesn’t engage in any of the more debauched sides of the business, unlike the men in your family. Evenings at home are silent and still, the penthouse view of the glittering cityscape the only real bustle.

Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised you. When he took over his family’s business, Hyunjin altered a lot of their practices, cutting the crueler sectors, opting for illicit crimes of more practical varieties.

The country is in a political chokehold, government affairs conducted none too differently from the criminal underworld. The cops are all dirty, the politicians corrupt, the wealthy depraved. Hyunjin has taken it upon himself to alleviate the pressure suffered by the regular people, the civilians who truly pay the price of a broken system.

In a world with no good guys, sometimes only villains can be heroes.

You think of his face now, how he certainly looked the part of a villain on the video call. Hyunjin has a very austere demeanour, exacerbated by his severe appearance: sharp marble features and dark, vicious eyes often further darkened with heavy lining, sleek black hair, scattered scars and tattoos, and the sort of regard that judges at a glance. He is young, but he has the air of a man who has already traversed the universe and found it wanting.

You think of his face now, the silent perusal he gave your bound body on that video call. You are dressed in your favourite nightgown, your underthings partially visible through the light material, but it was not willingly donned. At the time of your kidnapping, you were attired appropriately for the wealthy wife of a famous gangster. You were returning from a family visit when your captors intercepted you in transit from the airport.

Either to intimidate or threaten or just because they could, they made you remove all your jewelry and fine clothes. They rifled through your luggage and demanded you change into the nightgown.

Hyunjin recognized the nightdress, realized you must have been stripped, and likely inferred the very worst.

“Address,” was the only word Hyunjin said. He ended the call seconds later.

“Oh, he’ll come,” your captor says. He points at you with a hand that feels more threatening than a knife. It makes your terrified heart leap into your throat. “Or else.”

“He won’t, though!” you exclaim. “You’re wasting your time!”

They are not listening. They leave the basement, slamming the door behind them.

You huff and settle back in your bonds.

It is only a matter of time before they realize you are telling the truth. Hyunjin will not waste the money or resources to rescue you. He has always been respectful of the marriage arrangement, but your husband is not sentimental. There is a professional distance between you. His decision will be based in the logic of all his strategies: nothing personal, just a matter of business.

You sometimes see a different side of him, something buried under that quiet intensity. He collects fine art and spends hours poring over his favourite pieces, listening to music, losing himself to artistic fantasies. He always comes back, but you know there are other worlds in his mind.

Every attempt to bridge the gap has been gently rebuffed, but there have been moments when your husband seems curious about you. You often catch him staring. He gets a wistful look that softens his face, even with that shield of make-up. His eyes are gentle when you talk about your passions. You never let his quietude deter your friendly penchant for chatter. He seems more than content to listen. He remembers everything too.

You know he finds you attractive, if nothing else. He has caved on that front several times over, though not right away. He didn’t touch you on the wedding night, nor the honeymoon. He left your beach holiday early to return to business, leaving you in a villa with security and his credit card. It was the first time you realized the material world was no replacement for true companionship. You missed his dark eyes.

Your family also had expectations. There would be consequences if the marriage fell through. You would be blamed, not him. Worried he would renege on the nuptials, you did everything to try and seduce him.

He politely rejected you at every turn.

Just when you were resigned, he arrived home after a job. It was almost three in the morning when he entered the penthouse. You have separate bedrooms but they share a connecting bathroom. You could hear him cursing above the running water.

You only meant to peek. The sliding door on your side was partially ajar so you tip-toed over.

Hyunjin was standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, pressing a rag to his wounded shoulder. There was a mess of blood streaked down his back, making you gasp at the terrible mosaic of pain, his body littered with violent scars.

That gasp contained multitudes, for the horror, for his beauty. His dark eyes were as severely lined as ever, expression intense as he breathed hard through the pain. Smooth black hair fell across his face when he tipped his head.

He froze at the sound of your gasp. His turn was very slow, eyes peeking through the curtain of his short hair. They captured yours.

You held your breath.

Eventually, he straightened, flicking his hair out of his face. He looked in the mirror and sighed.

“You can come in,” he said. “This is your home too.”

You slid the door open, just enough to squeeze through. Your attention was utterly transfixed on his bleeding shoulder. You could see the wound was a thin stripe. It was not deep so stitches were not necessary, but it was slightly out of his reach as it sloped towards his back.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you said, thoughtlessly taking the rag right out of his hands.

In spite of the violence that raised you, or maybe because of it, you can’t stand to see suffering. You and Hyunjin have had that in common from the start. You were quick to help him clean the wound, wordlessly wiping all the blood then applying cream across the clotted cut.

He flinched when the stinging cream made contact. You went to apologize but your words evaporated when your eyes met through the mirror. You were surprised to find him already looking at you, that expressive gaze as thoughtful as ever.

“How did this happen?” you couldn’t help but ask, eyes rivetted to his reflection. “You – you have people to protect you.” You managed to rip your gaze away, looking at your task, feeling hot in the face.

“I do,” he said. “But I’d never ask someone to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”

This did not surprise you to hear. It is obvious that Hyunjin cares very deeply about the wellbeing of other people. It is a fact known to few. It aggravates you at times, but his reputation does not seem to bother him. He would rather people think him a monster while he secretly does good rather than be praised in public while cruel in private.

You have never known another man like him. Looking at that scar that night, the realization truly struck you.

Your fingers began to tremble where they brushed his bare skin, your eyes widening as you looked at the scar and many others. If something happened to him, what would become of you? Certainly, as his widow, you would be financially sound, but what did that matter? This world would lose something irreplaceable if it lost Hwang Hyunjin. This penthouse could be brimming with silver and gold and it would be empty, worthless.

Tears in your eyes, you succumbed to desire, kissing him very gently on his hurt shoulder.

“Hyunjin,” you said, your eyes closed, lips grazing his skin as you spoke. “Please make sure you always come home, okay?”

He did not answer at first. When you lifted your eyes and looked in the mirror, those dark eyes were so enflamed that you were surprised nothing caught fire.

“Hyunjin?” you said softly.

“You mean that,” he said, not quite a question, more like a realization.

“Of course,” you replied. You looked at his scarred back again, let your fingertips brush down the length of his spine. It made him stand a little straighter. “Have you ever known me to lie?” you asked.

He finally turned around, looking at you with an long-engrained wariness, but also a hunger. He was a starving man presented with a banquet, but one who did not easily trust when sitting at someone else’s table.

“You’re a smart woman,” he said. “I know that. And I know that you’re – good.”

Good was an exhale, like the word was too heavy for his tongue. You realized that his wariness was less suspicion for you than hesitation regarding himself. He was only starving because he though himself undeserving of the meal he wanted.

“You’ve seen – and done – many bad things tonight, haven’t you?” you asked.

Having the full force of his gaze was overwhelmingly heady. You remember how it made your heart race like you were being chased, your breath catching over and over until you were almost panting.

Arousal struck quickly, a sensation like you never experienced before. You thought you understood attraction, but not until that moment when he released a breath, so close to your face, and you became truly aware of his proximity. Of him, of all that he was, all that he did. His character, his hidden depths.

Your husband.

It made your racing heart thunder something fierce, your blood pumping hotly, throbbing places you did not know were so sensitive.

You desperately wondered what was on his mind. The gears in his head were spinning and whirring, delaying his response. Was he feeling the same tension? Were his thoughts the same realization?

My wife.

“Yes,” he finally said.

“Is there something I can do to help?” you asked.

His tattooed hand cupped your head, tilting it just so. It made your lips part with a gasp, eyelids heavy with anticipation for a kiss.

He took his time looking at you, like he was scrubbing all those bad memories away, replacing them with the flustered look on his aroused wife’s face.

“Yes,” he said again, and kissed you for the first time.

You were so glad he rebuffed your previous half-hearted advances, clumsy seductions made out of obligation rather than desire. It was so different to that kiss. You would not have known how to even ask for a kiss like that. You never knew what you were missing.

Your quiet husband and his multitudes. All that simmering intensity, hot just below the surface of his icy demeanour, burned right through his skin. His kiss was ravishing, entirely possessive, like he wished to take your whole essence into him and hold it forever.

He walked you backwards. With a snap of his wrist, he slid the door open the rest of the way, so sharp that it tried to bounce back. He continued onward, kissing you until you were dizzy with it.

He picked you up just to put you on the bed himself. Your kiss separated only then as you landed with a bounce and a breath.

He loomed over the edge of the bed, this man who was both stranger and husband, hero and villain. He looked at you like he already loved you. He looked at you and saw the reciprocation. You had fallen for him without realizing you had ever even stumbled.

He ran his hands through his hair, the sleek black locks fluttering back into place. His eyes were still rivetted to your face, to your body. You were wearing the nightdress you are wearing now. It is why it became your favourite.

He looked down at you, the material translucent enough to see the details of your body. It broke through that last layer of ice. He surrendered with a choked breath.

He unclasped a holster on his thigh, dropped a knife that was hidden in a pocket. Once unarmed, his hands went to his belt. You watched those nimble, efficient fingers, swallowing hard. You were aching to an embarrassing degree, undoubtedly obvious in your desires. No one ever warned you it would feel like this, just being looked at, never mind touched.

Then his belt was on the floor and he touchedyou for real. His calloused hands moved up your thighs, pushing the nightdress up and out of his way. He climbed on top of you, swift as a feline, mouth descending onto yours with that same desperate hunger as before.

Recollection makes you crave another kiss. You think you will always be starving for more.

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, hands on his face, his shoulders, down to his chest.

He took your hands and laced your fingers with his, pinning those hands to the bed. He kissed you again, long and slow. It was all more sensual than desperate.

His voice, however, was desperate when he begged, “Let me make you feel good, please.” He kissed down your face, your jaw, your throat. “Please, my wife.” He kissed further down still, through your nightdress, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue, wetting the material and awakening every nerve beneath it. “My wife,” he repeated.

“My husband.” The words left your lips in a dizzy, delirious whisper.

It was all the confirmation he needed. Those deft and skilled hands, so quick to assemble weapons and pull triggers, applied themselves with a startling gentleness. He took you apart and put you together with the same efficient ease.

He hooked his fingers in the only material between him and his desire, tugged it out of his way. His fingers went to you, slipping through all that wetness. Those intense eyes rolled back even though it was just his fingers inside you, then he closed his eyes like it was too much, and it seemed he had to temper himself, murmuring nonsense as he let his fingers sink into you.

He kissed you again, drinking down every sigh and gasp and moan while he fucked you with his long fingers. It was like he could taste your pleasure, like he was trying to get drunk on it, every noise you made filling his mouth. He gave them back and brought you over a peak, first with his hands, then with his mouth. He laid between your legs and put your thighs around his head, losing himself entirely in you.

He did not remove a single article of your clothing nor his pants, not that first time. He simply held the material to the side as he unzipped and finally got inside you. It made your whole body keen, coming to life like it never had before. You forgot all your sensibilities and let every wanton sound and action loose.

He responded in kind. His kiss tasted like your pleasure, his heart pounding as fast as yours where your chests pressed together. You were careful near his injured shoulder, fingertips dodging scars. Your soft touch made him whimper, this powerful man entirely undone by a few caresses.

His skin was hot and he worked up a sweat, but his stamina seemed endless. He always wanted more.

You fell asleep tucked in his arms, content to believe the walls had crumbled. However, they revealed themselves in the morning light, as concrete as ever. He slipped away and left a note to excuse his absence as he was called away to business. You thought about phoning or messaging him, but those lines were not always secure, not for such intimate conversations.

When he returned a few days later, he hid behind those concrete walls, but too much had changed. There was now an awareness of your proximity and your distance. The lack of intimacy was not called into question before, the absence of something being a nothing. But now that nothing was something, or had been something for a moment, and it made you both very aware of how it was now missing – and anticipating always when it might again appear.

He tried very hard to keep away, to stay cordial at best, his habitual quietude even heavier than before. But while his silence was significant, so was his glance. Every time you turned around, he was already looking at you, a longing in his eyes and a thought on his lips that he never dared to speak aloud.

You granted him some distance for a time. When it became abundantly obvious he was holding himself in check, you realized that your own vulnerability was required to bridge the gap.

One night you crossed through the bathroom, slid open the door on his side. You found him at his desk, dressed down in a white dress shirt and pants. His blazer was discarded on the floor, his face still made up.

He stood quickly when you entered, though he didn’t say anything.

It was strange to imagine this man would need any reassurance, but you felt that was the case. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, his roving eyes studious.

You said nothing. You approached him, laid your hands on his chest, and gently guided him back into his chair. He sat slowly, his eyes on your face the entire time, even when he had to tip his head back to peer up at you.

You ran your fingers through his hair. When you entered the room, his face was tightly screwed in an expression of aggravation, but all those harsh lines softened as you traced a thumb down the sharp slope of his cheek.

There were some wipes on his desk. You took one and began to carefully remove that shield of dark make-up. His hand lifted but not to stop you, simply to rest his palm on your waist. He began to really touch you, feeling the shape of your body through your robe as you helped him come back to himself.

“Hello,” you finally said, looking at his bare face. Still impossibly beautiful.

“Hello,” he replied.

His fingertips dipped towards the hem of the robe. Before he could distract you with your own pleasure, you sunk to your knees in front of him. This startled him, his hand frozen in the air as you fit yourself between his open knees.

He caught your hand, his reflexes fast, before it could reach his fly. You could see he was already affected, a heavy bulge in the black material making your mouth water and core tighten.

He squeezed your hand and you looked up at his face. He tipped his head, blinked rapidly, an expression of mild confusion.

You took your hand back and unknotted your robe. The silk fell from your shoulders and down, sliding like water right off your body. You were completedly naked underneath.

It clarified everything, his confusion gone, replaced with surprise.

“You—” he began. It was interrupted when you put your head in his lap, resting on his thigh. You led his hand to the back of your neck and kissed him through his pants. It made his fingers clasp tighter around you.

“Please,” you said.

He would never deny you anything. Not the smallest gift nor grandest gesture. When you started a new charity to further your combined philanthropic efforts, he spared no expense in aiding the endeavour. You shared passions, and now you shared this.

He was stiff at the start, but gradually let himself go lax in his seat. His hand kept a steady grip on the back of your neck, not guiding but holding, like he thought you might disappear otherwise. He murmured your name, letting his head fall back as you worked him in your mouth.

You intended to make him finish like that, seeking nothing for yourself at that precise moment. He had other ideas, needing more of your shared pleasure to take him over that brink.

He lifted your face, adjusted his pants, and was on his feet in a matter of seconds. That hand on your neck dragged you up, up, up until your naked body was pressed against his clothed one. He clung to you needily, claiming your mouth in a wanting kiss.

His hands moved over you, every new inch of skin making him moan as he walked you towards the bed. The kiss only broke when you both sat down, his lips against yours as he breathed, almost smiling, “My pretty wife.”

“Hyunjin,” you said, shaking your head, feeling suddenly shy just because of a simple compliment.

He did not allow you to curl into yourself with any shame. When you tried, he seized you, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled it. His eyes moved up and down your body, hands following, from your thighs to hips to waist and up.

“What are you doing?” you said, laughing helplessly when he kissed somewhere ticklish on your throat. The sound made him smile, even softer than before, though it turned a little wicked as his mouth went lower.

“I’m simply enjoying the view,” he said, then wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your breast, ran his tongue up and over. He licked and kissed back up to your mouth. “It’s not everyday I get to fuck someone so pretty.”

As he said this, he opened his pants again, eyes on yours as he grabbed your thighs and moved you so he could thrust up into you. His hips moved with a slow roll, letting you adjust to him. It had been a little while, and this angle was different.

And Hyunjin is not small. Your husband is built in perfect proportion, his body a long, hard, slender build – everything inside you at that moment was no exception. This angle made you whimper, clinging to him like he was a life preserver in a storm. The roll of his hips kept coming like waves and you were sure you would drown otherwise.

Your arms were around his neck, his graceful but strong hands digging into the meat of your thighs as he fucked you. He felt impossibly deep, every upward stroke feeling like it was bursting past something, pushing everything inside your body up to your throat.

You swallowed again and again, the taste of him still on your lips, the feel of him inside every inch of you. You clenched and tightened involuntarily, just pure animal reaction, and it made him moan and find all those sweet spots to make it happen again.

“Help,” was your somewhat nonsensical request, blurted in the midst of some moaning babbling.

Fortunately, he was and is a smart man. He understood. He clasped you tight to his body and fell back on the bed, thrusting up into you with sharper, more focussed determination, faster until you were weeping on his chest, delirious with pleasure. His shirt was unbuttoned and you accidentally ripped a few buttons right off, trying to press your face to bare skin.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said as you tumbled over a height you never reached before. You never knew you could come just from that, stimulated somewhere so deep inside you, but it made you come undone in his arms.

He watched you unravel and it made him follow, clinging to you as he just barely pulled out before coming between your dripping thighs. It was all so messy and wet, your legs trembling, but it felt so good that it hardly mattered.

He caught his breath, then looked at your face just lose that breath again. He moaned and dragged you in for another kiss.

Then you were on your back, the night far from over.

That second night is the one that truly opened the door to more. Though your husband can be reticent in other regards, he is not quiet when he is inside you. You have come together again and again, a conversation with your bodies as you look for pleasure in a dangerous world. You always find it, tucked in the protective circle of his arms, wrapped around every inch of him.

You have been out of his arms for too long. Your visit to your family grew tedious before long. Your home is with Hyunjin now and you were eager to return.

Now it seems you may never see it again. You may never see him again.

No.

Just like the night when you took control for yourself, you must take control now. You realize if anything is to happen, then you must take the reins of your own rescue. You would not want Hyunjin to compromise himself or his important business. You know if something bad happened to you, it would weigh on his conscious, even if it was the better business decision. You must eliminate the need for choice.

It turns out, comical rope bindings are truly best suited for silly movies. When the men come to check on you again, you have slipped free of your bindings. There was an array of weapons in the room, so carelessly disposed because the assailants never assumed you would get free – or, if you did get free, that you would not know how to use them.

It is true, you do not like violence.

That does not mean you do not understand it.

You leave the two men unconscious in their basement. Unfortunately, you cannot find your suitcase and you do not want to hang around, so you venture outside in your nightgown. You are debating your next move when a car pulls into the driveway.

You back away quickly, raising the gun you stole as more men get out of the vehicle. You only stay your hand because you recognize one of them, though it takes a second to place him as one of Hyunjin’s lieutenants.

Then Hyunjin emerges. You have seen your husband before and after a confrontation, but never during it. If you thought he was an intimidating figure in the aftermath, he is all danger and darkness as he storms up the driveway now. There is such an energy radiating from him, it makes you stumble and forget yourself entirely.

Then he stumbles, recognizing you. You are both startled, staring at each other with the gun raised between you.

He looks nowhere but your eyes.

“Hyunjin?” you finally say.

“I—” He looks at you, the gun, the nightdress. He shakes his head. Some of that bravado returns when he says, “I’m here to save you.”

“Ah,” you say. You slowly lower the gun, at a loss how to reply. You were so resigned to the idea this was all still business. The reality of your husband risking himself to rescue you from unknown hostiles is making your heart pound.

In the end, all you can think to say is, “Sorry. You’re late.”

That wicked smile crosses his face, his tongue pushing at the corner of his mouth. He is suddenly nothing but amused, looking at you, then at the house.

“I can see that,” he says.

He whistles sharply and gestures to the house with a gloved hand. His lieutenants run past you and charge the door, no doubt heading inside to finish the job you started.

You turn to watch them go. In your distraction, Hyunjin grabs your arm. He is fast, effectively disarming you. He catches the gun with a twirl before tossing it aside.

It is not the gun he wants; it’s you.

Still holding your wrist, he tugs you into him. You throw your arms around him. The hug is surprisingly chaste, his face in your neck as he squeezes you like it is the only thing keeping him alive and standing.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

When in his arms, it seems impossible to consider you could ever feel any pain.

You shake your head, daring to kiss his cheek. He turns his face to yours, your lips close enough to brush in a swipe.

“I’m all right now,” you say. “Sorry I beat you to the punch. I – I wasn’t sure if—”

His brow crinkles. That gloved hand goes from your wrist to your chin, seizing it between thumb and forefinger. He tips your head so he can look at your face. He always regards you like he does one of his masterpieces, like he can never get his fill, like there is always something new to find. He is enchanted every time.

“You’re mine,” he says. “And I take care of what belongs to me.”

You gasp when those fingers go from your chin to your throat, just enough to pull you in that last breath of a space. He kisses you there in the sunlight, utterly shameless.

��Do not ever doubt that,” he says. His eyes are soft with his affection, but his voice is hard, skirting the edge of a threat he would issue an adversary. It makes you tingle from head to toe. “Do I need to remind you?”

You never actually answer. You are not sure if your answer would have made a difference, as Hyunjin is determined to show you the very second you are home.

You reach the penthouse. There is no time to shower or decompress once you cross the threshhold. He sweeps you off your feet, your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist. You are wearing his blazer over your nightdress to preserve your modesty – not that it will last long.

He carries you to the bedroom where so many slow and subtle exchanges took place. Now, he is not slow or subtle. He is a force of nature. He tells you that he held no greater fear than losing you and he tried to keep his distance, but he regretted it the moment he saw you on that video call.

“You’re my wife,” he says, peeling his blazer off your body. “I’m your husband. There is nothing I should be holding back.”

“Yes,” you say, running your fingers through that smooth black hair. You shiver as he bunches the fabric of your nightdress, the material spilling over his fingers. “Don’t hold back,” you say, mouth open against his, stealing his every breath. “Do whatever you want.”

He tells you exactly what he wants, using his words for a change, finally letting those walls come down. He whispers every filthy thought into your ear, between kisses, between bites. You shiver at every suggestion.

And so, moments later, he is sitting on your bed. He arranges you to lay across his lap, facedown in the pillows while he runs his hands down your spine and over the curve of your ass.

“You’re my wife,” he says. The first tap of his open palm is through the thin material of your nightdress. It is truly just a warning tap, just enough to make you bounce. “Don’t ever doubt me again,” he says, swinging that strong hand a little harder.

This time a yelp escapes your lips. You wriggle until he pins you down, a hand on the back of your neck and the other lifting your dress. He already stripped your underthings, his open palm smoothing down all that bare skin.

You tingle with anticipation, braced yet still unprepared for the sharp smack he next delivers. You feel it tingle all the way up to your head, as well as the next one, and the next. You squirm under his firm grip, groaning his name as your thighs get tense and press together.

“Don’t say my name,” he says, and smacks you again. “Who am I?”

“M-my husband,” you say, practically mewling like a kitten when he next brings his hand down. “My husband,” you say again.

“And you are—”

“Your wife,” you say, though it comes out almost like a sob, a desperate gasp as he slips his fingers between your thighs and finds a new way to torture you. With your backside hot and stinging, the pleasure of his hand in that sensitive place feels amplified by a tenfold.

“Husband,” you say, hips bucking. His free hand goes from the back of your neck to your lower spine, holding you in his lap as he slowly finger-fucks you.

“Yes?” he says.

You do not even remember what you were going to say, or beg, or plead. You are overcome with sensation, tingling all over, intensifying the press of his fingers as he curls his fingers into that soft, soft place. Then you are really squirming, helplessly, instinctively, whining into the pillows.

“I make you feel good,” he says. “I take care of you. You, who are so good, and so smart, but so—”

You cry out when he angles his hand just a little differently. Your vision swims with stars as he speeds up.

“So soft,” he says, his own voice going soft, just a whisper as he makes you come all over his hand in a throbbing, aching, desperate wet mess. “Just for me,” he says in that whisper. “Just for your husband.”

“Mmmf,” is all the response you have left in you.

Your thighs are trembling and your pussy throbbing with aftershocks when he picks you up. He stands and turns, laying you on your side in the bed. You are grateful, as your backside still stings, though you suspect he is not done yet.

He strips out of his clothes, tearing through his shirt, leaving the pants in a heap. He forgets to remove his necklace. All that silver is cold against your hot skin as he lays down behind you. You do not have time to linger on it, as he gathers up the hem of your dress and adjusts himself behind you.

He has taken you many times, in many ways, many positions. When you are on your hands and knees, he is overtaken by a primal urge, your hips as leverage in his hands as he pounds into you like it is a chase. When you are on your back, he sinks into you slowly and deeply, rocking his hips into yours like he intends to fuck you forever. When you are in his lap, he rolls his hips in steady, needy waves, captivated by the sight of you in his arms.

He lays behind you now and wraps his arms around you, coaxes your thighs apart. Your nightdress is bunched every which way, leaving nothing to the imagination, and you feel especially exposed and vulnerable in this position somehow. Perhaps it is the fact he is the one holding you open, keeping you in position so he can take you.

You let yourself fall into it, fall into him. You let him tell you, with words and actions, exactly how he feels.

Before it ends, you change position. He lays back and you straddle his hips while stripping off your dress entirely. He keeps rolling up into you, only stopping when you plant your hands on his chest to slow him down. Then he practically sinks in the mattress, murmuring your name. His make-up is smudged, his calloused hands rough on your body. Whatever pains you experienced have been overtaken by his hands, by the smarting on your backside, still tender as you bring your body down onto his again and again. He has completely claimed you for himself and you take the same in turn.

“Hyunjin,” you say. “My husband, oh—”

He kisses your hand, long and hard, like he needs his mouth on some part of you desperately. Your fingers are curled into his pretty mouth when he comes, his hands on your hips and his cock buried inside you.

“Oh,” is your final sound before you slump on top of him, skin to skin.

He rolls you onto your side, though he keeps you wrapped around him, his arms around you in turn. His hair is already a sweaty mess and you rub your thumb through some of his shadowy make-up, but those familiar dark eyes are gazing at you with so much warmth. There is no more ice, no more cold concrete.

“I should let you rescue me more often,” you say with a laugh.

He doesn’t laugh back, but he does smile softly. It should be incongruous with his severe appearance, but it somehow comes together, layers of him exposed all at once as he strokes your cheek.

He looks at you like his favourite work of art.

“You were the one who rescued you,” he says. “Just like you rescued me.”

You cannot find the words to reply, so you kiss him. It speaks volumes, and he replies, kissing back.

You lose yourself to the sweetness, to the heat, to the passion, to all those things more, knowing there are many more to come with this man as your husband.

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids x you #hyunjin x you #skz x you #valentinesdaystories

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ponderingmoonlight · 6 months ago

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Wicked Games

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: From the second Ryomen Sukuna appears on the surface on earth again, you are bound to each other. Until the Shibuya accident. Until Sukuna gets confronted with the fear of losing you first-hand.

Warnings: angst to fluff y'all, enemies to lovers in a kind of rushed way, this made me think about doing a series with like 5 chapters and a slow burn enemies to lovers with Sukuna x curse!reader - how do you feel about that? <3

Inspired by this prompt:

You remember it as if it was yesterday. The night was cold and eerily quiet when you sprinted through the dark streets, your body buzzing with the vibrations of cursed energy.

The reports had come in just an hour ago: a powerful curse had manifested, and it wasn’t just any ordinary curse. The whispers and especially Gojo spoke of something ancient, something nearly forgotten. Something that had slumbered within the shadows of legends until now.

“Guess what, (y/n)? Megumi found something that might interest you”, Gojo jeered at you through the phone when you already felt it.

Ryomen Sukuna.

You had heard his name your entire life - a dark deity, a figure so terrible that entire villages had been wiped out by his bare hands centuries ago.

Since you were a child, you've been obsessed with him, the so-called "King of Curses." Not because you were drawn to the death and chaos he brought, but because of the mystery he posed. The idea that something so cruel, so powerful, could exist outside the boundaries of human comprehension. As a sorcerer, you committed yourself to understanding curses, to studying their origins, motivations, powers. And there was no greater paradox than Sukuna himself.

But now, he wasn't only a paradox anymore. Now he had returned. They had found one of his fingers. Apparently, someone had consumed it.

“I’m in the middle of souvenir shopping and guessed you wouldn’t mind stepping in and helping little Megumi out.”

"Normally I'd scold you but today...thank you, idiot."

Yuji Itadori, the boy who had swallowed Sukuna’s cursed finger, who brought Sukuna back into the world after centuries of slumber, stood right in your sight along with Megumi Fushiguro. But you couldn’t let yourself worry about the boys; your focus was on the curse now staring straight back at you.

Your fingers tightened on the hilt of your sword, the cursed energy crackling around you like lightning in the dark night. You had prepared your entire life for this moment. The countless hours of sickening training, the sleepless nights spent poring over ancient texts and scrolls, and the battles fought against nameless curses. All of it had led you here, to your first confrontation with the King of Curses.

As you reached the completely destroyed school building where the cursed energy was originating from, you could already feel it. The overwhelming, tyrannical weight of Sukuna’s presence. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, so thick it felt as though it was suffocating you.

You pressed on, despite the nausea building in your chest. There was no time to second-guess yourself. You moved swiftly through the corridors of the building, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. The cursed energy grew heavier with every step, your breathing becoming uneven when the spiteful aura grew stronger. And then, at the far end of the hallway on top of a roof, you saw him.

At first glance, it was a boy, a teenager no older than Megumi. His body was rigid, standing in the middle of that roof, shoulders squared as though fighting an internal battle. But the look on his face, the wicked smile stretched across his lips, told you otherwise. The way his dark eyes gleamed with wicked amusement confirmed what you had feared.

This wasn’t Itadori anymore.

This was Sukuna.

“Interesting...” Sukuna’s voice rumbled from the boy’s throat as his gaze locked onto yours.

His smile widened, predatory and cruel.

“What do we have here? Another little sorcerer, so eager to die?”

You held your ground, your body tense but steady. This was no ordinary curse you were facing. Every instinct screamed at you to flee, but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t, allow fear to take control. Your entire life had been building up to this.

“You’re not getting out of here,” you said, your voice firm.

“Not while I’m here.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. His eyes narrowed, taking you in.

“Brave words, but foolish. Do you really think you can handle me, girl?”

You didn’t respond with words, Instead, you shoved Megumi behind you and let your cursed energy flare to life around you, the air crackling with power. You moved swiftly, launching yourself at him, your blade drawn and poised for the strike.

But Sukuna was fast — faster than you had anticipated. With barely a flicker of movement, he dodged your attack, his grin never faltering. He countered with a swift punch, sending you flying across the air and crashing into the opposite wall. Pain exploded in your chest, and you gasped for breath.

“Is that all?”, Sukuna taunted, his voice filled with mockery as he stalked toward you.

“I expected more from someone who’s been chasing me.”

You coughed, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, but you forced yourself to your feet. Your body ached from the impact, but the adrenaline was stronger. You had trained for this. You wouldn’t go down so easily.

As Sukuna advanced, you focused your cursed energy into a powerful barrier, your eyes blazing with determination. You wouldn’t let him win. Not today.

“Let the boy go,” you demanded, your voice sharper now.

“I’m your opponent now.”

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed at the challenge.

“Bold. But you should know better than to give me orders.”

The battle was swift and brutal. Sukuna’s strikes were relentless, his movements impossibly fast and deadly. You could barely keep up, each of his blows a near-fatal attack. But through it all, you fought with everything you had, refusing to back down.

You’ve studied Sukuna your entire life. You knew his techniques, his fighting style, the cruel unpredictability of his power. But even with all that knowledge, facing him in person was something entirely different. His cursed energy was overwhelming, suffocating, a malevolent force that pressed against your very soul.

And yet, you stood your ground.

As the fight wore on, something shifted in the way Sukuna looked at you. What had started as amusement, as mockery, slowly turned into something else. Curiosity. Interest. Even a hint of admiration.

“You’re not like the others,” he jeered at one point, dodging one of your attacks effortlessly.

His eyes flickered with something dangerous, something… intrigued.

“You’re still standing. Most would have died by now.”

You spat blood onto the ground, your body screaming in agony but your will unbroken.

“I’m not most people.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound dark and throaty.

“No. You’re not.”

That was how it began. The first encounter — your first dance with death and the King of Curses. It didn’t end with your victory or his defeat. No, you knew better than to believe you could win against him in a single battle. But it wasn’t a defeat, either.

It was the beginning of something bigger.

After your first encounter with Sukuna, something within you shifted. Yuji Itadori regained control, but you knew it was only temporary. Sukuna wasn’t gone. He was still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for his next opportunity to take control. And when he did, you were there.

Every. Single. Time.

Every time Sukuna resurfaced, you fought him. It became a twisted routine, an endless game of cat and mouse where neither of you could claim absolute victory. You learned his techniques, his fighting style, and the nuances of his cursed energy. You pushed yourself harder, training longer, grew stronger. And with every battle, Sukuna’s interest in you grew as well.

He began to speak to you during the fights, taunting you, teasing you, but always with that glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. He never seemed eager to kill you, not really. In fact, there were moments, brief, fleeting moments, where he seemed to hold back, almost as if he was enjoying the challenge you presented.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked him one day, your voice strained after yet another brutal fight.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Sukuna’s grin was feral, his eyes glittering dangerously as he wiped the blood from his lips.

“Because you’re amusing,” he replied, his voice low and menacing.

“And because I’m not done with you yet.”

You hated the way his words sent a shiver down your spine, the way his gaze seemed to pierce straight through you. But more than anything, you hated how much you wanted to beat him, to prove yourself against the King of Curses.

As the months passed, you found yourself drawn deeper into Sukuna’s world. You fought him, studied him, and slowly but surely somehow began to understand him. He wasn’t just a mindless monster, not like the other curses you’ve faced. There was something more to Sukuna, something ancient and calculating, a mind sharper than any blade.

And Sukuna, in turn, began to learn more about you. He observed your fighting style, your strategies, your strengths and weaknesses. He pushed you, challenged you, forced you to grow stronger with every battle. There was a strange, unspoken connection between you: a mutual recognition of each other’s strength, a respect born from the countless times you’d clashed.

But there was something else, too. Something neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Something that simmered beneath the surface of every encounter.

You hated him. You despised everything he stood for, the chaos and destruction he brought into the world. But there was a part of you that couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him — the way his presence ignited something fierce and primal within you.

And Sukuna? Sukuna had grown attached to the thrill of facing you. You were unlike anyone he’d ever fought. Strong. Determined. Unyielding. It was no longer about crushing you under his heel. It was about keeping you close, about testing your limits and pushing you to your breaking point.

But neither of you were willing to admit what was truly happening between you.

You smile weakly to yourself, blood spilling from the corners of your mouth. Not even now.

The Shibuya Incident is chaos. The city is overrun with curses and the streets are filled with blood and screams. You dispatched alongside other sorcerers to contain the situation, but things quickly spiraled out of control. The curses were too many, too strong, and the collateral damage was catastrophic.

Your focus was on protecting your students, the young sorcerers under your care who had been thrust into this nightmare far too early in their training. You were always their protector, their guide, and you would do anything to keep them safe. But the battle was relentless, and the curses were closing in fast.

In the midst of the chaos, Sukuna reappeared, his presence like a dark shadow over the battlefield. He took control of Yuji once again, his cursed energy crackling through the air with terrifying force. You felt it the moment he arrived, your senses attuned to the overwhelming hatred that accompanied his presence.

You barely had time to react before you were caught in the crossfire. A powerful curse lashed out at you and you moved to shield your students from the blow. But the attack was too fast, too strong. It tore through your defenses, the cursed energy slicing through your body like a hot knife through butter.

Pain exploded in your chest when you collapsed to the ground, blood pooling beneath you. Your vision blurred, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You had suffered injuries before, but this… this was different.

This was fatal.

The world around you fades almost instantly, the edges of your vision go dark. You can feel your life slipping away, your body growing cold.

Out of all people, why does it have to be him you long for the most? Why do your eyes start watering by the thought that you'll might never see him again, that you were never able to feel his lips pressed against yours? Are you really so naive, so dumb? Fuck, you really fell for the King of Curses, the root of all evil.

But then… you hear his voice.

“Get. Up.”

Sukuna’s voice cuts through the haze of pain and exhaustion like a lightning strike. You blink, trying to focus, trying to understand what is happening. Is he really there? Are you hallucinating?

“Get up,” he repeats, his voice sharp and commanding.

But then you feel it. His hand pressed against the gaping wound in your abdomen. No, he's really there. It's really him.

“You’ve suffered bigger wounds. And if you don’t get up, I’ll destroy everything that’s left of this world.”

You force yourself to breathe, your chest burning with the effort. But your body isn’t responding anymore. The pain is too much. You simply can’t move. The only reaction you're able to build up is a weak smile.

Is this really how it ends? With another empy threat?

Sukuna growls, crouching down beside you. He can't let you die here. Not like this, not after this short time. There's still so much more he needs to show you, so much more he needs to say.

Before he realizes what he's even doing, his hands are on you, cursed energy flowing into your body, patching up the worst of the damage. It isn’t healing, not really - more like forcing your body to hold together for just a little longer. Just enough to keep you.

“Please…”

Sukuna’s voice is strained, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Please get up. Don’t die on me.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest as his words sink in. He’s asking you. Pleading with you...Not to die?

“Please don’t die on me.”

With his cursed energy coursing through you, you really feel your strength returning, your wounds slowly mending under his influence. The pain fades away, replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your body. You gasp for breath, your chest rising and falling as life surges back into you.

Did…Ryomen Sukuna save your ass? Your heart pounds so roughly against your ribcage that you feel like fainting all over again. This can’t be possible, right? You have to be dreaming. After all, Ryomen Sukuna is your greatest enemy, responsible for at least half of the mess here.

“I’m not… done yet,” you rasp, your voice weak but steady.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous paired with a hint of relief.

“That’s more like it.”

He helps you to your feet, his hand lingering on your arm for just a moment longer than necessary. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

"What, were you worried about me, dumbass?"

Faster than you're able to react, he grabs your arm again and pulls you in. When his lips press themselves against yours, you forget how to exist for a second. Out of instinct, you open your mouth, allow him to enter, close your eyes when your whole body starts to burn up all over again.

Oh, you imagined this more than once. How do his firm arms feel against your touch? Are his lips softer than his cruel words? Is Sukuna a good kisser?

A desperate moan escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, your arms now roaming all over his muscular frame.

This...this is so wrong. You shouldn't do this, shouldn't even dream about something like this. But as sudden as he appeared, he's gone again, leaving you with nothing but your swollen lips as a proof for what just happened.

Are you actually going insane?

Bonus:

After Shibuya, things changed between you and Sukuna.

The battles continued, of course. The fights, the challenges, the taunts, the unnecessary deaths and killing - none of that stopped and you still hate him with every fiber of your being for all those horrible things he did. But there is something else now, something that neither of you can ignore. The second Sukuna saw you lying there in a pool of your own blood on the edge of death, he started to realize it.

You aren’t a simple enemy for him anymore. You are his obsession.

Sukuna’s possessiveness over you grew, but so did the strange, unspoken understanding between you. You weren’t just another sorcerer to him anymore. You were his: his opponent, his challenge, his equal. And though neither of you would ever admit it out loud, there was a twisted sort of affection in that.

And you?

You’ve found something unexpected in the King of Curses. Not love, not really, but something close. Something raw and powerful, a connection without any logic and reason.

You didn’t know where it would lead. But you knew one thing for sure:

As long as Sukuna was in this world, you would be right there with him.

And that was enough.

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thatonetargaryen · 2 months ago

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Our Tears Ricochet

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Part 2 of: My Tears Ricochet

Synopsis: After walking in on a sight that you’d remember for endless nights to come—you mourn what is now seemingly the end of your marriage. However, Ambessa is determined not to let that happen—even if she had to get on her hands and knees.

cw; afab!reader; infidelity; heavy angst but happy ending; smut; more smut; Hex-strap; fingering ; did I mention smut? Ambessa being a bad wife but trying to fix it; not proofread; men and minors dni

Special thanks to @hell0-ki55y for original prompt and @fruitfulfashion for ending idea. Hope both of you enjoy (I’m not too good at writing smut so bear with me). 🎀

……

Your sobs were muffled by Mel’s chest as you leaned into her hold. Her slim fingers made her way through your now loose, frizzled hair. Your hands clenched onto her like a lifeline and right now—she was.

For a moment, she had a sense of deja vu. She remembered when she had first gotten her period when she was 13—the first step to becoming a woman, and instead of running to her real mother, she ran to you. You held her in your arms and the harder she cried, the tighter you hugged. The two of you rocked back and forth as she told you how scared she was, a vulnerability she couldn’t even share with her mother, and how you reassured her and cleared all doubts from her mind.

To you, the act may have thought to be necessary. An act of kindness any mother would show for their daughter. But to her, it was so much more. Every time the breeze blew in a certain way or the sun sat low in the sky—it reminded her of the warmth of your embrace. The warmth of your heart.

And now, she held you in her arms. She rocked you back and forth. And she let you cry out.

When your sobs finally died down, the two of you stayed silent for a moment. But there was a silent question in the air that had yet to be spoken, ‘What are you gonna do now?’.

Mel soothingly rubbed your arm as she looked down at you. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head. What you needed was something she wasn’t able to give.

She took a shaky breath. “I know this is hard for you. She wasn’t always the most loving, but I never thought she would—”

She stopped as she closed her eyes and scrunched her nose. She shook her head. “I thought she loved you.”

You finally looked up at her through red and puffy eyes. You licked your chapped lips as your hoarse voice spoke, “Your mother does love me. We..wouldn’t have gotten married if she didn’t. I…”

Mel turned to you with an angry look. “Tsk. She doesn’t love you. She can’t. How do you explain what you just saw? You’ve been loyal to her for the entirety of your marriage and have stood by her when no one else did. You gave up so much for her. How can you sit here and say—”

You held Mel’s face in your hands as her own tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. You wiped them away as you spoke softly. “Mel, what your mother has done has hurt me in ways I hope you never experience. But I don’t want this to be another crack in your relationship. It’s already strained as it is. In no way am I justifying her actions but please…don’t let this affect you as much as it has me. A connection between mother and daughter is unlike any other—even one between spouses.”

Mel stared dumbfounded at your words, but stayed silent as you continued. “I love you Mel. Never forget that. Even if this causes a rift between your mother and I—I will love you no less.”

Mel fought back tears in her eyes as she held your gaze. She nodded at your words and leaned into your shoulder. You held her hands in your own. She spoke, barely above a whisper, but it was as loud as any shout—“I love you too, Mom.”

After a moment of silence, there was a vibration felt on the bed. She looked over at her phone with a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

As she checked to see whoever had messaged her, a look of realization crossed her features. “Shit!”

You looked at her, surprised at her language—but ultimately ignored it. “What’s going on?”

“I set up plans with Jayce a while back before you told me you were coming to Piltover. I totally forgot to reschedule…Now he’s on his way.”

She shook her head, “I’ll tell him to cancel and we can do it some other time. I know you need me right now.”

You shook your head, “No, no. I’ll be fine. Please, go enjoy yourself with this….Jayce.”

She looked at you softly, “Are you sure? I mean, we can always do it another time….”

You nodded, “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled as she kicked on her shoes as straightened up her hair and makeup. She threw on a robe as she changed out of her previous dress. She didn’t get the chance to choose one before she turned back to you.

You stared out the window in a pool of your own thoughts before you felt a tug on your arm.

“Come on, you’re coming with.”

“What?”, you said, surprised.

“You’re coming with Jayce and I. You said you wanted to meet him.”

You looked at her, considering her offer. “Look at me. I can’t go out like…this. I look and feel like I just had an emotional breakdown.”

She looked at you in silent agreement and ordered one of the maids outside to prepare a shower. She ushered you into the shower and said she’d be right outside if you needed her. You wanted to under the hot water, but you know you were on a tight schedule.

After you got out and dried your body and hair, she rushed over to her large vanity, pulling out a plethora of hair supplies. She ushered you over, and you sat in front of the mirror.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as she practically pampered you. She detangled, brushed, and curled your once frazzled hair. She pinned it back as she applied your preferred makeup from the bag you brought with you abroad.

The makeup was simple—yet it complimented your features. You hadn’t known Mel was so good at this. When she was small, she was gotten her first makeup kit that she begged to have for practically a year. You had been her first test subject. The looks you got from the nobles when you kept on the makeup throughout the day did little to dampen the wide smile of little Mel’s face.

When she was finally satisfied, she turned away from the vanity and started to put the things away. “Do you like it?”.

You nodded as a smile graced your features. You ran your fingers through your loose curls, careful not to mess them up. You felt prettier than you had in a long time.

“Good. Now we just need to pick an outfit.”

She went over to her closet as she raked through her many dresses. After a moment of indecisiveness, she picked a white satin off-shoulder dress that fell just above her knees, showing off her long legs. Her braids were done in a tight low bun as she let two frame the sides of her face.

Meanwhile, you were still struggling to find something to wear. You didn’t want anything too provocative since you were married despite the circumstances but you didn’t want to cover too much because of the relentless heat of Piltover.

You ended up choosing a sleeveless sage green dress with a heart neckline. It reached your ankles, being modest and flowy at the same time. You threw on a gold necklace and small diamond earrings.

Mel approached you as she took in your appearance. “You look…amazing, Mom.”

You smiled bashfully at her compliment. You threw on a purse as you both exited the room.

It was time for you to unwind.

….

The three of you ended up going to a nice restaurant not too far away. The sun was still high in the sky as the three of you looked outside the window at the beautiful view.

“So, how’d you meet my Mel?”, you asked—going into interrogation mode now that you all were seated.

The boy turned his attention to you, his charismatic personality slightly cracking under your gaze, “Well, uh—I’m actually working on a project here in Piltover. It was way before I became a council member. I was stationed in the main building and she just so happened to be there. We’ve been together ever since.”

Mel smiled, “I heard about him through the grape vine. One of the prodigies behind the Hextech. It was only a matter of time before the two of us met.”

The two were deeply in love—heart achingly so. It reminded you of when Ambessa first introduced herself to your own parents. She refused to crack under their scrutinizing gazes and answered every question as if she had meticulously prepared beforehand—which she probably did. It didn’t take long before your parents were nagging the two of you to get married.

“I take it you’ve met my wife?”, you asked.

Jayce visibly tensed at the mention of Ambessa. He took a sip of his fruit drink before clearing his throat, “I have. She was, uh….she definitely let an impression.”

The silence was loud as Mel took a French fry from Jayce’s plate.

“But if I may speak freely, Mrs.Medarda—”

You nodded towards him, curious at what he had to say.

“The two of you are so….different. From the way you look down to the aura you exude. I-I’ve heard stories as a boy detailing how you brought peace to Noxus and many other lands they once butt-heads with. They always said you were soft and kind. But you had a firm hand and possessed the political knowledge to end wars before they could they were even declared. You’ve saved the lives of so many people—soldiers, citizens, and nobles alike, and yet—”

He stopped, realizing he was rambling—a habit he picked up in his early years. “What I mean to say is, the two of you are basically the Sun and the Moon. Polar opposites.”

You smiled softly as you mindlessly toyed with the straw in your drink. “The Sun and the Moon complement each other. But if the Moon were to disappear without a trace—the Sun wouldn’t bat an eye. It would keep thriving as it always has. Yet, if the Sun were the disappear—the Moon would mourn its death for endless nights to come.”

A silence overtook the three of you, and Jayce seemed confused at the comparison. Mel spoke softly, extending the metaphor, “And yet…the world would notice if either disappeared.”

You nodded your head at her words as you pushed your plate forward. “Yes, yes it would.”

…..

As the sun started to set, the three of you headed to a nearby bar for drinks. It was getting slightly chilly, and Jayce through his jacket over Mel’s shoulders to shield her from the cold.

You simply held yourself tighter, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket.

You sighed in contempt as you finally entered the bar and took a seat. The two lovebirds sat a few seats away from you, but not too far.

The bartender made his way to you first. He wore an all black button down shirt and pants, and his jet black hair complemented his piercing blue eyes. He smiled warmly, “What can I get for you?”

You took a glimpse at the menu as you spoke tiredly, “Just a Daiquiri, please. Chilled.”

He nodded. But he stood there for just another moment, “Rough day?”

You gave him a small smile, “You could say that…”

He began to talk out the necessary ingredients for your drink at an impressive pace, “In that case, first drink’s on me then.”

You smiled at him gratefully as you gave him a ‘Thank you’. You reminded yourself to give him a generous tip before you left.

You brought the drink to your lips and took a generous sip. The taste of sugar, rum, and citrus made its way onto your tongue, and you hummed in satisfaction. You set down your glass as you looked around the bar.

You saw people smiling and laughing as they shared drinks. You saw couples giggling and holding each other tight. You saw people sitting alone—yet even they looked content. They were all happy.

Why couldn’t you just be happy?

Over the years, Ambessa started to bury herself more and more. She pulled herself away from you, often leaving you in a cold bed and practically engulfed your small frame. She wouldn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and even then, she wouldn’t greet you. Wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t even spare you a glance.

I should’ve seen the signs sooner, you told yourself. I should’ve went away before it got too far, should’ve filed for divorce the moment she became distant.

But you didn’t. You stuck by her side. Waited endless nights in a cold bed hoping she’d come home and be normal again. Notice you. Love you.

Yet the moment never came. You had waited for something that was never going to come.

Before you knew it, you lost count of the number of shots you ordered and downed in come take. You ignored the look concern the bartender gave you as you stared down at your fingers. You trailed shaped across your thighs—something Ambessa used to do—and, fuck—

You just couldn’t get her off your mind. No matter how hard you tried. No matter how much you desperately wanted to.

Your eyes drew heavy, and you practically tumbled out of your seat. You made your way over to Mel—who was practically sitting on Jayce’s lap—and let her know you were going home. Her once carefree gaze turned into one of concern.

“Did you need me to call you a ride? Give me one second and I’ll—”

You shook your head, “Mel, really, I’ll be fine. My place isn’t far from here. Enjoy your night, don’t worry about me.”

She sighed, “Alright…call me when you get home.”

You nodded at her words, gave the cashier a wad of cash and told him to ‘keep the change’, and stumbled out of the bar on two left feet.

…….

You stumbled towards the door of the apartment you were renting out while in Piltover. It was luxurious—one of the most expensive of its kind. Though, you hadn’t spent much time in it.

You shuffled through your purse as you searched for your keys in the dark. You sighed in victory as you finally found them, and clumsily put your key in the doorknob.

You opened the door and stumbled through your apartment with low eyes. You threw your purse somewhere are you walked up the glass stairs.

You heard slight shuffling upstairs, but your drunk, hazed mind decided to ignore it. Big mistake.

You walked through the hall and towards your room—only to freeze at the door way.

In less than five seconds—you swore you were now sober.

There she was. Your wife. Ambessa. She sat faced away from you on the far side of the bed. Her shoulders were stiff and her back was rigid. She looked down into her lap, and without even looking at her face, you could tell she was in deep thought.

You slowly started to walk backwards, but at the absolute worse time possible, your left heel decided to break, and you stumbled backwards. With a thud, you were brought to your knees on the floor.

Shit.

She spinner around and her gray coils moved with her. She scrambled to her feet as she went to help you up, but you snatched your arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

You scurried into the room and sat on the bed as you rubbed your ankle. That was definitely going to bruise in the morning.

“Y/N…”, you heard Ambessa whisper. You’d never heard her speak so softly.

You tried to ignore her presence, but that was impossible to do. She stood where she was—yet her gaze enveloped the whole room.

You shook your head as you held back tears, “I—I don’t ever ask for much….”

She stayed silent as you spoke.

“I don’t ever ask for much. All the presents and gifts you gave me…All the houses and land you bought me…All the jewels and diamonds you gave me….”

You shook your head harder as your tears fell harder, “I ain’t ask for none of that. All I asked is you give your kids the light of day. That you give me the love and attention I give you non-conditionally. That you stay loyal to me—as your wife—and show me that our marriage wasn’t out of infatuation—but genuine love for one another.”

You sobbed harder as you fought to breathe. “You think I don’t have wants and needs too? You think I don’t imagine myself being able to have a stable relationship with someone else? You think I don’t want to have sex and have somebody fell up on my body? To whisper sweet nothings in my ear? To show me that I matter to them? But I would never go behind your back and do that to you because I love you. I love you so much it hurts, Ambessa. I wish I could just let you go. Rip you out of my life and run far,far away. But I can’t. I just can’t…..”

You grew frustrated at her silence and wiped your snotty nose. “Why’d you do it, Ambessa? Why you have to do me like that?”

Ambessa’s own’s tears clouded her vision as she fought to find the right words. Her breath hitched, and she could tell you were becoming impatient. So she spoke her mind, and didn’t hold back.

“I—I thought….you made me weak. I thought if I allowed when I allowed myself to get close to you, I weakened the walls I fought so hard to built around myself. I’ve fought so hard to become the woman I am today, and I couldn’t let anyone take that away from me—not even my own family. So I distanced myself. From Mel. From Kino. And from you. I thought I was doing us both a favor. It allowed me to make the necessary decisions to keep us safe, and for you….I thought it would allow you the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t sleeping next to a monster.”

Surprise crossed your features as she continued to speak, “I have the blood of thousands—if not millions—on my hands. Women, children, and men alike. The thought of it haunts me every night, and yet, and I have brush it aside. I opt to spend most nights asleep in the very same chair I spend hours reviewing and signing papers in because I can’t bear to sleep beside you knowing what I have done. What I will do.”

Tears started to spill onto her scarred cheeks as she approached you. You didn’t move, and simply stared.

She knelt before you, and grabbed both of your small hands in hers, “What I have done is unforgivable. And I will accept any punishment you give me. I—I’ll build you a new estate for you to stay in. I’ll have it done before winter, but please—”

You grabbed her face in your hands, halting her words. The two of you met eyes, and a thousand words were spoken before either of you could say anything. Your mind betrayed your anger as you looked down at your wife. Your wife. Not the war general, not the most powerful figure in Piltover, not the formidable warlord, but your wife. A woman. With a mind, and a soul, and a deep, aching heart confined in the thickest of chains. Chains only you could break.

What she did hurt you deeply. But you could see the regret in her eyes. How it spread throughout her body. How it seemed to age her face even more.

You took your thumb and wiped a stray tear on her face, and she closed her eyes as she leaned into your touch.

You brought her head into your bosom, and for a moment, the two of you were silent. You laid your cheek on her head as you embraced her. Years of regret seemed to radiate off her. She spoke softly into your chest, “I don’t know if you can forgive me, but I want you to know….I’m sorry. For everything. And I will spend the rest of my life working for your forgiveness. I swear it.”

You took in your words as you shook your head. “While I certainly can’t forgive you now, I’ll give you a chance. Prove to me that our marriage is worth keeping. Show me that you can change, for us.”

Her head shot up, and a look of relief like none other crossed her features. A genuine smile—one you hadn’t seen in a long time, but adored—graced her features as she held you tighter.

“I’ll change—for us.”

……

The next few weeks brought you happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. The two of you finally traveled back to Noxus.

You hugged Mel tightly on the dock while the guards and servants prepared the ship. However, the tension between her and her mother could be cut with a knife as they shared brief goodbyes.

The morning after you came home drunk to Ambessa in your apartments, you called Mel and told her about the apology. She was taken aback, not believing a word you said. She had asked why she did it in the first place, yet you didn’t want to share too much on the private conversation. You gave a brief summary, leaving out some stuff, and she simply hummed. You could tell you were holding back something through the screen.

The ride back home wasn’t what you expected, and for a moment, you doubted Ambessa would stay true to her word. That quickly changed when the two of you arrived home.

It was like a switch flipped inside her. Instead of lingering behind after meetings, she spent the rest of her free time with you. She no longer spent countless hours hunched over a desk looking over papers, and finally got a trusted assistant to help her. She invested more time in the things you enjoyed and even found out things about herself. Her side of the bed was finally warm as she held you in her arms at night and shared hot baths with you in the morning.

Your wife—the woman you fell head over heels for—was finally back. You couldn’t be happier. However, despite how much your relationship has improved….she had yet to touch you.

The thought lingered in your mind as you fought to push it away. Instead, you stared at Ambessa’s back as she undressed and got ready for bed. That didn’t help.

You continued to look at her as she switched off the lamp and climbed into bed beside you. You heard her breathe a sigh of relief before she reached over to give you a ‘goodnight’ kiss.

However, as she leaned in, you took her by her shoulders and gave her a deep,passionate kiss.

You could tell she had an initial reaction of surprise, but quickly recovered and leaned into the kiss. Your tongues and mouths collided as her large hands roamed your body.

Being the impatient woman she was, she started to undo the bralette you wore to bed. Her hands immediately began to knead your breast, and you moaned into her touch.

She buried her head into the crook of your neck and planted hard kissed onto the soft flesh as she practically rubbed herself against you. The heat in the room seemed to increase by the minute.

She pulled herself of you after a moment as she started to plant kissed on your chest and stomach. The redness in your cheeks spread throughout your body. She threw off the lacey underwear she wore and held your legs on either side of her head.

She pressed kissed into the insides of your thigh, and your heat was practically pulsing just as hard as your heart.

You moaned as she pressed a tantalizing kiss to your pussy, and practically came right there when she sent a lick to your slit.

Without any warning, she began to feast on your heat. Every lick, suck, and bite elicited a new sound from your lips, and every one was music to Ambessa’s ears.

You weaved your hands through her hair as you grind yourself against her face. Your toes curled as you recognized a familiar coil inside your stomach. And with a shout, it finally snapped.

You should feel Ambessa’s smile as she continued to lap at you through your orgasm.

You breathed heavily, trying to come down from your high. You heard Ambessa shuffling around through the drawer—and you already knew what she was looking for.

A soft blue glow radiated from her hand as she adjusted the Hex-strap on her hips.

You vividly remember receiving the strap on an anniversary. She never told you where she got it—or how she got it—but she put it to good use the same night.

“I can’t remember the last time we used this….”, she said more to herself than to you.

You were brought back to reality as she took you by the forearm and flipped you over as if you weighed nothing—and you didn’t to her. Your face was stuffed into a pillow as she arched your back, and you could already feel yourself clenching around nothing.

She rested one hand on your thigh as she spread you open and roughly inserted two fingers into your wet entrance. She pumped them in and out at a steady pace and you moaned into the pillow beneath you. You took your hand and started rubbing small circles over your clit—but Ambessa’s hand quickly replaced yours as she nipped your ear.

Your second climax that night soon came to you in waves as you relaxed against Ambessa’s shoulder. She didn’t give you much time to collect yourself as she aimed the strap at your dripping cunt. You took in a shaky breath as you felt her slide in. She leaned over your shoulder as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held both of your hands in hers. When she was finally in, she slid halfway out, and drove herself into you again—rougher this time.

She continued this act a few more times before she had a steady rhythm of going out and roughly driving back into you. You could feel her hips collide with your thighs and ass and her rough hands gripping your soft love handles. If not for her tight grip on your hips—your head would’ve collided with the intricately carved wooden headboard.

She continued this until you were both moaning and panting—sweat pooling on your brow. Her grip on your hands loosened as her own groans filled the room. Her hips lost its steady rhythm and became to more at a sloppy and frantic pace. You knew she was close, and you reached back to run your fingers through her hair and tug at it. She groaned at the action—but made no move to stop you. With one deep thrust, she came undone. She practically fell on top of you as you both panted, exhausted. She carefully pulled out the strap and threw it on the end of the bed. The two of you rolled over on one side and sighed in content.

You could tell she was tired as her breathing became heavier. She held you from behind and tightened her large hands around your waist. You looked over your shoulder was low eyes, “Tired already?”

She chuckled at your dig. “I’m getting old, y’know.”

In your younger days, the two of you would go at from moon up to sun up—only stopping because she had a meeting scheduled that morning. Then, when she was finished with the meeting—you’d go again just for the hell of it.

If she were a man, the two of you would’ve had an army of babies together.

You smiled, reminiscing in the past. You came back to the moment as she buried her head in your shoulder. You leaned back into her touch as your own eyes fell to a close, and sleep enveloped you like a warm blanket.

While your marriage wasn’t perfect—it was definitely improving.

One kiss at a time.

…….

Taglist: @maaaaaaaaaaari

A/N; Pretty in Pink coming soon…See you in 2025 🎀

#ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane #league of legends

547 notes · View notes

scatter-snz · 13 days ago

Text

Best Laid Plans - Part 1

Details: 9k, Male sneezes, no pairing (yet..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

PART 1 - PART 2

My first original piece I've posted here!

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. Still, I had fun writing it! I hope someone else can enjoy it too!

These are original characters, all in their late twenties and early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. This snippet can’t hold a candle to her amazing stories, but I was moved to try writing it after reading hers. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and liked to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. what? Tactical measures?”

“Yes, strategic options. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times for each nostril, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice.

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be.

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water.

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and dripped off his chin. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do..

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-..

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set in -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore aloud, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Bloody hell, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..”

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!”

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!”

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..”

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..”

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..?

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here.

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.”

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath.

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now.

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears.

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave it, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.”

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes.

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior.

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you?

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which…

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues.

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.”

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in.

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal.

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!! Part 2 is in the works!

PART 2 IS HERE!

#snz kink #snz #snzblr #snz fic #snzfic #scatterfic #original characters #snzfucker

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sttoru · 1 year ago

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♯ 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊.

⟣ sypnosis. kento has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. he decides to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in his affection at 3 in the morning.

⟣ tags. nanami kento x female reader. fluff, bit of angst, suggestive towards the end. reader gets called 'sweetheart, angel, dear' wc: 1.8k

⟣ note. okayokay finally an adition to my event heheh ive almost forgotten about it but then i saw this prompt & was like . ok nanami , i must write this rnnn no delaying anymore so here i am :3 its also very bad. i hate it sm LOL i hope u at least like it t_t

kento often asks himself why he had returned to the world he despised — the jujutsu society; his old high school. the sprawling curses everywhere are the main cause of his current misery.

he had been sent out on missions left and right, not catching a break in hopes of reducing any more civilian causalities than necessary. kento had even thought that maybe his previous 9-5 job wasn’t as bad as he had considered it.

overtime was every day for the sorcerer now. that wasn’t the worst thing - no - the fact that he was pratically living a long distant relationship with his beloved irritated him most.

a thought he had in his high school days reoccured in a moment of distress: ‘why not leave all those missions to gojo?’

you were still pretty understanding of his situation. kento appreciated that, though the guilt still ate away at him whenever he tried to sleep. an empty bed welcomed him each time he re-entered his hotel room — you saw the exact same scenery when returning home to your shared apartment.

both of you were adults; both knowing that life was unfair. the two of you being unable to see each other from time to time was a part of your life. kento and you still maintained a healthy relationship. that was all that really mattered in the end.

11:49PM. . . tonight wasn’t unlike any other night; you were preparing yourself to go to bed—changing into your pyjamas after showering, snuggling to a pillow under the covers and texting your lover one last message.

‘good luck on your mission as always! stay safe, i love you.’

you stare at your phone screen for a minute longer than intended. even if you tried to be mature about it — you longed for kento’s warmth and undivided attention. you want him with you, his strong arms holding you to his chest as you rest, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

you sigh defeatedly and put your phone down on your nightstand. just two days until you could see your partner again. you can hold onto that hope to keep you calm.

despite you trying to stay positive, you tossed and turned in your bed as you thought about kento’s safety. there was always a chance of him not coming home to you — always the possibility of that bed to be empty for the rest of your life.

all you could do was pray for his safety in your head whilst your eyes eventually closed from fatigue, your mind drifting off to a deep slumber.

03:14AM. . . kento opens the door he had wished to have opened way earlier. the door that lead to the place where his heart lays; the person who claimed his heart and soul for eternity. you.

he didn’t think he’d actually do it. kento had originally planned to finish his last job as soon as possible and then get home afterwards, but there seemed to be a change in routine.

the special grade sorcerer simply assigned the mission to ino — the person whom he could trust most to finish the job in one piece. as much as kento dislikes to put his juniors in possible risky situations, there are also situations where it’s fine to depend on them. besides, the mission could easily be done by a grade one sorcerer.

kento sighs. the familiar scent of your home was one he could recognise from miles away. one that could calm his nerves instantly. it was that same distinctive scent you carry; thus why your lover sometimes calls you his home.

‘i can’t wait to be home’ ‘i want to be home’ ‘i’m going home’ — all these sentences, which kento has uttered before in earlier conversations, weren’t referring to a place. rather to a person he held dear.

“oh, my sweetheart.” the blonde man whispers under his breath as his eyes catch the shape of your figure under the blankets. he quietly enters the master bedroom and closes the door behind him, not making a sound as to not interrupt your well-deserved sleep.

kento slowly undoes his dotted tie, along with the upper buttons of his blouse. he probably needs to go take a good shower before he could settle down with you — but that’d risk waking you up.

you look extremely angelic in his eyes. especially with your left cheek squished by the soft pillow your head rests on. you never once fail to convince him that you are indeed the woman of his dreams; the woman kento ever had and will have eyes for. it’s like you get more attractive to him as the days go on.

“mh,” your sudden and soft groan makes him realise just how disturbing his behaviour could be interpreted as. kento’s body was hovering over your sleeping one and he was just. . . staring at you with a soft smile. a smile which he didn’t even notice had permanently found its place on his weary face.

kento sits down on the edge of the mattress, callused hand gently tucking you in properly, putting the blanket over your shoulders to make sure you didn’t get cold. he can’t rest if you’re not comfortable— even if he himself was exhausted to the point his eyes were starting to feel heavy.

yet that exhaustion doesn’t last long. it never does when kento’s able to see you again after a tiring week of countless missions and other jobs. your presence alone grants him the energy to stay awake and take care of you. and himself. you’re the reason he keeps it going.

“i love you so much, my beautiful girl — my angel.”

kento sure was a romantic. even when you’re unaware and asleep.

he couldn’t help it; the feeling stirring inside of him. the feeling of adoration and love for you. you are simply resting, yet kento felt an urge to kiss you all over, show you the unending love he has for you. but. . that’d probably be disturbing your peace. you are sleeping after all. he

not that that would stop kento.

your eyes flutter open due to a sudden presence hovering over you. your entire face and neck area was feeling ticklish, like someone was placing tens of kisses all over the skin.

strands of blonde hair is the first thing showing up in your blurry vision. kento’s face follows afterwards as his head tilts back up, the warmth against your jawline disappearing along with it —

“ah, i’m sorry.” a low and almost guilty chuckle tumbles out of his sore throat. the visible confusion on your face makes him let out another, “shh, shh, it’s just me, sweetheart.”

your arms flew around kento’s torso the second the realisation dawns upon you. your heart went from a slow pace to one that caused your entire body to warm up immediately; the adorable reaction and increase in heart rate not going unnoticed by your lover.

you wordlessly hug him — almost still in shock by the sudden appearance. kento doesn’t fight off your tight embrace, instead, welcomes it with open arms. the delicate kisses on your skin continue, each being placed with precision whilst one of his hands keeps your head tilted a little — rough fingers being a contrast of the gentle grip they had on your jaw.

“i missed you lots,” kento murmurs, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth of your body, his lips refusing to let go of your neck, “i couldn’t wait anymore. i couldn’t be separated from you any longer or i’d lose it.”

his gruff voice sounded even deeper than it usually would. maybe due to the overuse of it during his missions. the lone thought makes you pout — the thought of kento working super hard just to provide for you both.

“i missed you more, love.” you mumble, bottom lip trembling a little as kento’s hug triggers a whole lot of emotions in you. his hugs were special, his muscular arms giving you a sense of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere. no one could hug you like he did, “you did well. you did so well.”

those were all the words kento needed. his lips come to halt right above your collarbone, his breath a bit heavy from how much he's holding himself back from doing more. one hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt.

“thank you, dear.” kento says. his words carrying a load of unending affection. your simple words of appreciation and encouragement makes him shiver in delight. this is what he longed for; this is what he did it all for.

it was clear. the answer to his question - of why he had returned to the jujutsu world, to become a teacher at his former high school - it was all for you. to be able to be with you, see you and hold you like this. to have someone like you appreciate all of his efforts.

“may i?” kento asks through a quiet whisper as he gently removes the blanket covering your figure, his eyes darting down towards your cleavage. he's asking for permission to cross that barrier — to cover you in the love you deserve.

you just stare at the blonde man above you for a second. you watch as he climbs onto the bed with you; the bed which was once empty and dull, now suddenly becoming your favourite place to be at. your fingertips graze against kento's sharp cheekbones. a habit you always did when you were appreciating his looks.

“go right ahead.” you answer with a confirming nod.

both of you were touch starved and had been deprived from each other's embrace for way too long. now was the perfect time to make up for all the time lost.

kento wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past him. he smiles at you, a gentle and handsome smile, whilst a few of his blonde locks fall over his left eye — his hands already prying away the blanket covering your shape. it was time to show you just how much he has longed for you.

“hold on to me, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you realise just how much i’ve missed all of you.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #jjk fic #jjk fanfic

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easy-there-leftovers · 9 months ago

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Magnum Opus (Ch. 1)

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding her potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how her paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.

(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2k words

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

While Aaron Hotchner remained vigilant as he drove the black SUV, the constant flipping of Spencer’s case files seemed to be louder than the car’s air conditioning.

He had directed Morgan and JJ to touch base at the MPDC, and had Rossi and Prentiss survey the crime scene of Jonathan Edwards; the identity of the previously unknown man in the vacant apartment.

This left him with Reid in the passenger seat to conduct an investigation on their only lead so far.

From the update Garicia had given them, Y/n L/n was a prodigy a year younger than their very own. Having graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology a year ago, she moved to Capitol Park Plaza and Twins Apartments in Washington D.C., and is currently unemployed. Occasionally selling her paintings out of her unit under an anagram of her name.

But something bothered him.

And it seems like Reid has picked up on it too.

“Do you think Dr. L/n is the unsub?” The unit chief asks.

Spencer hums before answering.

“While we can’t rule it out just yet, the possibility of her being the unsub is totally unlikely. The thing that’s throwing me off is that everything is too convenient. I mean, why would the unsub use something so publicly personal to them as part of their signature? It’s as if she’s overtly incriminating herself.”

Spencer checks back onto the pictures of the victims, then lifts his head up to look at Hotch to continue.

“Based on the way the victims are modeled, an immense amount of care was put into them. All for the purpose of making them look like the subjects in their paintings. Actually, the fixation on changing the bodies’ posture and keeping them clean is typically done out of remorse. But the added elements, like the placement of the paintings, creates an image of an unsub more on the narcissistic side. By creating two 'artworks,' they're prompting the viewer to decide which version of it they prefer. Mocking the original artist in the process.”

“So the paintings were done before the murder?”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

His unit chief sighs and pulls over to the curb. “Well, we’re about to test that belief.” Spencer hurries to take off his seatbelt as Hotch closes the car door with a thud.

—------

Hotchner nods at Reid as they find themselves in front of the written address Garcia gave them. He lifts his hand to knock firmly on your door, and waits for a response.

A thud from the other side causes both of them to assess each other before Hotch tells Spencer to stay behind him. Gun in hand until something, or someone, comes running at them.

But instead a muffled, “sorry” is heard right after, which causes him to lower his gun.

The door finally opens a crack to reveal a very tired twenty-something woman, some dark pigment or makeup smudged on their lower eye lines as they rubbed at it. She immediately fixed her posture however at the sight of the unexpected visitors. Eyes wide with concern.

“Dr. L/n, I’m Aaron Hotchner with Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI.” He highlights his statement by showing his badge. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Oh, um,” The woman blinks rapidly and shakes their head before immediately saying, “Of course,” with a nod and opening the door wide to let them in.

A quirk that does not go unnoticed by Spencer, who observes how different she looks to her more formal ID photos.

—-----

You let the FBI agents into your apartment, but are now suddenly aware of the state of disarray you left it in last night. Not to mention the state you were in.

You had just woken up and your brain wasn’t quite all there yet. If you had known you’d have guests over, you would have at least put some of your books and papers back onto their shelves rather than on your floor.

“My, uh—” You start, “Apologies! For the room and the um,”

You inhale deeply and gesture to yourself as you try to find the words before settling on an exasperated, “me.”

“No worries, miss. We don’t really call in advance.” You nod at the older man’s explanation vacantly before coming up with a response.

“Would you like anything to drink ?” You move to your fridge to get water to wake you up, and decide that it would be rude not to offer. The two decline, with the younger more busy observing your living room bookcase than the older one that sat on your couch.

You notice that something must have interested him as he lingers on certain shelves. That section in particular had prints of dissertations you had been meaning to read, or have already read, in clear folders.

You wonder if he found his work there or something before returning with water for yourself.

“So what can I help you with?”

“Dr. L/n, are you aware of the current string of murders that have been happening as of this year?”

You blink rapidly again. The question catches you off guard, but you shake your head.

“I know it’s a bad habit, and that I should, but I don’t really listen to the news.” Feeling your eyebrows quirk, you rub your hands together slowly. Making direct eye contact with Hotch, before looking at the younger man as he takes out a few papers from the folder he was holding.

“Are you familiar with these paintings then?”

Now that piques your interest.

Dr. Spencer Reid, who sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes when it meets his own, presents various pictures of your artworks in what seems to be dimly lit areas. They’re a little dirty, but otherwise you would recognize them as your own.

The thought instantly made something in your stomach turn.

“I–” You start, but shake your head subtly again. Unsure of what to say and how to say it next as you stare at the images. “am.” You turn your head to look back up at Spencer who nods thoughtfully.

“Recently, your paintings have been showing up at crime scenes in the D.C. area. Specifically, victims of an organized unsub that seems to be targeting people who accurately resemble the subjects in your work.” If your eyes weren’t wide enough, that bit of information had certainly opened them wider than ever before as you stared up at him.

“That, combined with the concentrated traces of penta-durastalene found in the pigments of the paint used, have led us to suspect your involvement in these murders, Dr. L/n.” You heavily feel the blink of your eyelids and rest your fingers on them to keep them closed before looking back at the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” you smile incredulously. “So you’re telling me that not only has Lunacite been identified on the paintings you’ve found, but that people who look like the personas in my private works actually exist and have since been–” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Murdered?”

“Well that shouldn’t come as a surprise, they were your muses, weren’t they? You were commissioned?” Hotch is the one who asks and you shake your head with wide eyes.

“I didn’t even know these people existed. They were just– faces I came up with mentally with the visual library I’ve amassed over the years. I don’t really make it a habit to paint from reference. Like I said, they were private.”

“And the chemical?” You thought for a moment before your lips thinned into a line.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Agent Hotchner, but I haven’t touched anything regarding that compound in over a year. I’ve only ever worked on it in my lab on university grounds, and I don’t make a habit of bringing work home.” You scratch the hairs near the base of your hairline.

“More importantly, hundreds of students and lecturers have access to my work, my research, and my lab space. Not to mention the people who might have heard my work through academic conferences.”

You move away from your position near the living room coffee table Spencer placed the pictures on, but picked up one before you did and shook your head.

“Besides, these paintings? No one should know about them, let alone have them. I didn't sell these.” That made Spencer’s brows furrow as he looked at the other photos still on the table.

“Do you have proof?” You stay silent, but then motion for them to follow you to the door of your room.

“Well, for one, I’m sure you’d understand that most people don’t make copies of their artwork traditionally, right? Expenditure of time, work materials, effort, human error, and many other variables. It just isn’t practical nor convenient.” You ramble and look back at them to continue.

“I also don’t make the majority of my art known online. Only a good 30% makes its way to my portfolio, and the others are never to be seen by anyone else.”

“They're studies. They’re made with cheap paints, they’re subjectively not appropriate for commercial use and-–I just wouldn’t be comfortable charging anyone for them.”

They follow you across the room, and make themselves apparent behind you.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“So if my ‘commissioned paintings’ are currently on D.C. crime scenes, and possibly in MPDC evidence,” You open the door to reveal your studio to the two agents.

Various paint tubes, books, and brushes littered the floor, table, and boxes. A lone easel was situated near your apartment window, with an unfinished painting on it. And various canvasses, not displayed, but instead kept on tall shelves. Only the differently colored edges indicated that they were ever used.

What surprised them both however, were the same paintings in the pictures staring back at them.

Some on the walls, some on the floor, but what was most important was that they were in this room, they were clean, and there were more of them.

You turn to look back at them with shaky eyes. “So why are they still here?”

—----

Hotch and Reid stood outside of your apartment door as you cleaned yourself up. Hotch made the call to bring you to the precinct for further investigation and for your own safety, but allowed you to freshen up before leaving with them. Not that he told you about the safety part.

You were hard to read, given your erratic reactions. It unnerved him, but he supposes it comes with the territory of being gifted. You also offered to bring in your paintings and a few other materials for forensics to test, to which while he was suspicious of, was not ungrateful for.

He made a quick call to Garcia to check attendants of any academic conferences you’ve spoken at and if anyone had been more interested than the others. When he was finished, he looked to Reid who was crossing his arms and staring at the carpeted hallway before looking back at him.

“She’s uncomfortable.” He stated plainly.

“Reid, most people would be if they just found out their hobby had been getting people killed.” Hotch said as he kept looking at his phone for anything new from the others.

“There’s certainly that, but I meant her title. ‘Doctor.’” He said in quotes, and Hotch raises his eyebrow at that but allows him to continue anyway with a curt nod.

“I mean, every time we’ve addressed her with her title, she blinks faster. Did you know it’s a common attribute that’s directly related to an increase in heart rate, which is why they’re usually correlated with lying? Initially, you would think that she faked her experience to get those credentials, but given her educational background, she must have not been given an opportunity to be referred to as such for a long time. Also, the gap year she took could’ve only exacerbated any insecurities she might have about her intellectual achievements. Plus, the lack of organization in her own home, while not wildly uncommon amongst people her age, could suggest the sincerity of her belief about compartmentalizing her work and her private life.”

“And what does that tell you?”

As Spencer was supposed to answer, a thud much like the one they heard before they entered earlier was heard again, followed by a similarly muffled, ‘sorry.’

He turns to look back at Hotch again with a small, victorious smile.

“That she doesn’t fit the profile.”

——-

taglist: @littlewolfieposts

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid

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lnfours · 8 months ago

Note

🍊prompt= “you’ve been talking about this for months so i figured that maybe if i got it for you, you’d shut up.” “i love you.”

love this idea 🥹 🫶🏼anon

Reader has been taking about a jelly cat she’s wanted for months & Lando gets her it :(

STOP BECAUSE HE SO WOULD TOO

also warning u nc i used the overused lando norrizz joke :.)

11.8k friends to lovers sleepover

you were sat on the couch when the front door closed, craning your neck as you smiled at the curly haired boy who had returned with an armful of bags.

"hey," you said, your attention shifting as you went back to your phone, "how was shopping with max?"

he wore a confident smile, making his way into the living room, "good. got you something,"

you raised your eyebrows as he took a seat on the other end of the couch, digging through his bags, "you did?"

"yeah, i think you'll like it."

you hummed as you tossed your phone down next to you, watching him fish something out from his bag before he spoke again, "close your eyes."

you sighed but did so anyway, feeling his hands grab yours to hold them out to him, his touch sending fire through your body before his skin was replaced with a soft, plush material. you furrowed your eyebrows, but didn't question it before he instructed you to open your eyes.

you did, a small little orange plush with a smiley face sitting in your hands. the one you had been looking for everywhere, the one you had shown him happily on your phone one day and said it 'reminded you of him'.

you smiled, squealing happily as you shot up from your spot and wrapped your arms around his neck, "where'd you find it? thank you, thank you, thank you!"

he laughed softly, "found it one of the book shops downtown. you've been talking about it for months now, so i figured that if i got it for you, you'd shut up."

you happily hugged it to your chest, "seriously, thank you. i love you!"

he smiled, the way those three words sounded coming from you, directed at him, going straight to his heart. the feeling unlike anything else that he'd felt before, and he made a silent vow to do whatever it took for you to say it again.

"what're you going to name it?" he asked, knowing you had picked out names for all your plushies. he had almost every single one memorized by now, swearing he'd have them all down one day.

you hummed, "dunno, what do you think?"

he hummed too before his face turned into a teasing smile, "you did say it reminded you of me."

you laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, "i associate anything to do with orange with you, don't get too ahead of yourself."

"you mean it's not because of it's adorable smile and tiny little dimple right here?" he joked and you laughed softly, face heating up as he was catching onto you.

"y'know what, fine," you said, "his name'll be lando norrizz,"

he put a hand up to his heart in fake hurt as he dramatically gasped, "so funny and totally original!"

his sarcasm made you smile, "it is kind of funny, though. and true."

"i have rizz!" he said, watching as you got up from your spot on the couch, making your way down the hall towards your bedroom.

"whatever helps you sleep at night!"

he shook his head, you were going to be the death of him.

#mail time #new moon #lando norris #lando norris x reader #fluff #ln4 x reader #ln4 #ln4 imagine #🍊 friendstoloverssleepover #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #formula 1 #mclaren #lando x reader #f1 x reader

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susanyung · 1 year ago

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Sword of the Royal Heir - Swordtember 2023 Day 13 prompt

The Royal Heir , poised and noble as she looks, the heir is trained in her swordsmanship from birth. She is required to helm this remarkable weapon with strength. Unlike a regular sword, the blade's material was crafted with a supernatural material that is only possessed within the bloodline. It's never seen elsewhere and the origins are unknown.

#illustration #artists on tumblr #color #digital art #swordtember #swordtember 2023 #weapon design #sword #character design #jester #fantasy #dnd #dnd art #original character

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thatfrenchacademic · 2 years ago

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"The biggest issue is students using it, me spotting it and having no recourse whatsoever to do anything about it." can you elaborate a bit further

Hello !

So to explain a bit more: we [aka your lecturers, teachers, teaching assistants, etc...] know that some students will use ChatGPT.

And there is a discussion to be had about how to work with this, how to design assessment which allow students to leverage something which may simply become a fixture of writing in a workplace environment, but that is not the discussion we are having here. Because that is not what we are worried about.

The defensible, problematic situation is: a student straight up entering the essay prompt on ChatGPT, and using the grand skills of Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V, submits it as their own paper.

And our main worry, I think, was for a long time that we would not be able to catch it. That students would, actually, be able to fool us and that we would actually think this was a student who understood the course, who put in the work, and who deserve to be rewarded for their grade. That was the main fear.

But here is the thing.

And listen up, students :

Essays written by ChatGPT :

Suck

Are spotted from a mile away from the person reading it

For real. They suck.

I cannot stress enough how easy they are to spot. You are NOT fooling anyone. I do not need the platform's AI-detecting tool to know when an essay was written by Chat GPT. It is so, very painfully obvious when that's the case.

But the problem then becomes : ok, I have spotted a student who cheated.

What am I even supposed to do with it.

It is one thing to KNOW that an essay was AI-generated, it is another to defend it to a plagiarism committee. First of all, does it actually count as plagiarism ? Second, how do prove, with certainty, that the student did not write it ? How to I convince the plagiarism committee that this is worth looking into ? I am in the role of a police officer, who needs to convince the DA that this is a winnable case, that prosecuting will not be a waste of their time. But I don't have a Similarity Percentage to rely on. I don't have an original source to say "look, this is the exact same wording!" like in a classic plagiarism case.

Best case scenario, I can make my case for thee student to actually be called to the plagiarism committee, where we probe into how, exactly, they wrote their essay, until they fold. Unlikely, morally questionable, and in all likelihood, ineffective on students already so confident in their bullshit that they have the audacity to submit a fully AI-generated work for their finals.

Now, students, gather up, especially if you have considered using Chat GPT this way. Because right now, you might think it means you can get away with it.

But let me tell you something. First, that essay is getting the shittiest grade we can give you. Because you know what is more difficult than a lecturer proving that a student used AI to generate their essay ? A student proving that they deserve a better grade. Once we give you a grade, burden of evidence is on you to prove that you have not been graded properly. And we can come up with 15 reasons why an essay is a shit essay. We put on kids' gloves, when we lecture and give feedback. We give the simplified version of most theories, we give the basics of how to structure an essay, the bar we set is spectacularly low, because students come in good faith, they are learning, they will not be held at the same standard as academics. But if you try to argue that you need a higher grade, when you had the audacity to not write a single word of your work, the kids gloves are going to come off real quick, and your lecturer will be able to very convincingly explain why, actually, giving you a passing grade was a mercy in the first place.

Second. Academics, especially angry academics, are a gossip machine.

You may get a passing grade, and there may be no official note of it in your file whatsoever. But I can guarantee you that your lecturer will chat with their colleagues. That every single one of your essay that year, and the years to come, will be looked at with so much scrutiny I hope your referencing for every single work reaches perfection. Every single paragraph will be looked at with the knowledge that you are likely to have had it AI-generated. Lecturers will tell their TA to look at for That One Student when they grade you .You will not be getting any flexibility from us, no extension without full documentation to support it, no letter of recommendation from any member of the faculty, no word in your favor if you are bordering a grade bracket. If we are feeling especially petty, we might even forget to answer your emails or answer any question you have with such warmth and kindness you really still never feel like asking a question again in our class. And I know that, because that's already happening. I have the name of three undergrads that we know, for a fact, did not write their own essay. Two are not even in my modules at all.

Now. That's pretty mean. But if you have the absolute audacity and lack of ethics required to submit an essay for which you have not written a single word, and thought it would actually work, when your lecturer spent probably more that 80 hours working in this module this term, gave you the opportunity to meet for office hours, to ask any question in person or in email, to have extensions, accommodations, additional time ? When you decided that putting exactly zero second of your time, considered that you were above that - and above other students- and yet we were not able to officially sanction you for it, we had to give you a passing grade, the same passing grade as students who actually made an effort?

Yeah, sorry, you are not getting any sympathy from your lecturers anymore.

#studyblr #phdblr #university #adventures in teaching #postgradblr #chatgpt #ask me thing #now I am going back to grading #actually

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fanofthings20 · 4 months ago

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Rio Vidal x Reader Angst Request

This was requested by @miraslittlecrow. I hope this story is what you were hoping for! Thank you for the request and the fun challenge, I'm sorry it took me so long to finally posted it and I do apologize if this is a complete disaster!!

All the promtps are highlighted in bold and were created by the amazing and talented @me-writes-prompts

Without further ado, after 14-hour days for 7 straight, internet issues, about 16 rewrites, and changing the prompts about three times here is the story. Until next time farewell and happy Agatha All Along episode 7 night!!

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It was after midnight when a bloody, beaten, and worn-down soul returned home. Trying their hardest to stay silent to not alert their wife now that they were finally home after being delayed for an additional two days than the original eight days that was originally expected. You would have been back two hours ago but you were determined to patch yourself up the best you could so your wife who would no doubt already be worried about the delay, it would only stress her to see injuries and put the lives you just risked everything for in grave danger from her wrath. This is the downside to having the job of a life guardian with protection witch abilities while your wife is Lady Death who is protective and quick to anger.

Turning into the living room has you feeling lightheaded and your using the back of the couch as a crutch to keep yourself upright. You waited for a few minutes till the feeling passed thinking it was safe managing to round to the front of the couch before feeling a wet sensation against your left hand that was holding your right side. Pulling your hand off your side you see that the stitches for that large gash had ripped again and you'd already lost so much blood you barely made it onto the couch before the rest of your strength left you.

Meanwhile, Rio had been forced to collect more souls in the last four days than she would have liked. She would much rather wait at home for y/n to return, given that they were already two days behind their return date. Unfortunately, Death waits for no one, and Rio was super-speeding the process intending to get home faster. Finally, arriving at the house for the last two souls that needed to be collected tonight it happened to be an elderly couple. Rio always enjoyed collecting elderly couples who passed together because it was well deserved. Even though she was in a rush to get home she took her time with this couple getting to know them while providing a smooth transition.

When she returned to the living world she felt a searing pain in her chest at the same time it felt like a soul was close to collection. The searing pain was from the bond with her wife that alone was concerning enough but in occurrence as the death call skyrocketed Rio’s panic and in her rush to get home she teleported to the wrong location twice before finally making it home. Running up the path barreling through the door, and using magic to close the door the house was dark no lights had been turned on. Rio was using their bond to range how close she was to y/n and her ability to adjust to the darkness to rush up the stairs to their bedroom.

Upon crossing the bedroom’s threshold she noticed the room was untouched. Stopping long enough to check the bathroom before she rushed back downstairs, she was on the way to their back porch which was your favorite spot had it not been for the weak whimpering sound you made on the couch from jostling your injury. The sound had her turned around and on her knees at your side in a split second using her magic she turned on the living room lamps which illuminated your state to her. Normally nothing would phase her but your bruised state and the extent of your injuries were unlike any you had ever bared before. She knew the insane risks of your job as a life guardian but had been managing until now but she could no longer put off the conversations she had been withholding from you anymore.

Your voice was so weak when you tried putting on the brave act of “It’s fine, I’m okay-“ but she was quick to gently cut you off with “No you’re not, you’re injured and it’s all their fault!”. She was so sick of the fools who lived without abandon and required a life guardian to keep living. If she could she’d gladly take all their souls in an instant to keep you from harm but she couldn’t break the cycle of life rules without major consequences. If you didn’t require her immediate attention and care to keep you from being the next soul she was forced to collect she would be out that door in a second to give the person you risked everything such a life-altering scare to keep them from needing you ever again.

But you needed her now, especially with the large gash that was gushing blood out. She took out her favorite curved knife to cut your shirt off so she could have full access to your injuries to heal them. When your shirt had been removed and the true extent of your injuries was revealed to her, she was scared that she couldn’t heal it. The gash went from your right side across your abdomen it was deep with significant blood loss your other symptoms included breathing faster than normal, feeling confused and weak, sweating, low body temperature, fast pulse and slowly losing consciousness.

Rio tried to be gentle but she could only go so far when she had to put her hands directly on your wounds to heal it with her magic. Putting pressure on your wounds and the magic closing them again, causing you immense pain that had your already exhausted body past its limit to where your whimpering increased along with your feeble attempts to get away from Rio’s hands. Your rational side knew Rio was helping but you were so confused by the pain and blood loss that you weren’t capable of seeing it as helping. Rio couldn’t take her hands away from your wounds yet so all she could currently offer you were words of love to try and ease your confusion and discomfort.

“Cara Mia, I know it hurts”

“Your going to be okay”

“It’s almost over mi amor”

“We are going to have a long conversation when this is all over”

Rio had finally finished healing your wounds and could take her hands off your abdomen. You had passed out when the wound was halfway through mending. After she checked your heartbeat and breathing status, she walked to the kitchen where she collected a bowl of water and a hand towel to wash both her hands and clean you off the best she could. When you were cleaned off Rio took a few minutes to lay her head over your abdomen to feel you breathing and leave a trail of kisses along where your newest scar lies trying to calm her racing heart and remind herself you were still here with her. There wasn’t much she could offer for blood loss but two potions, food, hydration, and rest.

When she left you this time it was a return trip to the kitchen to clean the bloody bowl and prepare the potions and food. Who knows how long you’ll be passed out for so it was a waiting game for Rio which gave her time to think about one of your earlier interactions and what she wanted to say to you after all these years of holding back. One of her favorite interactions was when you had presumably saved her from a booby-trapped section of the woods. You did not know that she was Death at the time, there had been many interactions between you both throughout the years. You thought she was alluring, irresistible, and you knew this section of the wood was trapped. She had stepped on a hidden pressure plate for the arrow bolt's release, but before one could hit her, she instantly knew it was you. Hell, yall had fucked so many times at this point that you could recognize each other instantly just by your bodies. “You saved me back there…you didn’t have to. You could’ve gotten yourself kille-” (Rio) “I’d always choose you over myself. You should be well aware of that by now, my dear.” (You).

It had caught her off guard how willing you were to always put her first over yourself. Dare she say that made you even sexier in her eyes and so much harder to deny feelings for you anymore. She almost lost you tonight in more ways than one, physically and she would have been forced to take your soul from the living world to the soul realm a place she could never enter. She finished making everything and kept the food warm with her magic going back into the living room carefully lifting your head and sliding in under you. She ran a hand through your hair while the other was holding your wrist keeping track of your heartbeat.

She knew you probably wouldn’t hear or remember this conversation but she needed to say it to you “You know, you don’t have to do this. You don’t always have to stand up for people. I worry that no one will stand up for you in return when the time comes, because they take you for granted. And I hate that.” “Let me help you, please. I can’t stand on the side, quietly staring at all the scars you carry.” She couldn’t stand by anymore in the shadows and let you do this alone, there were only so many years where she’d let you go but now if you ever fully recovered from this she would be at your side from now on.

#agatha all along #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #angst request #angst

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mickules · 1 year ago

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I missed you too

The Parent Trap

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I ended up watching the original 1961 Parent Trap and LORD but there's a lot going on in that film. But ignoring the more . . . distressingly unhealthy 60s attitude toward marriage dynamics. . . The actual twin swap is such a good angle (and the effects genuinely hold up really well) I just wanted to capture the stress of trying to assimilate into a life so unlike your own, and that gut punch moment when they get to meet their missing parent for the first time.

And from there I just couldn't help imagine a future parent reconciliation, with a couple of siblings added into the mix . . .

Unlike in the film where they were right to have gotten divorced (and shoulda stayed super divorced)- Takaaki and Kiyoko's seperation was very much a symptom of Toranosuke's scandal and demanded by Kiyoko's father. So when they meet once again as a result of the Twin's shenanigans, the two of them could easily develop a genuine connection, now they're older, more experienced, and freed from the pressure of expectation. And I'm not immune to making every red eyed Dangan character an Ishimaru sibling

(Truth be told, this has been on my mind ever since @puckishpal 's just marvellous fic Changed, and I really wanted to get this out in time for @mini-mecha-cowboy 's Kiyotaka week prompts AU and Lookalike, but uuuh- I managed to miss that by just a few ;; )

#danganronpa #kiyotaka ishimaru #kiyondo ishida #takaaki ishimaru #kiyoko ishimaru #<-Taka's mum #(or would it be Kiyoko Ishida in the context here?)#taka is immune to takaaki jumpscares at this point #also I know peko is older but #parenttrap is so far removed from canon #and Peko and Maki as twins was too perfect #dr1 #parent trap #dangan/parenttrap #mickules #mick fnart #dangan-colourcomic-ranpan #dr1 spoilers

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impyssadobsessions · 1 year ago

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DPXDC Prompt: Who is Danny Fenton?

Warning: This one will be dark as it contains character deaths and violence.

Danyal replaced Danny Fenton a long time ago. As in the original died and Danyal needed a place to hide.

He could have killed him or maybe there was an accident. But he's been masquerading as Danny Fenton for a long time.

But imagine Danyal Al Ghul did kill a kid to take his place. Or at least might have put him out of his misery of something tragic that happened.. as if he wasn't stalking homes to try and pretend to be someone's else's child after leaving the league.

Wasn't "his" fault the kid was stupid enough to cross paths and get hurt.

Though guilt does follow him as he pretends and easily slides into the kids life. Reason he "starts" to drift from Jazz, she's the only one that eyeing him too closely and he doesn't like it. Blame it on her being a nag.

Its why he survived the portal incident. He was already contaminated.

All this to avoid having to fight his brother and being kicked around by his grandfather.

Only to have karma bite him in the ass. Not only he failed to come back fully- unlike the pit rage that made you forget yourself- this form seems to make every regret and terrible action dig its claws deeper in every painful way.

Even worse if you play the whole phantom is a ghost combined with Danny.. so phantom is danny fenton.

Now he's lost anything he could have pride in. Thanks to his accident, he's had harder time controlling his body.. especially with his powers. Clumsy. Uneven. He knew he was out of sorts from not practicing but he doubt he be this bad.

His life forever now half of either existence. He couldn't pretend anymore. Once his new parents find out- they would try to kill him.

Back to square fucking one.

And this time. He doubt even his brother or mother would lend a pity hand. Not like he would want it.

AMG just now thought maybe he would go to Gotham after he killed Vlad and was caught by the Fentons.

He warned Vlad and told him he was getting onto his last nerve. Even told him that Jack wasn't his dad and Maddie wasn't his mom, hell he wasn't even Danny Fenton. But if he had to tell him who he was he was going to regret it.

Vlad went even harder losing interest in Danny- only for Danny to make a sword with his powers and show Vlad WHO he was.

He was trying to be like his father- batman. He is the grandson of the demon king- and former member of league of assassins.

Vlad begging when he realizes Danny been holding back and actual death is on the horizon. "I'm Danyal Al Ghul. And I'm tired of you."

Danny did do it to save everyone permanently but after brutally killing Vlad- is when first his friends show up to warn him about his parents just to see what he done.

Danny laughing awkwardly like.. you-you saw that.. didn't you? heh- Then Fentons barge in. Jack is emotional wreck.

Actually getting a few good hits in, before Danny decided to play dead again and let Jack think he destroyed him.

Flying back to gather his stuff to leave permanently. He couldn't take the guilt of looking at Jack's face. Danny Fenton is dead anyways.

Only to be confronted by Jazz later who shakily asks if Danny is her brother.

Danny being honest, "no."

"For how long?" Jazz saying she knows it had to be before the accident.

"…we we're 8."

Jazz asking trying not to sob did he kill him.

"Mercifully." Then explains he was going to die anyways-

"You don't know that-"

"Actually I DO. I know what it takes to KILL someone, what could allow someone to live. That's something I DO know. And if he had managed to live he would be a vegetable." Explaining how the injury to his spinal cord was not recoverable. just imagine its so bittersweet, because Jazz does love her brother still. But Danny has been a lie this whole time.. or at least being Fenton was. Most of the laughs have become real, jokes, the friendship.

But Danny knows he can't fix this.. so he leaves.

Jazz torn whether to beg him to stay or to go.. and just ends up choking up watching him leave.

thus Danny not sure where to go decides its bout time he at least sees his father.

whether he let him see him or not is undecided.

Jack will either be blame for the murder of Vlad, or Phantom will be exposed.

Either way. Danny knew he royally fucked up.. again.

Ooo what if Danny does join the bats but insist he just wants to be a normal teen. Has a fully researched and planned backstory… mostly leaving out things because its "hard" to talk about. How he lived from foster home to foster home pretending to be different children until he just escape.

Until Jazz , Sam , and Tuck come to find him. Having audio where Danny stated he was the son of batman. Danyal Al ghul. So they figured if they find batman. They might find Danny.

Sam and Tucker want answers.. also mixed about Danny.. but dammit they been through so much.. HOW COULD HE keep that from them? They're not going to let him runaway from this. Tucker also adds unless he threatens to kill us.

Jazz had resolved her feelings. Analyzing everything since Danny was 8. When the switch happened. What was him acting and when the real Danyal appeared.

And had decided she didn't care. Danny was her BROTHER. And honestly is the only thing she has left right now. And she wants him back. Wants to help him heal, wants to help him.

Sam and Tuck want their answers then decide what to do from there. They don't WANT everything they knew to be a lie.

And now Batman is aware of more of his son- Damian knowing more of what his twin been up too.

Its a race to get answers out of Danny before he figures it out and disappears for good.

Can see Damian being the best to help Danny through this. Especially since Jon and Dick helped him not feel so bad about the league.

Danny though pointing out- "Difference, the league didn't make me kill a kid, nor a pathetic billionaire."

"You're right. It would have made you kill me."

Danny just breaks.

Thus finally able to admit all his guilt and how terrible he feels about himself. How he TRIED to be like Father but.. he failed so hard. He failed. He failed EVERYTHING. Just a loser. A failure. A waste. Only to be reminded that if he was one- he wouldn't have so many people wanting to know him. He's scared to face his friends' and sister. He knows its gonna hurt. And it does. But even though he isn't forgiven there is hope things can move on from it. Sam and Tucker will have some serious trust issues and take a while to decipher what part is Danny and what isn't. Meanwhile, yes Jazz feels betrayed. She understands and mostly just want to get to know HER brother more.. Danny more. Hope this opens up the wall she wanted to break down this whole time. And as long as Danny shows her who he is, and tries to work on himself. She doesn't care who he was or how he got there. Also he has to show her what he done with her little brother's body and give it a proper burial. Which Danny happily will- giving it a proper burial.. not showing jazz. He's still afraid she'll immediately hate him once she does. Also can see Bruce being so conflicted but Damian, Dick, and Jason all standing up for Danny. Especially Jason once hearing why Danny killed Vlad was to PROTECT his family and town. He gave him fair warning.. So imagine Bruce and Danny having hard time getting along after everything is revealed. But more so just Bruce unable to comprehend the conflicted emotions. Danny tried to emulate him.. but failed. But he tried to do good.. yet he still killed. So its more so awkward than anything. Bruce still wants to give his son the best. Then I can see Danny helping out- though he keeps phantom a secret from the public. He's always invisible or barely seen.

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dreamwatch · 7 months ago

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Ramblin' Gamblin' Man

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Steve’s at the Grammys. Holy Shit.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s been here, but it’s the first time he’s brought Steve. He walked the red carpet alone last time, the rest of the band ahead of him with their wives and girlfriends, Eddie playing up the bachelor angle. Steve watched from their home.

Tonight they’re ’best friends if anyone asks’, which Eddie thinks is unlikely because there are some big names here and like, who the fuck are they in the scheme of things?

They’re not nominated for anything; Eddie said they’d been asked to play a cover of Ramblin’ Gamblin Man and both Wayne and Steve’s dad are big Bob Seger fans so the band said yes. See, its little things like that that make him want to climb inside Eddie and never come out. Any other act is thinking about the prestige, Eddie’s thinking about whether his family would like it.

He loves this man so fucking much.

The band are sitting about ten rows back; he’s got a clear view of Sheryl Crow from his seat, and he’s pretty sure that’s the back of Whitney Houston’s head over to his left.

His new phone is buzzing in his pocket. Robin is obsessed with sending him messages. Tonight so far:

‘Is Stevie Nicks there?’

‘If she is please tell me she’s hot.’

‘Shit I think I just saw you!’

‘Is that Sheryl Crow in front of you?’

He deletes them to make space for new messages, hopefully something about how their friends are at the goddamn Grammys and not whether Shania Twain has a nice ass. (She does, he looked.)

Eddie taps his arm. “Okay, we have to go get changed.”

“Huh? Why?”

They’re wearing their ‘Corroded Coffin smart attire’, essentially their usual clothes minus the rips. They’re not exactly scruffy, per se, but… Steve’s in a suit here, you know? (The suit is borrowed, but it’s all about the effort.)

Eddie grins at him. “You didn’t think I was performing at the Grammys in this, did you?” He pulls at the long sleeve tee he’s wearing under his new leather jacket.

“I mean, yeah, I kind of did.”

Eddie tsks. “For shame, Steve.” He leans in, achingly close, his breath tickling Steve’s neck. “Wish me luck.”

Just for a second Steve thinks about kissing him. Fuck everyone else, fuck the fans, the industry, he just wants to kiss his man publicly. But he doesn’t. Instead he shifts so his lips are practically touching the shell of Eddie’s ear.

“Good luck,” he whispers.

Eddie shivers. Steve laughs.

The boys all leave, and now it’s Steve and The Wives.

Thirty minutes later the sound of a trashy high-hat fills the auditorium, lights flashing in time to the thu-thu thump bass drum pattern. Despite Jeff being their lead vocalist it’s Eddie, with his raspier, bluesier voice, that’s taking the lead tonight, and doesn’t that just make Steve’s heart fucking cry out with pride? And you know, Eddie, his Eddie, singing at a nationally televised event should be the thing he’s concentrating on, and it is! It is. But when the lights go up the first thing he actually notices is—

“Holy shit, they’re wearing suits!”

Bonnie says it before anyone else gets a chance. He imagines the four of them are a picture right now, side by side, eyes on stalks because their men are all on stage at the Grammy’s wearing blacks suits, crisp white shirts and… fucking sunglasses.

Look, he’s seen Eddie in a suit. It was a nice suit, but he looked about as comfortable as a priest in a lingerie store. This is not that.

These are sharp tailored suits, fitted to perfection. Eddie has too many buttons undone on the shirt, some of his chest exposed, that old Fender guitar pick necklace replaced with a solid silver copy (the original with Wayne). The stage lights hit his mirrored Ray Bans, the chain, the rings. But Steve can’t take his eyes off that fucking suit.

He’s going to devour him.

Eddie’s not a frontman, says he loves being able to just do his thing and let Jeff take care of the crowd. But he has a feeling things might change after tonight.

The audience are on their feet, and Steve grabs the girls so they can head down to the backstage area. They have passes but even then he has to pull the ‘pregnant ladies coming through’ card to get them back to the green room. And when they get in there--

They’re still dressed in those fucking suits.

Eddie spins toward him. “Hey! What did you—“

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence, he has his hands on Eddie’s face and he’s dragging him in for a long, deep kiss, Eddie’s eyes wide and cross eyed.

When he finally comes up for air he realises Jeff, Gareth and Matt are all getting much the same treatment from their wives.

“You’re never taking this off, understand?” Steve says breathlessly. “Never.”

“What… the suit?”

“Duh, the suit, yes the suit. You’re never taking it off. I don’t care what you’re doing, mowing the lawn, taking the trash out, washing the car, don’t care. This,” he says gently pulling at a very expensive lapel, “is never leaving your body.” He goes in for another kiss. “God the things I’m going to do to you tonight.”

“In the suit?”

“Fuck yes, in the suit! Told you, you’re never taking this off.”

Eddie’s grin is slow and mischievous. “This is really doing it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

It’s doing it for everyone. There are three respectable married ladies here, mothers no less, acting like groupies at an Aerosmith gig.

Steve squeezes his hips. “Let’s go.”

“Sunglasses: on or off?”

Steve wants to sink his teeth into him right here.

“On. Definitely on.”

The song:

The inspiration:

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #The Wives #cw period typical homophobia

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reachartwork · 7 months ago

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the process

a lot of people like to ask me about my process and how ai can be "creative" because they're under the impression that it's just kind of a big slot machine. you pull a lever and art uncontrollably comes out. well, let me show you my process

this is going to be a long thread tagged with #long post, blacklist that if you want to skip it.

so how it starts like most art is that i have an idea. in this case, earlier i made a post about witch-knights "surfing" on swords, so i'm going to try and make that - a witch-knight flying through the air atop one of her swords.

it starts with this picture.

i think this picture is dogshit so i discard basically all of it to try and find something closer to my original intent. there's a couple of uninteresting regenerations so it's clear i have to go back to the drawing board and teach the machine what it is i'm trying to do

let's start with a witch-knight on a broom. it's definitely not great but it gives us a better pose that i can work with.

i start by erasing the broom and replacing it with a skateboard - the machine understands skating better for what i need it to do.

there's a ton of small, subtle errors in this image and it overall looks like dogshit but the most important part right now is blocking and the overall pose structure - i need her "surfing" a large, lengthwise object, in the sky. i start by erasing pieces of the skateboard

now we have a sword, which is good. but the sword itself looks... bad. i'll spare you the abortive attempts at selective regeneration of the sword and just show you what happened when i rolled it back a couple of times from this pose and let it regen entirely.

again, tons of small little shitty errors, but this is something i can work with. i do another regen for a less shitty sword. her boob armor gets replaced with, like, generic scale mail.

this image has a great sword and decent pose but like... everything else is kind of futzy and i dont like it. instead of trying to pick and choose i just throw it back into the oven for a second. much better! but now she's going to cut herself on the sword, oh no!

again, i'll save you the agonizing thirty minutes of trying to get it to understand where the foot should go. unlike before i didn't really have a choice except to muscle through. there! now she's surfing safely :)

so it's done, right? well, i mean, i could post this. and it would probably do okay. but *i'm* not satisfied with it. there's stiffness. dozens of minor errors. the eyes look weird when you zoom in. let's start by fixing her hat, and then maybe her hands?

but she's missing fingers on her left hand so let's go ahead and fix that too. and i don't really like the tip of her sword and the ocean looks really flat and boring. so, VERY CAREFULLY, i have to etch out the parts of the sword and her body i have to keep, and also write an entirely new prompt to tell it "i want an ocean w/ rolling waves please :)"

this is better but not great. i try again - serendipitously, it makes this really cool variant with a shadow over the water, but i know working with that will take more wrangling so i'm considering it an evolutionary dead end and discarding it for now.

i proceed to spend 30 minutes trying to make the ocean look better but it's really not working imo. i'm gonna go back to the shadow version and see how that works

i'll spare you the other 8 minutes - i'm satisfied with the following picture. the sword isn't *perfectly* straight, her eyes aren't perfectly textured, the scale mail is... weird, in texture, but anything else would be greasing the wheel and i think beyond the machine's ability to do fine detail.

i've also attached the starting picture for comparison - it has better, "higher quality" clouds and ocean but i personally cared more about the pose and the sword surfing - the background is mostly tangential. could i get back ocean and clouds of that quality with another two hours of painstakingly cutting and re-generating bits of the background without destroying any of my existing work on the pose? probably. but i don't want to.

total time spent on this piece from start to finish was one hour and twenty one minutes. and now you know!

#art #ai art #long post

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thebestofoneshots · 7 months ago

Text

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.3 K Warnings: none Prompt: It's time to set up a trap with the boys! It has to be fun, right? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 60: Stone in Love

Wednesday 12th, 1977 - 12:34 AM

Lily didn’t take too long in the bathroom, and you went inside right after her. The girls had showered after arriving on the train, you, on the other hand, had only mildly gotten yourself looking decent before walking to Gringotts, and that was because you knew you had to look presentable. You suspected that after the entire mirror adventure, running around Hogsmeade like a crazy person, and making out with two boys at the same time, you urgently needed one yourself.

You looked in the mirror, and thankfully, you didn’t look as bad as you assumed you would. You did have a parted lip that you hadn’t noticed before, and your wrist was still slightly sore, but you looked brighter than you had looked in the morning. The evident sadness from then was now coexisting with a newfound joy, the tinge of someone completely in love –and happy about it– evident in some of your features. The shine in your eyes, the curve of your lips, the dreaminess of your gaze. It was almost ridiculous how much a small talk had changed the way you felt, and looked.

You took a deep breath and turned on the shower, basking in the way the warm water fell over your body, so soft and kind, so unlike the blazing fire, and the cold snow, that you almost wanted to fill the tub and stay there. You were still slightly sleepy, but the shower was enough to wake you up.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, Mary had also fallen asleep, and Lily was sitting on her bed while reading a book. “You’re leaving now?”

You nodded, and yawned, “Hopefully I’ll get some sleep after the preparations are ready.”

“Good luck,” she said and yawned.

“Sleep tight,” you replied with a smile, took James’ cloak and wrapped it around yourself, completely disappearing before her eyes. There was an air of child-like joy in Lily’s pupils as she saw you do it. She might have been immersed in the magical world for years, but every now and then, something caught her eye that reminded her of just how fascinating magic could be. People might have called the way she saw things a “muggle outlook” but Lily refused the idea of ever taking it all for granted. She loved being mesmerized by magic, and she never wanted to stop being fascinated by it. She smiled, looking at the door open and close by itself and then went back to her book.

She was trying to find a toad-repelling charm. If there was anything completely unrefutable about Lily Evans, is just how much she wanted to be prepared for any situation that she might face. And with the little to no information you had given her, she wasn’t eager to find herself surrounded or –Godric forbid– vomiting toads without being able to stop it. She really hoped it wasn’t the latter, Barty had charmed Nox like that in first year after he said something about Evan. She had been in the infirmary checking on Remus and she had to leave the room before he woke up because she too, had gotten the urge to puke. What a terrible jinx that was.

Luckily for her, having the entire school puke toads, was not on your plans, you were only trying to infest it. You walked down the stairs making as little noise as possible. You thought of using a spell to silence your steps, but it was quite late –about 40 minutes later than your original meeting plan– and there seemed to be nobody around. You walked towards the boys’ dormitories and gently knocked on their door.

“About fucking time,” Prongs whispered as he opened the door. Once it was closed, his voice went back to normal. “We were thinking you bailed on us!”

“He was, not me,” Remus said with a shrug.

“Why did you take so long, anyway?” Peter asked.

“Oreos,” you retorted. “And girl talk.”

“You talk about me with Lily?” Prongs said as he raised his eyebrow at you.

“What? Do you think girl talk is always about boys?”

“No?” He retorted, dragging that O a little too much.

You scoffed, “We did not. I’m sorry to inform you, our agendas don’t always include complaining about our boyfriends.”

“What are Oreos anyway?” Peter asked about at the same time that James murmured “Complaining about our boyfriends?” He had a frown on his face and looked terribly upset at the idea of Lily complaining about him.

You didn’t even bother to hide the smirk that had appeared on your lips. “Oh, a very muggle thing,” you retorted. The boys didn’t need to know what an Oreo was, at least not until you bought them a pack, at which point they’d be too busy delighting in them to remember that you had been late for the prank because of some cookies.

“A very muggle thing?” Remus asked, eyebrows raised, his tone clearly telling you he knew exactly what they were. Hope made an Oreo / triple chocolate cheesecake that was to diе for.

“Indeed, Moony,” you retorted as you shot him a look. “And talking about muggle things, I brought you something,” you said as you pulled out the Aero bar from your pocket. “Have you tried it?”

“Don’t think I have,” he said as he looked at the chocolate. “Thanks, Luv.”

“How come Moony always gets treats and I never do?” Sirius said with a small pout.

“Somehow I knew you would say that,” you said as you pulled out a tiny chocolate frog and placed it right in front of his mouth. “I got these at Muggle London, they don’t jump but they’re tasty. Open up.”

“That’s what he said,” James said and got a short slap from Peter who looked mortified. Somehow he was the only one in the entire group who saw you more as a girl than as a Marauder.

“Oi! What was that for?” James complained as he rubbed his arm. Meanwhile, Sirius had taken a bite out of his chocolate, you expected him to take it all in, but instead, he bit right in the middle, causing the filling to spill down his mouth and your hands. It was liquidy and it kind of looked like cough syrup.

“Oh, I guess it was blueberry,” you said as you noted the purple colour drip from your hands. You took the other half of the frog and plopped it into your mouth, “It’s actually my favourite,” you added as you licked the back of your palm. They were small kitten lips, just trying to get the stickiness out of it so you could wipe them on your shirt but somehow that had caught the attention of the two boys.

Perhaps they were too imaginative, or the kisses from a few hours ago had left them wanting more, but both boys had their mouths watering at the sight. James and Peter were still arguing in a hushed tone so neither of them noticed their gazes until you felt you were being stared at. “What?” you asked as you turned to Remus. “Got something on my face?” You eyed Sirius who was also starring.

Perhaps if Peter and James weren’t there, Sirius would have retorted with “A kiss” and jumped on you, but instead, he cleared his throat.

“Nothing. It looks like it was a good chocolate,” Remus said, somehow calmly.

“You think?” you asked as you pulled another one from your pocket and held it up to his mouth in the same way you had done with Sirius. He glanced over at Peter and James nervously, but their small discussion had turned into a relatively heated quarrel. He then eyed Sirius who nodded with a small shrug.

Remus leaned towards your hand, taking the chocolate with his teeth without breaking it, his soft lips brushing against your fingers in some kind of way that made Sirius wish he could drag the two of you somewhere private and kiss your pretty lips until he ran out of breath.

“Good, yeah?” you asked as you saw him smile mischievously as he bit the chocolate. You didn’t understand the look he and Sirius had, but he did, and he did not miss the way Sirius was looking at the two of you. First your way and then his, he never thought he’d love being the centre of attention of Sirius’ piercing eyes as much as he did right then.

“Delicious,” He replied with that same, devilish smirk. Sirius would have scoffed if he hadn’t been just as lured by him as if he had been with you.

You smiled and turned to the two boys still deep in their discussion. “Okay, that’s enough, we’ve got a spell to teach you,” you said as you placed a thick book in the centre of the small circle you had ended up in. Quite similar to the one you’d been in back in your room with the girls. The book fell down on the wooden floor with a thud so loud it snapped Peter and James out of their quarrel.

“What? I thought you were going to do it with Moony,” Peter said.

“If the school didn’t have thousands of classrooms perhaps. We’re thinking we have to split into 2 teams. The team with three takes the bigger places, such as the great hall, the courtyard, the stairs, the astronomy tower, and the longer halls, the team with two takes the other classrooms. Especially the ones with classes tomorrow, but also the empty ones in case the teachers think switching classrooms would be a solution.”

“Classes will be cancelled, no matter what,” Sirius said with a smirk.

“And is it complicated?” Peter asked with a frown.

Remus tilted his head to the side, “Well…”

“You’ll do great Wormy, I know!” You said with a thumbs up and opened the book. “What Remus and I designed was a variation on Arresto Momentum,” you explained.

“The freezing time spell,” Remus continued. “More technical versions can freeze a person before they fall to their dеath, Quidditch coaches are all taught how to perform it–”

“Simpler ones are used to freeze food in time so it does not go bad. Muggles need refrigerators and stuff for that,” you continued. “But the tricky thing with this one–”

“Is that we needed to time set them, like a bоmb. And all of them at the same time.”

Sirius was looking at the way the two of you quite literally finished each other's sentences completely in awe. While he had already been in love both with you and with Remus, the fact that he could kiss either of you mid-sentence was beyond thrilling. You were both insanely pretty, almost unfairly so. Sirius was sure you were saying something important by the way you both pointed at the book and flipped your wands in a very specific way, but he was so entranced by you that he hadn’t been listening at all.

“You got it?” You asked Peter, he was moving his wand up and down and then in a circle and saying a couple of spell words, albeit a little clumsy, he was saying the words right and making the correct movements.

“Did I?” He asked as he loosened his grip on one of the decoy swamp-bombs (the ones that had no swamp but just a little water inside). The ball stayed in its place until James grabbed it and put it in his pocket.

“James mate, that’s a–” Remus started, but you placed your hand on top of his and threw him a knowing look. A small eyebrow wiggle and a tiny little smirk. He shook his head in amusement but didn’t press further.

“Yeah?” James asked.

“A great swish and curl,” you said as you imitated the swish on his wand. “Also, I think Pete is ready too,” you smiled. “You just need to add a little more confidence with the wording,” you added as you turned to him. “It’s Arresto Momentum um debiat” you added.

“Um debiat,” Peter repeated.

“You got it, Puppy?” you asked, turning to Sirius, who only now seemed to be snapped out of his trance.

“Uh, yeah…” he replied with a confident nod, only now turning to actually look at Peter and James moving their wands and practising the new spell. He leaned towards Prongs. “What were the words again?” he asked in a whisper.

“Oh, my Merlin!” James complained. “You’re keeping this twat with you,” he added as he turned to you.

“Hm… I suppose I’ll have to take one for the team,” you said with a shrug and a smirk.

“You love having me as your team, shut up,” Sirius retorted with a playful scoff.

“Moony is going to be with us, yeah?” Peter asked.

James threw a look at Remus and smirked himself, “Don’t think so, Worms. Vixen and Moony are taking the bigger places since they’re faster with the spell. We’ll take the classrooms.”

“Oh well,” Wormy said with a sigh. “Should we hide the balls in the corners, in case someone notices them?”

“We probably should, yeah,” Remus replied. “That way even if one of us fucks with the spell they’d have to find the rest of the swamp-bombs before they actually explode.”

“Brilliant idea, Pete!” you said with a warm smile, Peter smiled confidently after that. He knew he wasn’t all that great with charms, but he got little pride from getting ideas that turned out for the best every now and then. Like the cuddles, he was still pretty shocked by how well it worked in the end.

Sirius threw you a look, not quite jealous but not quite happy about you praising Peter either. It’s not that he didn’t like Peter, but he was still kind of bothered about the PDA discussion they’d had earlier, even if he had been playing him just to get on his nerves, he wasn’t too happy about being told when he could and couldn’t kiss his girlfriend; unless it was you telling him, that is.

“Okay, then, we ready?” you asked. “Who's keeping the cloak?”

“Well, if you disillusion me and Peter, you three should have it,” James said, thinking of how cosied up you’d get under the cloak. You had been there for him every time he tried to have Lily fall in love with him. He considered his duty as your best friend (since Remus was your boyfriend now) to ensure he provided you three with lots of quality time together. Besides he hadn’t seen Remus this happy in so long, he wanted that smile to grow bigger. He wanted all of your smiles to do so. “Besides, you'll be going to the red zones.”

The red zones was a term employed by the boys to reference the areas with the most teachers and prefects around at night. Places like the library (which you would not touch because both you and Remus valued books too much to risk them being damaged by the toads), the great hall, and the grand staircase.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said with a smile and took out the wand, successfully making both boys almost completely invisible. “The swamp-bombs?”

“Under the bed,” James said as Remus pulled a small bag that had been extension charmed, and then another one. “The blue bag has the most.”

Peter leaned over –at least you assumed it was Peter, if the faintest whisp of neatly tucked hair was anything to go by– and took the purple bag. The colour of the bag faded after his hand touched it, it was almost completely gone by the time he lifted it from the floor.

James whispered something, and you didn’t even notice they were leaving until the door opened by itself and closed seconds later. “I really need to learn that silencing charm, James has truly mastered it.”

“Bet it’d come in handy,” Sirius teased, and you reproachfully threw the cloak at him, understanding full well his implication. He took the cloak and the bag and stood from the floor. “All right, we don’t have all night, we better hurry this up,” he added as he extended his hand for you to take. You stood up and then did the same for Moony who, once he was up, took the cloak from Sirius.

Remus extended it around himself and held it over his head, welcoming the two of you inside. You smiled and got in, Sirius followed with a smirk, standing almost unnecessarily close to the boy. Not that you were standing much farther. Both –per James’ prediction– had cosied up to the taller boy like you did when you were in your animagus form.

Remus tensed at first, being brought back to before you were with him, to having to worry about being caught smelling Sirius’ hair or looking at the back of your neck. And then you pulled your hand behind your back and searched for his, taking it in yours and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He relaxed almost instantly, smiled and squeezed your hand softly in retort. Since you’d kept the cloak, Peter and Remus had gotten the map. That meant you’d have to be extra careful while walking around the school.

If only we had two of those, you thought as you walked towards the door. Remus held his finger to his mouth, and for a few seconds, your breaths were the only thing either you or Remus could hear. “It’s empty, let’s go,” Remus said and Sirius opened the door. The three of you stepped out and in a matter of seconds were out of the door.

The hall was empty, Remus was set to patrol that night, along with Frank Longbottom, the Gryffindor head boy whom you hadn’t met yet –at least officially, you’d seen him around– but was kind of close to the boys. And Remus had convinced him he’d take care of the prefect’s duties. According to Remus, Frank was trying to sway a girl named Alice (not the one you knew, a different one) and he was going to be working on writing her a letter all night.

“What do you even do when you patrol?” asked Sirius after he yawned, you instantly did the same. It was as if the sleep that you’d gotten after drinking the cookies was coming back to you, slightly stronger than before.

“We literally just walk until the clock ticks midnight and then we come back to our rooms,” Remus said. “Frank talks a lot about spells, he’s a little clumsy like Peter, but he’s really clever regardless. When I’m with Lily we just discuss things like what we saw in class or the themes of our essays. Sometimes we just talk about muggle stuff,” he retorted. He was speaking low, not quite in a whisper, but enough for it to be muffled by the cloak. James had added a sound-blocking spell to it, it wasn’t strong, but it was enough to cover for words as soft as Remus’.

“Where are we going first?” you asked, holding back another yawn. You knew Sirius would instantly tease you if he noticed you were sleepy, and while you didn’t hate his teasing, you didn’t want Remus to have the impression his new partners were childish.

“Great Hall?” Sirius asked.

“We want them to go off in class, I was thinking we could have those set a little later, you know how Dumbledore loves taking the students to the Great Hall in a contingency.”

“Imagine! They think it’s safe, and boom, toads!” Sirius added.

“How do you even know about the contingency plans?” you asked with a frown.

“We’ve caused a couple of them,” Sirius retorted with a smug smirk. “How does it feel to really be a troublemaker in the end?”

“I sometimes feel it’s your madness rubbing off on me, you know?” You retorted and Sirius gasped.

“Speak softer,” Remus chided when he heard a portrait yawn in the background. “I was thinking we could do the stairs first. Prefects are rarely there.”

“What about the portraits?” You asked, tilting your head. “They can be as bad as the Peeves when it comes to ratting someone out.”

“Nah, they won’t bother you as long as you don’t wake them up, most of them just take the time to relax,” Remus responded with a shrug. “If anything happens I’ll just tell them I caught you sneaking and I’ll report you.”

“Who would have thought it’d be so convenient to have the law in your pockets,” you said with a teasing smile and got a slight shove from Remus. “And we didn’t even have to bribe him!”

“Oh, if I have to pull the Perfect card, you’re most definitely gonna have to make it up to me.”

You eyed Sirius, it was dark but the slight shine on his eyes was unmistakable, he was, like you, eager for something like that to happen.

“Should we split to cover more ground?” you asked as you stared down at the massive staircase.

“It would be the best…” Remus said hesitantly. He clearly didn’t want you to pull away from him.

“Promise I’ll be thinking of you,” you said, placing a short kiss on his cheek and disillusioning yourself. You exited the cloak with about 15 small balls hidden all over your pockets. You walked towards one end of the stairway and started to perform the spell over the small little balls. They looked almost kike gobstones, which was great since, even if they were visible, they wouldn’t be all that suspicious.

“Aren’t you going too?” Remus asked Sirius when the boy grabbed some of the balls from the bag and placed them in his pocket.

“Thought I’d see you do it a couple of times to make sure I got the hang of it,” Sirius said as casually as he could.

Remus groaned in return, “You so weren’t paying attention to either of us when we explained.”

Sirius didn’t even try to deny it, “You both looked too pretty, I’m sorry.” He didn’t miss the blush that crept up on Remus’ neck when he said it. “So, pretty boy, care to teach me?”

“Are you serious?” Remus dеadpanned. Regretting his words as they came out of his mouth.

The other boy’s smile grew wider, “As a matter of fact, I–”

“You have to flick your wand to the right, to the left, do a swish and then flick it again, towards 9 o’clock though. You got the words, yeah?”

“Rude,” Sirius said with a small pout and followed Remus’ instructions seamlessly. Moony was almost jealous of how easy it was for Sirius to do it. You and he had taken so long to develop the spell for him to come and master it in seconds.

“Like this?”

“You’re just a show off,” Remus retorted as he pushed Sirius lightly, but the other boy just took the chance to hold on to Remus’ hand and pull him closer. Both still under the cloak.

“Allow me to thank you, Professor Moony,” he said flirtatiously, planting a short kiss on the boy’s lips and slipping off the cloak with a disillusionment charm.

Remus had to take some time to recover, blinking and staring at nowhere in particular, only being brought back by the moving of the stair underneath him. He was taken by surprise and lost his balance for a mere second before he remembered where he was and what he was meant to be doing. He tried not to think so much about the fact that he could literally walk up to you or Sirius and kiss you and how you would happily return the kiss, because if he did, then he might as well call the whole prank off and bring the two of you back to the room now that Peter and James weren’t around.

By the time you were done with placing your swamp-bombs and turned to look for the boys, you realised just how hard it would be to find them now that everyone was using some kind of invisibility magic. You looked around for a while, trying to spot something that could reveal it, but it was almost useless, there was no way you’d spot either of them. You resorted to trying to use your other senses.

You took in a deep breath, trying to channel Vixen’s sense of smell, but while you had gotten much better at transfigurations, and you had managed to do things like getting those fangs out and ripping your skin, you were not so good as to be able to just do that, not without turning into Vixen at least. You were just about to do that when you remembered that you didn’t have to solely rely on your senses, but that you could rely on theirs too.

“Remus,” you whispered. “Hey, Remus! Where are you? I’m done.” You blinked a few times, looking around to see if you spotted any sort of odd movement, and you thought you saw something move in the background when you felt a pair of hands grab you from behind and drag you inside the cloak. You sucked in a breath, and his hand was over your mouth in a second.

“Shhh,” he whispered to your ear soothingly. “It’s me, Little Witch.”

“Holy shit, Rem, why the hell from behind?”

“I was there,” he replied with a shrug. “You seen Sirius?”

“Thought I saw something move over there,” you said pointing at a stair that was moving on the other corner. Remus leaned closer to you, his head almost resting on your shoulder as he looked at the point you referred to. He was squinting his eyes in the direction of your finger, not realising how close he had gotten to you or perhaps he would have gotten as nervous as you were.

But it was the good kind of nervous, the sort of heart-fluttering sensation that you got when you are close to the person that you like so much. While both Sirius and Remus had realised their feelings for each other and for you a while ago, you were just now noticing how much you liked Remus, and how many things about him you liked romantically. It was like being brought back to the Slug Party where you weren’t able to stop ogling him.

He really was outstandingly pretty, so much that you wanted to kiss him. “You know Rem…”

“Mhm?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as if trying to see better, while his eyes weren’t on you, he looked comfortable with the closeness.

“Sirius and I have a bit of a tradition…” Now he turned to you, eyebrows knit. “It seems like whenever we’re on a stealth mission,” you added, turning your face to his as well, you were standing so close that your noses were pretty much brushing against each other. “Something comes over the two of us, and we end up doing the most outrageous thing.”

“Like getting caught?” He teased.

You scoffed, “Of course not! We’ve never gotten caught.”

“What about that time at the Slytherin’s?”

“He got caught, I didn’t!” You retorted, He raised an eyebrow as if to remind you that the only reason you hadn’t gotten caught was because he had been there to stop you. He had been tempted to kiss you then, perhaps as tempted as he was now. “But that’s not it.”

“Then?”

“Well when the tension rises,” you leaned a little closer to him, “and the adrenaline is in the air–” Your mouth was centimetres away from his, “we tended to–”

You didn’t even finish, Remus got the idea and he was more than eager to join your little tradition. He was the one to close the gap, your lips crashing against his in a rather urgent manner. As if he was trying to kiss you for every time he had wished he could and had to restrain himself. He tasted like chocolate and cherry wine (probably because of the filling of the chocolate frog he got earlier).

Despite his urgency, it was you the one who bit his lower lip and pressed your tongue against his mouth. He was quick to part them and chase your tongue with his, there was something about the way he kissed you that made your knees weak, in the same way that Sirius’ kisses did. Like you wanted to melt into him, allow him to mould you to his body instead of moulding him to yours. But then there was the other part of you, the one that didn’t like losing control and fought back for it, your hand rushing to the back of his neck and pulling him down to you while allowing your hands to play with his hair. It was much shorter than Sirius’ but that didn’t mean you couldn’t pull on it just slightly.

He moaned into the kiss when you did and it was hard for you to hold back the smile as you separated for air. You were about to go back to kiss him when you heard a door shut from the side. You pulled apart from and looked towards it, biting your cheek to swallow the gasp you would have instinctively made.

“It’s Severus,” you whispered as you stared at the greasy-haired boy. He was walking with his head held high, his Prefect badge, perfectly polished adorning his chest. You rolled your eyes and turned to Remus again, his lips were rosy and he was also panting a little, you never thought he could look prettier and here he was, all kissed out and looking like a prince. “You find Sirius?”

Remus turned to you with eyebrows raised. He was too busy finding your lips to look for Sirius. “We have to distract him,” you mouthed, not daring to speak any louder, despite the charms the cloak had, you couldn’t risk it. You were not going to get caught by Severus Snape, of all people.

“How?” He asked.

You smiled mischievously at that. “Insecti,” you whispered, effectively conjuring about 4 thick flies, directing them straight towards his hair. Remus looked at you with interest, while the flies buzzed about all around Severus.

“Go away!” the Slytherin said as he frantically waved his hands over his head. Hitting one of them with the back of his hand but still being followed by the rest. “I said go away!” He said again, much more irritated. He was going up a flight of stairs, and you knew he wasn’t distracted enough to fall, regardless you were keeping a very close eye on him. Finally, he took out his wand, and the moment he did you pulled just the tip of yours from the cloak.

You smiled, “Mucus ad nauseam,” you whispered this time. He sneezed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said as he took out a handkerchief to stop his runny nose. It was a simple spell that you found in one of those trick books the boys had to sneak out of the restricted section. “It must be the fucking flies,” he complained again.

Remus threw you a diverted look and you winked his way. Severus sneezed again, waking one of the portraits. “Shhhh,” the man said by placing his hand over his mouth. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“It’s not like I can control them,” Severus muttered under his breath, and then sneezed again, this time a little louder. Just to piss him off. But he inadvertently woke up a couple more of the portraits.

They had already started whispering about, a lady in a horse shushing him while on another one, two men that had been playing chess started discussing his outrageous behaviour. “Who’s responsible for this squawking?” a man with an Auror uniform asked. Severus sneezed again. “Ah, it’s the Slytherin kid, of course, it’s the Slytherin kid,” Said Lady McDougal as she pointed at him.

Severus rolled his eyes, trying to hold his next sneeze while also hitting one of the flies with his hand. Remus turned to you, pulling out his own wand and pointing it towards him. “Sonorus,” he whispered.

“Stupid ancient portraits, they should start minding their own fucking business,” he muttered again. Except this time, Remus’s charm had made his voice a lot louder. So loud that instead of a whisper to himself, as he intended, his voice resonated all over the Grand Staircase. He froze, looking around the portraits as he gulped.

“Who are you calling ancient?” A very old man asked from the right wall. “I thought you’d be wiser since you’re a member of my house.”

Severus was about to apologise, but he sneezed instead. “And he won’t stop making noise even after we asked him!” the portrait that had shushed him first added.

Some portraits were looking at him with disapproving glances, others were muttering among themselves while, the most outspoken ones, were straight up telling him off.

“Cannot believe the prerequisites for becoming a Perfect have stump so low that someone like you has gotten the honour,” a man with curly black hair added. “When I was the Headmaster of this fine institution you could only achieve such a position by being at the epitome of the student body. Only truly exemplary students…”

“Shut up Nigellus,” another portrait said. “Nobody liked you when you were Headmaster!”

“He kind of reminds me of…” you muttered as you looked at the portrait of Nigellus, who had now engaged in a heated discussion with the portrait of a Quidditch player.

“Nigellus Black,” Remus said with a smile. “He’s nothing like our Sirius but he’s got those pretty eyes of his.”

“Should have known…” you smiled as you turned to him.

Severus sneezed again, successfully driving the attention –and anger– of the quarrelling portraits towards himself.

“Well boy, what are you still doing here? Go lock yourself in your common room or something!” Nigellus said, you snickered, covering your mouth with your hands to avoid making a sound.

Severus wiped his runny nose with his sleeve. “BIoody portraits!” He said as he rushed towards one of the halls, and away from the stairs.

“BIoody portraits,” one of them mocked in a high-pitched tone as he passed by. It was the portrait of a younger boy, and he didn’t think twice before flicking his index and middle finger at him.

“Let us sleep!” an old lady with a flower dress shouted from the very top.

Severus cursed under his breath as he shut the door, loud enough to get cursed again by the rest of the portraits. “Slytherins,” Lady McDougal said with a sigh, “It had to be one of them.”

Another lady agreed with her while some Slytherin wizards shook their heads in disapproval. Meanwhile, you and Remus couldn’t stop eyeing each other with a satisfied and diverted look. That’s when you saw green sparks coming from one of the doors.

“Is that the Slytherin boy again?” One of the portraits asked.

“Let’s go,” you said, knowing full well it had been Sirius and not a Slytherin. By the time you and Remus got close enough, you could distinguish his beautiful black curls through his disillusionment charm. Remus extended the cloak around him and suddenly the three of you were back in the little safe heaven James’ invisibility cloak provided.

“That little act of yours was brilliant,” Sirius said with a smirk in a low tone. “Where next?”

“The Great Hall,” Remus said. The three of you made your way towards it, stopping by the library before you got there. “We should probably lock it…”

“Or they’ll try to give classes inside,” Sirius added.

“A simple locking spell won’t be enough,” You said and took a deep breath. “What if we disappear it?”

“What?” Remus asked with a frown. “How?”

“We could hide it,” Sirius said with a nod. “Make it seem like it has disappeared even if it’s still there.”

“Exactly, something close to a disillusionment charm, but for things.”

“And then we could fill it up with something like escargot slime, nobody would want to get close to it.”

“Snail,” you said before Remus even threw you a confused look. You had no idea why Sirius would remember the French word (which was far more complicated) than the English one but one time you had forgotten how to say spoon and went for cuchara instead. You turned to Sirius, “Where would we even get snail slime, though?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a smile and turned to the massive library doors. He took in a deep breath and cast a disillusionment charm, followed by you and then Remus. The door had completely disappeared after the third spell. Sirius smiled and turned to the door. “Cochlea bitumine,” he said, suddenly there was a green, snot-like slime all over the floor and wall. You sighed, it didn’t stink, but the smell was rather potent.

You took a swamp-bomb from Remus’ pockets and stared at it for a second, “I think they’ll rather enjoy this ambience,” you smiled and hid it inside the smile, while you avoided touching the viciousness of it altogether. Then you whispered the words of the spell. Sirius imitated you, and you ended up hiding about 6 of them just in the area.

The great hall remained pretty empty at night, you had never been there, but the boys were familiar enough, apparently, the ghost didn’t really like being there when there wasn’t people, there were no portraits, and while the charms in the sky became a little fickle when there were people there after hours, it much easier, once you were inside.

The complicated part was getting in. Since that’s where the Prefects gathered before and after their patrol, it was much harder to get through the open halls that took you inside. Lucky for you, you had taken the cloak, which meant your life would be made easier.

“Ready?” Sirius asked with a smile. You were standing just below the stairs, and peering up at the hall. There were three Hufflepuff prefects there. You recognized one of them as Alex Wood’s classmate, but you weren’t familiar with the rest.

“We could try to distract them first?“ you said.

“But then they would know someone’s out and about, and James and Peter would have people looking for them, they have no cloak.”

“Then we become as stealthy as ninjas,” Sirius said with a confident nod. He’d been reading some Daredevil comics Andromeda had sent him and he had been fascinated by the idea of them.

“I could turn into Vixen.” You shrugged, “they would never figure out I’m a student and not just a rogue fox.”

“It’s not as believable as if Wormtail did it…” Remus replied as he shook his head.

You were still discussing strategies when a ghost mounting a horse came in screaming through the side. “Someone has been in the classrooms,” he roared. You grabbed both boys’ hands and dragged them towards the great hall as the Hufflepuff scattered from the door and tried to talk to the very altered ghosts.

“I guess they’ve been discovered,” Sirius whispered as you all arrived at the Great Hall.

“Mhm,” you agreed. “We need to be more careful now.”

“Perhaps not quite,” Remus said thoughtfully. “They’ll probably go talk to the portraits, and Severus was the one causing a mess, so they might pin the classroom incident on him too.”

“Sir Pendragon would have said Potter and Pettigrew were there if he had spotted them. He’d take any chance to drag either of us down.”

“Huh? Why?” you asked curiously.

“Peter thought it would be funny to share a rumour about him in second year. He told everyone he didn’t lose his head on a joust, but that it had been eaten by a Wilddeoren,” Remus explained.

“They were a lot more common back in the day,” Sirius added. “Anyway, I think Sr. Nicholas found out it had been Peter and told Sir. Pendragon since he wanted to join the headless hunt. The man has hated all of us since then.”

You laughed and shook your head. “You should make friends with the ghosts, not make them your enemies.” Sirius just shrugged, smiling and sending you one of those winks of his. He then pulled some orbs from his pocket and placed them on your hand. “Ready to cause mischief?”

“Definitely,” you retorted with a smile, placing them in your pockets and then grabbing another handful. You disillusioned yourself before stepping out of the comfortable warmth of the cloak and walked to the back of the hall. You did hear the uneasy rumbling of the ceiling, as if it knew someone was around when they shouldn’t be, but you ignored it until you got all the way to the teacher’s table. You placed swamp-bombs underneath it, three by the windows and some on the closer gargoyles. Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus were making sure all the tables had swamp-bombs underneath them. And for good measure, they also hid a couple next to the floating candles.

Once you were done, you all reunited back in the same spot near the door, it was Remus –who still had the cloak– the one that dragged you inside as soon as he spotted you, or rather, smelled you, since he’d managed to do that way before the saw through your disillusionment charm.

“Hey,” you said with a smile once he pulled you to him.

“Hey,” he responded, like the idiot in love he was. You smiled, as you looked up at him, and he leaned in to press a short, quick kiss on your lips. “Sirius is on his last bomb.”

“How do you know?” you whispered.

“I counted them,” he told you with a shrug.

“No wonder he calls us nerds,” you said with an amused scoff. You were both pulling Sirius into the cloak mere minutes later.

“Where to now?” He asked with a smile, Remus was tempted to press a kiss onto his lips as well but decided perhaps right at that instant it wouldn’t be proper. Not that either of the three cared too much about proper, but Remus still had more common sense than the two of you.

“The tower,” you said as you yawned.

“You tired?” Sirius teased. You blinked and shook your head in response. Not that you didn’t have perfect reasons to be tired, but the idea of falling asleep in the middle of a prank was so absurd to you, that being tired –no matter how sleepy you actually were– seemed preposterous.

Sirius tightened his lips as he tried to hold back a smile, he had known this for a while, but when you were sleepy, you got into a cuddly mood, and when you were in a cuddly mood, he got to be as clingy as he wanted to be. He wondered if he’d be able to hug you and Remus at the same time later that night, without having to turn into Padfoot, and picture how amazing that might be.

“You think they’re outside still?” You asked as you leaned your ear on the door.

“They’re not,” Remus said confidently. “Even the portraits are asleep now.”

“Good,” you said as you cast a silencing spell on the door and pushed it open. “Let’s go!”

The portraits at the Great Hall were also much calmer now, which is why you tried to be as quiet as possible as you climbed up the stairs that would lead you to the Astronomy Tower. “Looks like they’re already falling asleep,” Sirius said. “You think they’re still mad at Snape?”

“They won’t get over being called ancient anytime soon,” Remus said with a smile. “And with how much they gossip, they might turn the rest of the portraits in the castle against him as well.” You let out a low giggle after that and covered your mouth almost in an instant. When you heard one of the portraits wake up the three of you threw a look at each other and rushed towards the tower as fast and stealthily as you could.

Once you got to the stairs you looked up, it was a rather long stairwell, leading all the way to Professor Spellman’s territory. The divination classroom was dark and gloomy at night. There was a rather faint light coming from the window, but the classroom was only lit by a single black flamed candle. Spellman had talked about that in a previous class.

According to him, black flame candles were better than normal candles in divination spaces because they didn’t disturb the light from stars as much.

“Lumos,” Sirius said and pulled out the tip of his wand from the cloak. “I don’t think there’s any ghost here now,” he whispered as he turned to you.

“Prefects don’t come here often either. They do check the top of the observatory, but that’s just because some people use it to make out.”

“Oh, really?” You said with a smirk, managing to shake off the sleepiness a bit more.

“Don’t get any funny ideas,” Sirius told you and you pouted as you looked at him.

“You’re the one with the funny ideas most of the time,” you retorted. Remus shook his head in amusement, took some of the swamp-bombs and handed them over to the two of you.

“Focus, we can discuss those funny ideas once we’re done.”

Sirius turned to you with an eyebrow raised and a smirk that you retorted with a raise of an eyebrow and a similarly satisfied smile. After the small exchange, the two of you went on your way to set up the classroom. Once you were done, the three of you stepped out and went straight to the observatory. You split up again, this time not bothering to disillusion yourselves, and started placing some swamp-bombs all over the place.

When you were done, you walked over to one of the small lookout spaces and leaned both of your arms on the railing, looking out towards the Black Lake. It was the same railing in which Evan had threatened you not so long ago. If someone had told you then that he would save your life months later you would have called them crazy. And here you were, in that same railing, thinking of how sudden the change had been.

You took a deep breath, trying not to let thoughts of that night cloud over your happy ones, “What is it?” Remus asked as he approached you, leaning close enough that your shoulders bumped into each other.

“Nothing,” you said almost in a whisper. He raised one of his eyebrows. “Everything,” you sighed and then yawned. “Godric! Why am I so damn sleepy,” you asked as you rested your head on his shoulder. “It isn’t even that late...”

Remus turned to his watch, “It’s almost 2,” he said.

You yawned again. “I didn’t even wake up that early,” you complained. Your eyes were closing on themselves, and Remus was tall, warm and so reassuring that your eyes almost refused to stay open.

“But you had one hell of a day,” he retorted softly.

You hummed in response. “That indeed,” you yawned. “But still, there’s something weird about it…” you said with a long sigh. Remus was thinking of an answer when he felt a little bit more of your weight reclining against him. He turned towards you only to notice your evened-out breath and completely relaxed expression.

“Little Witch?” he whispered, the lack of response confirmed his hypothesis, you had fallen asleep as you reclined into him. Remus smiled, looking at your slightly parted lips as you breathed in and out the chilly winter air. He wasn’t sure he had ever had the time to look at it from such an angle.

Not that you hadn’t already used his shoulder as a headrest, but he had never felt comfortable just blatantly staring, in case someone else was watching, in case somebody noticed how irrevocably in love he was with you. But you knew it now, and Sirius knew it too, and you were both okay with it. So he stared, at your lashes, and your nose, and the curve of your lips, like he was seeing you for the first time, even if he had been dreaming with them for months now.

The snow was gently falling outside, the lake shimmered with the reflection of the stars and the forest was as dark and alluring as ever. But not even the beautiful, shimmering stars in the sky were lovely enough to divert his attention from you. He was in a trance so deep that he didn’t even hear the steps from behind.

“Hey Moony did you–”

“Shhhh,” Remus said softly, turning to Sirius as he rushed a finger over his mouth. “She’s fallen asleep.”

Sirius frowned and tilted his head, you had never fallen asleep in the middle of a prank. “Don’t you think that’s weird?” Sirius whispered.

“With the day she had?” Remus retorted. “It might just be the only thing she’s done that makes any sense.”

Sirius shook his head with a smile, “It’s not the only thing,” he retorted, leaning in closer to Remus, and laying his head on the boy’s free shoulder. “She got us together, and we make sense together.”

It was almost ironic, that when Remus finally managed to rip his gaze away from you, it was only to look at Sirius. Sirius with his confident smile and sparkling eyes, he would have sworn they were shinier than the stars and the shimmering reflection of the crescent moon in the black lake. The snow might have been falling like glitter in the water and dissolving into sparkly droplets of dew, but his eyes were lost on the endless grey of his best friend, his boyfriend. Remus smiled, “Yeah, we make sense together.”

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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