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buckets-and-trees · 28 days

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Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for quite a while. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond anything you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your above, over, and below the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, andI've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

#ari levinson #chris evans characters #curtis everett smut #curtis everett #ari levinson smut #curtis everett x reader #ari levinson x reader #female reader #tw: dubcon #tw: dub con #tw: dubious consent #happy birthday siri 2024 #aspen wrote something #obsidian stain and sin

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chaos-company · 7 months

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Angstpril 2024

Hi everyone!

It’s that time of year again! We are excited to announce that we are hosting the event again this year!

All prompts, FAQs and rules can be found in the graphics and below the cut!

Prompts:

1. homesick

2. frozen

3. broken-hearted

4. longing

5. rise from the ashes

6. this isn’t going to work

7. bad dreams

8. lost battle

9. trust issues

10. phantom pain

11. no way out

12. a little too late

13. learning the truth

14. surrender

15. confrontation

16. cry for help

17. last chance

18. left behind

19. trembling

20. broken

21. faking a smile

22. drained

23. swept away

24. the ghost of you

25. cold shoulder

26. grief

27. panicked

28. never see you again

29. betrayal

30. the last time

Alt Prompts:

1. troubled mind

2. not strong enough

3. you were never mine

4. the night we met

5. mental scars

6. miscommunication

7. jealousy

8.rock and a hard place

9. emotionally distant

10. paranoid

Rules

All posted content must be your original content. The use of AI for creation of any kind is prohibited.

All tags must be utilized in order to be reblogged. NOTE: the mods are human beings, so not all works will automatically be reblogged, even if all tagging is correct.

Any art form is acceptable, including original writing, gif sets and fan art.

FAQs

“Do I have to create for all thirty days?”

- Not at all! Feel free to jump in whenever you’d like. This is a creation event, so create as much or as little as you want! However, if you want to be entered in the shout out post, you must participate in all 30 days.

“Can I post a creation after the day has already passed?”

- Yes! You’re welcome to post for a prompt day even after the date, just be sure to tag with which day and prompt you’ve created for! You will only be eligibile for the shoutout post if you complete all 30 days within the month of April.

“What if I don’t understand/like a prompt?”

- We have a list of 10 alt prompts for you to choose from if you don’t like the main 30. Feel free to use our alternate prompts for any day, and if there’s any confusion send us an ask!

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lenaswritingandstuff · 9 days

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All I had - Mattheo Riddle x f!reader (Part 2 & END)

Requested: No well I lowkey did

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Summary: After his girlfriend y/n is killed, Mattheo has to deal not only with pain and sorrow, but also cruel accusations (complete original prompt here), and asks someone for help.

Word count: 4.7K

Warnings: mentions of death, lost and grief; cursing ;

A/N: Thank you guys a lot for the good feedback the first part got! Here Mattheo and Tom are also Bellatrix' sons, and Mattheo is older than Harry by one year (so this takes place during Harry's sixth year) and younger than Tom by one year too. There will be two povs in this part, and I might do a bonus scene if (a lot of) people ask. This is my first time writing for Tom (and Voldemort) so I really hope it's alright. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Hope you enjoy it!

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @arlxtoa

GIF IS NOT MINE.

PART I

The two Aurors got up and left, and Mattheo blinked. When he opened his eyes again, the cold metallic table and the chairs disappeared, and he was back into the small room with the bed and the floating candles. Weakly, he laid on the bed and crossed his hands on his stomach. He didn’t know how long he had been here, in this room which was more magical than he thought as the bed, the sink and the table that were here when he arrived disappeared every time the Aurors came in, with a metallic table and three chairs surrounded by simple darkness which disappeared when the two men did. However, it must have been at least two days, spent refusing anything he was proposed to eat or drink - strangely enough, though, he wasn’t feeling hungry or thirsty at all - and refusing to say what those two fuckers demanded. Everytime they came in, Mattheo asked if they contacted Tom so he could come, but they refused to answer, insisting with their dumb questions instead.

At first, his brother not coming to his aid had gave Mattheo great anxiety, as he saw it as the only way to prove he didn’t do what they accused him of - his mind refused to use the real words - but now, as time passed and without an answer, all anxiety - which was the only thing he was able to feel besides his pain and empty chest - had left him, leaving only resignation. If he was sent to Azkaban, so be it. After all, even if he didn’t do it, didn’t he deserve it for not being able to protect y/n? He was her boyfriend, who vowed while looking into her eyes, her eyes he was crazy about, to always protect her and save her if needed, and he couldn’t fucking do that. And again, even if he didn’t do it, it was his fault she was gone. If he hadn’t gone out for a stupid cigarette with Theo, maybe y/n wouldn’t have left her room and she would still be here, holding his hand and kissing him. Some part of him knew that maybe she left to go help a friend in need - typical y/n - and didn’t actually go out to look after him after he took a while to come back, but the biggest part of him refused to think about that theory, refusing to admit that it wasn’t his fault somehow.

It had been too good to be true, he thought. He had managed to escape both his parents ever since his father came back and his mother escaped Azkaban, Tom and Dumbledore helping him hide during the summer holidays - y/n had asked him countless time to come to live in her parents’ house, but despite wanting nothing more than to say yes and spend the summer by her side, Mattheo had refused to put her and her family, who had already been kind enough to let someone like him date their daughter, in danger. He had also managed the anxiety and stress his father’s coming back had brought, mostly due to y/n’s love and care, and had even managed to plan on becoming an Auror once he would leave school, which he knew had worried y/n, but now, all the good things he had managed to do and the overall good - or at least; bearable - life he had built around his friends and y/n not only meant nothing, but it had died with her. Because even if I manage to not go to Azkaban, what would I do? I might as well join my father.

But Mattheo had that thought, y/n’s sad, disappointed face appeared to him, and he hated himself even more. y/n wouldn’t want that, he forced himself to think, slightly shaking his head. y/n would want him to fight, and most importantly, would want him to remain the boy she had loved. His only option, if he managed to not go to prison, would be to hide until his death - which now he didn’t care when it would come. The door suddenly opened, bringing Mattheo out of his thoughts, and had half expected the Aurors to come back and, letting out a long sigh and closing his eyes, he prepared himself to insult them this time, but it wasn’t one of their voices he heard.

“Brother.”

Fuck. Mattheo’s eyes snapped open, and he jumped on his bed, and at the same time turning his head so quickly he could have hurt himself. Taller and of stronger structure, Tom was standing near the door, his dark curls perfectly styled contrasting with Mattheo’s messy hair, and dressed in an all black suit.

As if he was waking up from a long, deep sleep, Mattheo’s mind was not perfectly aware, and got used to the idea of Tom actually being here. Looking up at him, Mattheo noticed his elder brother looked paler than usual, and there was something strange about his eyes.

“They called you,” Mattheo managed to say.

“They did. Their message came late, however, as I was…busy, in the north.”

In other circumstances, Mattheo might have asked Tom what he meant by that - he never really knew what his brother was up to ever since the latter left Hogwarts last year - but, now, he just slightly nodded in answer.

“Dumbledore told me,” Tom continued, his tone now sounding more febrile and softer, “that y/n was… dead.”

The last three words hit Mattheo like a thousand knives in the heart, but they also for some reason finished to convince his mind that it really did happen.

“The two Aurors told me you did it.”

“I didn’t,” Mattheo answered immediately, the defensive tone and behavior he had been having for the last two days around the Aurors coming back.

“I know. Though I wish to know what really happened.”

Sighing and his eyes on the ground, Mattheo explained everything that happened that night, from spending an usual night with y/n in her room - he saw a small grimace on Tom’s face for a small second - to going for a smoke with Theo.

“Then on my way back, I was walking by the courtyard when I saw her…her, I…I saw her body.”

Mattheo then raised his gaze, and saw that Tom’s body and face had stiffen, and one of his fists was now closed. A year ago, this reaction from Tom upon hearing about y/n would have angered Mattheo deeply, but now, he only felt some annoyance which surprisingly disappeared quickly.

“There was no round around?” Tom asked. “No sign of anybody?”

Mattheo shook his head negatively.

“Who do you think might have done it?” Tom questioned in a sharper tone.

“I don’t know. She only had friends. Teachers liked her. Her family is normal…”

“Try to think, Mattheo,” Tom cut off coldly, growing impatient, “try to remember a detail, a conversation y/n had with someone…”

“I don’t know!” Mattheo said louder. “I haven’t been able to think ever since I had her corpse in my arms!”

Tom had a very small sigh. “Then maybe y/n didn’t tell you about it. Do you think her friends might know something?"

“Her friends never liked me much,” Mattheo had a bitter small laugh. “Well, except for Pansy.”

“I see. I’ll have to ask them some questions, then.” Tom said. And I could as well have searched her dorm for a clue, but I heard her family already took her belongings and cleared her room,” he added in annoyance.

Mattheo frowned. “Her family? Her family is already here?”

“Yes. It’s been two days, they had to take her body,” Tom answered, his voice a bit febrile. “I suppose the… funeral will be held soon.”

It was already unbearably hard enough for his mind to understand the idea that y/n was dead and would never come back, but to imagine her immobile body in a casket, alone in the darkness and the coldness of the silent underneath the ground…No, fucking no, that was something he could not and could never handle. When he looked at Tom again, Mattheo saw him as lost in thought, as if he felt the same way. And he knew he did.

“Do you believe she could have had some sort of stalker or admirer?” Tom questioned after a moment of silence.

“You mean, other than you?”

Tom looked at him, now angered but a bit surprised as well.

“Unbelievable. y/n is dead and you’re still thinking about this?”

Mattheo didn’t answer. Of course that was stupid to think about what happened last year, especially now. Last year, between Umbridge’s tyranny and the suspicion that had raised around Mattheo and Tom now that their father was back, something Mattheo never imagined happened: Tom, the cold and quiet Tom who had never looked at a girl before, had fallen in love. Mattheo had been amused at the idea, and had been curious to know who the lucky girl was, despite the whole thing happening in front of his eyes. One day, a very surprised y/n had come to him, saying Tom had asked to talk to her in private and had confessed to her that his heart, which all thought cold and frozen, had fallen for her. Angry as he never had been in his life and only listening to the part of himself which was telling him that his brother wanted to steal everything from him, Mattheo had immediately went to see Tom and a big fight had followed, and it would have probably became physical if Tom hadn’t remain his calm self, although greatly annoyed at Mattheo’s shouting, and his friends holding him back just in case. y/n , sweet, innocent y/n had felt guilty despite not being at fault, and later Mattheo had realized that it was likely her fondness and compassion for Tom, who was “always so alone” which had made his older brother think he and y/n might have a chance. Mattheo had never been mad at y/n, but, unable to not be angry at Tom and unable to not think that Tom wanted y/n just because she was with him, his cordial relationship with Tom had been broken, and they never had any contact after Tom graduated. But with time, Mattheo had realized he understood Tom. After all, y/n was beautiful and had a heart of gold, and people were drawn to her and her warmness, kindness and natural charm. It wasn’t even a surprise that someone like Tom, cold and silent, would fall for her despite being as different as can be. But while also thinking about this, he had then remembered all the times he had seen Tom and y/n speaking, studying, or just the kind things he would sometimes tell her, and it had made sense.

“I know they found your wand. You mentioned you lost it,” Tom said suddenly. “Do you have any idea where that might have happened?”

“No,” Mattheo said, looking at the ground. “I just know I lost it after class.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“y/n.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember any details? Anything that could help?”

“I already told you no,” Mattheo said with annoyance.

He tried to think hard about it, though, trying to remember his walk from y/n’s dorm to the dark corner of the castle where he met Theo, and remembered it overall - the empty corridors, making sure nobody, especially a teacher, wouldn’t see him. He then tried to remember every detail of the way back. He tried hard, forcing his mind to bring itself back to this moment, but to his great confusion, he didn’t remember anything. It was as if, one moment, he was walking away from Theo, and the other, he was walking by the courtyard, seeing his biggest nightmare coming true.

“I don’t remember anything from my way back to her dorm,” Mattheo simply said.

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember anything between leaving Theo and seeing h…her body.” The last two words still had a hard time leaving his mouth. Suddenly, he had a thought, maybe the most clever and useful thought he had ever since he had been brought here.

“Maybe you losing your wand and your memory somehow disappearing are linked,” Tom stated, and Mattheo nodded. “Did anybody here do some strange things or had a strange behavior this year?”

Mattheo thought, and quickly had an idea.

“I heard Harry speaking with his friends once. He said Draco was up to something, and, well, I noticed he’s been acting strangely since september.”

Tom remained silent, and acquiesced.

“Then I shall have a conversation with our cousin.”

They opened the door after Tom knocked once, and the two Aurors were still here waiting for him when he left the room. He ignored them and started walking down the small corridor, but they apparently were not willing to do the same.

“Did he tell you anything?” one of the Aurors asked, full of curiosity, trying to keep up with Tom’s quick and long footsteps.

Not bothered, Tom did not even give him an answer.

“Well?” the other insisted.

“No, he did not,” Tom answered this time, but only to get rid of them. “He already told you he was innocent. There was no more he had to say. Just like I have nothing to say to you.”

It worked, and the Auroras stopped following him. He left their outraged and suspicious gazes behind his back, but to say he didn’t care was an understatement. It was already the end of the afternoon, and classes just finished. Tom, ignoring the surprised looks of the crowds of students, walked to Snape’s class, and found him here sitting behind his desk. His former professor raised his eyes, and though he didn’t show it, Tom knew Snape was surprised to see him at Hogwarts.

“Snape.”

“Mr. Riddle.”

“I wish to talk with a few of your students. Be kind to bring them here.”

“And may I ask why you wish to talk to them?”

“If I thought it concerned you, I would willingly tell you,” Tom responded. “Now, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkison and Daphne Greengrass.”

Snape looked at him, but did not say a word. Minutes later, only two silhouettes entered Snape’s dark greenish class. The two girls exchanged a curious look upon seeing Tom.

“Tom?” Pansy Parkinson asked. She had always been somehow unafraid of him, and Tom respected that fact. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help my brother.”

Parkison raised her eyebrows with genuine surprise. “You think he’s innocent?”

Tom nodded. “I know you two ladies were y/n’s closest friends. I need you to tell me if she had anyone who wished to do her harm.”

Pansy shook her head and had a slight sigh, “we already told the Aurors everything.”

Daphne nodded, “y/n had no enemies. Well,” she added with a false smile, “at least that’s what we thought until her own boyfriend turned out to be one..”

“Mattheo is innocent,” Tom retorted right away.

Pansy chuckled bitterly, “Don’t make me laugh, Riddle. Everyone in school knows how they found his wand near her body, and how the last spell it cast was the killing curse. He did kill our friend, and I hope he will rot in Azkaban for the rest of his days.”

Tom remained silent, ignoring his growing annoyance, and instead focused his mind on entering Parkison’s. He saw her in Daphne’s arms, probably crying over y/n’s death, and going back to before that event, he saw her this time laughing with Daphne and y/n, and his heart - if it was still there - skipped a beat. Seeing her full of life, laughing, when he knew she would never laugh again was almost too much to bear. He continued inspecting Parkison’s memory, and when he couldn’t find anything, did the same thing to Greengrass. He didn’t find anything new inside her mind, and had a hard time not showing his displeasure. He had entered their minds and saw their memories so quickly that they didn’t even notice what he did.

“Where is my cousin?” Tom finally asked, quickly looking at Snape.

“Draco?” Parkinson asked. “Well, we saw him in class, but…”

“He left right after the last one. Maybe he’s in the common room, or maybe his dorm?”

Tom wanted to ask if, like Mattheo, they thought Draco had been acting weirdly, but wouldn’t do that in Snape’s presence. He gestured for the two girls to go, and turned back towards Snape.

“If I don’t find who murdered y/n and exonerate my brother before I leave Hogwarts, I suggest you continue looking for the murderer. Because, as you well know, Severus, my wrath is nothing compared to his.”

Not waiting for Snape’s answer, Tom left the room. He directly went for the dungeons, where the Slytherin common room was. Some friends of Mattheo were here, sitting on some of the couches - Berkshire with his innocent face, Nott always acting as if he had no care in the world and Zabini who never smiled - and they immediately came to him when they saw him.

“Tom?” Nott asked. “You’re here to help Mattheo, right?”

“Did you find anything?” Berkshire asked.

“I need to speak to my cousin. Where is he?”

“We don’t know,” Zabini shrugged. “I looked in our dorm, he’s not here.”

Tom decided to go check the room himself, and walked in its direction. As Zabini said, there was no one here. The room was well ordered, full of expensive things both Zabini and Draco’s parents had bought and of Slytherin decoration, but Tom looked into it, he didn’t find anything. His patience growing thin, Tom quickly left the room, and, ignoring Mattheo’s friends and their questions, left the common room. Walking through the corridors, he only met a few much younger students who did not dare to look at him for too long until he saw three silhouettes talking softly.

“Potter.”

The latter turned immediately, but didn’t seem that surprised to see him, and they walked closer to each other.

“My brother told me you found Draco’s behavior strange. Why?”

“We saw him at Borgin & Burke with his mother. They seemed like they didn’t want people to know they were here. Sometimes, he disappears and doesn’t come to class. He’s always quiet, and you never see him outside of class.”

“And pray tell, what’s your theory?”

Potter stared at him, and as Tom expected, didn’t say anything.

“Come on, Potter. You’re smarter than most people give you credit for.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t be smart if I told you what I thought.”

Tom inclined his head, squinting his eyes. “So it has to do with my father. You believe he’s a Death Eater, don’t you?”

Potter’s eyes hardening was enough for Tom to know he was right.

It wasn’t common for Tom’s father to pick followers that young, but if it was indeed true, Tom was not surprised. Either his father had expected Draco to replace Tom’s uncle Lucius, or he was forced to. I know my cousin. He may be arrogant and spoiled, but he doesn’t have the stomach to be a Death Eater. Not for long, anyway.

“I see,” Tom continued. “And where do you think he goes when he disappears?”

Potter looked at him, hesitating before giving an answer. “I can’t be sure, but…the Room of Requirement makes sense.”

And with that, Tom turned his heels and went to the seventh floor of the castle. He knew it was going to be hard, as that room could appear anywhere, but he wasn’t going to give in. In a long, empty corridor, he closed his eyes, and walked past a large naked wall three times. I need to find what Draco has been up to. I need to find who killed y/n. Doing his best to shut the pain that thinking about y/n brought him, he walked past the wall for several minutes, but when he stopped his pace and opened his eyes, the wall was still naked. Growing angry, he all of a sudden heard footsteps breaking the silence. He focused, and almost instantly knew who it was. Draco. Putting himself against the wall, Tom waited barely a minute, and immediately grabbed Draco, who, as expected, tried to resist.

“Let me go!”

“Quiet.”

Draco immediately stopped moving, and, upon seeing who had grabbed his arm, frowned.

“Tom?”

Tom immediately saw that Draco’s face was paler, looking even a bit gray, and thinner than usual, and that he had dark bags under his eyes.

“Greetings, cousin.” Tom said with calm and a smile. “I have a few questions to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

Draco started to struggle again, but Tom took out his wand, pointing it on his cousin’s chin.

“Do not make me do something I will not regret. It is really simple, cousin. You either answer my questions, or I will get them out of you. Do we understand each other?”

Draco remained silent, but Tom knew he understood.

“Do you know who killed y/n?”

“No!”

“Do you know who might have done it?”

“No! Let me go, now, or I’ll-”

“Do what?” Tom said, amused. “Please, pray tell.”

Draco again didn’t say a word, only giving him a death stare. Despite allegations of Draco acting weirdly and his weaker look, Tom knew it didn’t mean Draco had anything to do with y/n’s murder - the word was enough to almost wreck havoc. However, despite Draco’s denial, Tom felt something was off. Just like he did with y/n’s friends, Tom entered Draco’s mind, but found it way harder. Immediately understanding why, Tom smiled.

“I see my mother taught you Legilimency. I expected better, though.”

Not wasting another second, Tom pointed at Draco’s forehead. At first, he was shown memories from Draco’s first years here, bullying students with his friends, then darker, unhappier memories with his parents and Tom and Mattheo’s mother at Malfoy Manor, succeeded at last by what really interested Tom. He suddenly saw his father, probably furious after Uncle Lucius failed the disaster at the Ministry, and then had a memory of Draco inside the Room of Requirement - as Potter had guessed - standing in front of what Tom knew was a Vanishing Cabinet. The whole scenery disappeared, and instead there was the boys’ restroom, with Draco sitting on the ground with his face in his hands, crying. Next, he was back to Malfoy Manor, standing in front of both Tom’s parents.

“My sons have both been a disappointment, a great disappointment,” Tom’s father said calmly. “I still hold hope for Tom, but as for Mattheo…If I don’t act quickly, he will be out of reach forever. You said there was a girl at Hogwarts that he ‘loves’.”

Tom felt his heart beat faster, and his breath became short.

“Well,” his father continued, “along with the other task you have been given, Draco, you will kill that girl. If you don’t, I’ll kill your mother and then you.”

If he thought Dumbledore telling him of y/n’s death broke his heart, learning it was his father who ordered it broke his soul. But he had barely time to process that memory that another came, bringing him back to Hogwarts. Draco was standing against a wall in an empty corridor. Tom heard voices from afar, and after a moment, saw his own brother. Jumping behind him, Draco pointed his wand at the back of Mattheo’s head.

“Impero.”

Mattheo took his wand out of his robe and Draco grabbed it. Mattheo didn’t move as Draco went back to the spot he was hiding it, and pointed once again his wand at Mattheo.

“Obliviate.”

A few seconds later, Mattheo slightly shook his head and continued walking, eventually disappearing. The next memory happened at night, and Draco was once again hiding, this time in a corridor which led to the courtyard, apparently waiting for someone. But Tom didn’t even have to guess who, because it was as if his whole being knew who was coming and what was going to happen. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to hear, but his eyes refused to look away or to close themselves. He heard familiar footsteps, and suddenly, y/n appeared; walking rather quickly, and she took a glance at the darkness of the courtyard. Tom saw Draco’s hand shaking as he pointed Mattheo’s wand at y/n and, after hesitating for a short moment, opened his mouth.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Despite his whole being screaming at him to look away, Tom turned to y/n and saw her looking at the green light coming to her right and gasping before the spell hit her, and her body hit the ground. Draco closed his eyes, and a tear ran down his cheek. Taking his own hand, Draco moved it, and y/n body started levitating, heading for the courtyard, before eventually lowering itself to the ground. Tom stayed here, looking at her corpse, wanting to scream for the first time in his life. He didn’t know how long he stared at him, his very soul in pain, but it must not have been for long, because when he pulled himself together, Draco was still here, and he heard a familiar voice.

“y/n?”

Mattheo was here now, close to her body. He kneeled near her, taking her into his arms, calling for her, asking her if she could hear him, eventually crying, screaming for her to come back. Draco once again shed a tear, and took out both his wand and Mattheo’s. He made Mattheo’s wand float to fall down near Mattheo. Wiping away his tears, Draco tried to look normal, started walking away, and thus his memory was over. Tom was brought back to reality, to the corridor where he was holding Draco - y/n’s murderer, the one who had taken his only chance of happiness from him. If it was another person who had been killed, Tom might have understood why the murderer did it and even maybe felt compassion as he knew how his father was, but it was y/n, and it took everything in Tom to not torture Draco in ways that would have make his father happy. Draco tried to fight Tom’s grasp again, but this time, Tom took the opportunity to answer the last question he had on his mind. He rolled up Draco’s left sleeve, and saw the Dark Mark. Potter was right, after all, was all that he thought.

“It was Draco.”

Mattheo looked at his brother, confused.

“What? Draco did what?”

Tom looked back at him. “He killed y/n. I saw it. In his mind. Our father told him to. He put you under the Imperius curse to take your wand, used it to kill her, and put it next to you after killing her.”

Mattheo tried to grasp the idea, but simply couldn’t. Draco, his vain cousin, spoiled and loved by his parents like neither him or Tom had been?

“He’s a Death Eater,” Tom added with no emotion. “He has the mark. He killed her to save both his and his mother’s lives. I do think he didn’t want to do it. He cried a bit.”

Mattheo gulped. “Did she…Did she see him?

But Tom knew what his real questions were: did y/n see death coming? Was she scared? Did she scream for help, for anyone - for him, to come and save her?

Tom became pale, and for the second time in his life, Mattheo saw that his brother’s eyes were sad.

“No. She only saw the spell for a quick second before she…”

Mattheo closed his eyes, and nodded. One half of him wanted to see it with his own eyes, wanted to see her last moments, where he should have been here to save her, but the other half refused to, convinced he would turn into a mad man if he saw her dying. Mattheo felt warm tears leave his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

“She was all I had,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I know,” Tom said, staring at the wall on his left. “She was all I had, too.”

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hanleiacelebration · 4 months

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Han/Leia Appreciation Week 2024

WE'RE BACK, BABY! "Wait, what's happening, wasn't this in August??" you might wonder. Based on your feedback, we decided to host this and (probably) future editions of Han/Leia Appreciation Week earlier in the year. July seemed like the better choice, given that it's a vacation period in both hemispheres!

This year we're also giving you the prompts over a month in advance, so you have plenty of time to plan and create!

Han/Leia Appreciation Week was an event originally hosted at @han-leia-solo between 2016-2019, but for the past three years, we've taken up the mantle here at @hanleiacelebration 😊

💖 How does Han/Leia Appreciation Week work?

The event will run from July 14th to July 20th, and there will be two different prompts each day that creators can fulfill with: fanfic, fanart, gifsets, graphics, fanvids, headcanons, crafts, playlists, rec lists. You’re encouraged to tag your posts with #hanleiaweek2024 so we can reblog them! After the week is over, we’ll share a masterlist with links to the works.

You can show your appreciation in many ways; however, please keep in mind that it has to be a creation of yours of some sort, e.g. don’t repost other people’s fanart, gifs, or unedited pictures. Rec lists should include a link to the original source both for fanfic and fanart (more on this after the cut).

🎆 The prompts

Sunday 7/14: Tradition / Ceremony

Monday 7/15: Braids & Bloodstripes (hair or clothing) / Home planet

Tuesday 7/16: AU / Canon divergence

Wednesday 7/17: Force / Belief

Thursday 7/18: Favorite scene / Favorite quote

Friday 7/19: Meeting / Escape

Saturday 7/20: Free day!

You can use only one of the daily prompts, combine both, reinterpret them, or skip the day if you can’t think of anything. If you’re not able to post on the same day for a prompt, you’re still encouraged to share it through the week—just don’t post works for a certain prompt before the day corresponding to that prompt.

💠 💠 💠

FAQs and Rules under the cut - please read!

💕 Can I post my work to another site and share the link on Tumblr?

Yes! This is a good option for people who might want to create explicit art that could be taken down on Tumblr, write a long fic or multichapter, or make videos or playlists.

💕 Does it have to be a new creation? Can I finish and post a WIP?

It has to be something that has never been posted anywhere else before, so finishing and sharing a WIP is okay! If it doesn’t fit any of the prompts, you can share it on Free Day.

💕 Is this event open to all ratings?

Yes! Just remember to use a “Read more” cut if you’re posting the whole work on Tumblr, and to add a note at the top if your work is rated Mature or Explicit, as well as if it has any major trigger warnings, so all folks can safely browse through the entries.

💕 Are there any length or quality requirements?

There’s no min. or max. length for fanfic or quality level for art, but please note that AI-generated works won’t be accepted. For gifsets, there’s a minimum of two gifs (that must be made by you!). For playlists, there’s a minimum of five songs. For rec lists of fic or fanart, there’s also a minimum of five recs. Some more questions you might have about rec lists:

- How do I share someone else’s art without posting a picture? You might post a thumbnail that crops a preview of the piece; if the piece has a title, you might use that; you might describe it; or you might say something like “this piece by [artist]”, and link to the source.

- What if I found a fanart on Google? Try to find the original source using reverse search image.

- What if I can’t still find it, can I just say “credit to the artist”? In that case, please just don’t share the piece.

- What if I know the artist but don’t have a link to the original source? Naming the artist and linking back to where you found it is okay, in that case.

💕 Can I write for canon/Legends and include other pairings?

All canons, time periods, headcanons and AUs are welcome, and you’re allowed to include side pairings, except for R*eylo. However, keep in mind that this is a Han/Leia appreciation week - at the risk of sounding repetitive, works should focus on appreciating Han and Leia’s relationship!

💕 What’s the time zone for the event?

Please don’t worry too much about time zones: when we say “day”, we always mean “whenever that day is for you in your part of the world”. IE: if it’s Monday for you, you can post your work for the Monday prompt.

💠 💠 💠

Do you have any other questions? Don’t hesitate to send us an ask or to message one of the mods: @lajulie24 @hanorganaas and @otterandterrier

We can’t wait to see what you all create!

#hanleia #hanleiaweek2024 #han x leia #han solo #leia organa #star wars events #swfandomevents #swedit #swcreators #mod post

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saxamophone · 1 month

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🎶 `Wireless Fic Claim

Fuck YES it's @hd-wireless reveal time and I love this fest so much. It's bangers only, all the time, every year, and I'm just happy to be here.🧍‍♀️

Thanks very much to @nv-md for the ideas/beta. A true giant among us, and the pinnacle of what fandom represents: collaboration, kindness, enthusiasm, and humor.

A big thank you to the mods! And to the readers and commenters: I love you, I love you, I love you.

And a huge shout-out to @emsuemsu for the prompt Heartbeat by Childish Gambino. Obsessed the requests to 'make it painful but in a sexy way,' 'HEA or not?', and 'all the infidelity!' This was so fun to write.

Rated E; 22k words

Tags: EWE, Eighth Year and Beyond, Explicit Sexual Content, Alcohol, Break Up, New Orleans, Southern Decadence, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Researcher Harry Potter, Angst, ALL THE ANGST, Infidelity, cheating, I'M SAYING IT AGAIN INFIDELITY

Summary:

Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, water from fountains of dubious origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs. Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

Read on AO3.

#drarry #hd wireless #draco malfoy #fanfic #fanfiction #drarry fic #harry potter

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runnning-outof-time · 1 year

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At the Last Possible Minute | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @acewritesfics

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Shocked by Tommy's decision to go fight in France, (Y/N) holds all of her emotions in until the last possible minute.

Warnings: mentions of going to fight in war

Word Count: 3068

A/N: I’m sorry it took super long for me to write this, Ace, but here is the original idea that I had for the story that then became ‘The Good I’ll Do’. I used the prompt ‘what’s going on in that head of yours?’ from the list you shared ages ago … I guess this came in perfect time for your one year anniversary of your account - thank you for all of the amazing fics you’ve blessed us with. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message Me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"I'm sorry I'm late, I...goodness, what's the occasion?" (Y/N) stopped her initial apology to comment on the number of people inhabiting the living room of the Shelby family's Watery Lane home. Almost every seat in the room was full, and if (Y/N) hadn't noticed their solemn expressions, she would have thought that there was a celebration happening. "Has something happened?" she asked, her brows furrowing together in confusion.

No one said anything outright, instead exchanging glances at one another. The silence was making (Y/N)'s heart rate quicken by the second. And then she saw Tommy. He was wearing an expression that she'd only seen a handful of times over the several years that she'd been friends with him, the last being when he told her of his mother's passing. Seeing it made her stomach drop.

"You should be the one to tell her, Tom," Arthur mumbled privately to his brother, but (Y/N) was able to hear him due to the quietness in the room.

"Tell me what?" she couldn't help but ask, her worry rising by the second.

Tommy looked at (Y/N), his mind reeling as he tried to think of a way to break the news to her. He watched her expression become even more dire with each second that passed. It was breaking his heart. After what felt like ages, he finally spoke: "come with me, (Y/N)," he said to her, extending his hand in her direction as he approached her.

"To where?" (Y/N) asked another question as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the stairs. "Tommy...what's going on?" she asked as they walked down the small hallway of the second floor, confusion now present in her words.

"I wanted to tell you in private," he began, opening the door to his bedroom and leading her over to the bed that sat tucked in the corner so that they could both sit on it.

"Tell me what?" she continued to try to pull answers out of him, hating that it was taking him so long to tell her what so clearly was serious news.

Tommy inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a moment as he tried to collect himself. He exhaled it slowly before he took her hands into his. "I love you, (Y/N)..."

(Y/N)'s heart dropped at the sound of his voice, and she immediately thought the worst. "What's going on, Tommy? Please stop beating around the bush and just tell me," she urged him. She figured that if he was going to break her heart, might as well rip off the bandage.

"Me brothers and I have signed up to fight in France," he told her, his eyes not straying from hers as he spoke.

(Y/N)'s mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to collect her thoughts. She was well aware that she probably looked like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, but she could care less. In a way it did feel like she was gasping for breath.

"Can you say something?" Tommy asked her after a few moments - that felt like decades - had passed, his voice filled with concern.

"I...I can't think of anything to say," she decided to state the obvious, her mind still reeling from his previous statement.

Tommy sighed as he looked to the opposite wall of the room. He didn't know what type of response he was expecting from (Y/N), but getting no sort of specific reaction outright was really messing with him. He loved her more than anyone in the world, and having her be at a loss of words made him want to question if he made the wrong choice in enlisting. It was too late now...their papers had been turned in, and they would be shipping out to France by the end of the week.

"When do you leave?" she broke the silence with a quiet question, her words making his eyes snap over to meet hers again.

"The end of the week," he answered her, watching intently for her response; hoping that she'd say more than a five word sentence.

It was (Y/N)'s turn to look away when his response hit her ears. To say her mind was reeling was an understatement. She couldn't even begin to think of something to say, and it pained her because she knew that Tommy was looking for her to put what was going on in her mind into words. The problem was that she had no words for it...there were no words to explain what she was feeling at the moment.

"You're going alongside John and Arthur?" she asked another question. Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but was unable to get a word out. "I'm sorry for asking all of these questions, Tommy, I just..." she cut into his response before trailing off and letting out a sound of exasperation, becoming slightly frustrated at the fact that she couldn't even think of a place to start with her thoughts.

"It's ok, (Y/N)," he told her, squeezing her hand that she'd just realized he was still holding, "this wasn't an easy decision to make."

"Then why did you make it?" she was quick to ask, the words coming out before she could think them over.

Tommy just about flinched at the pain that was present in her words. "Because we didn't want to have it made for us. They were going to draft us anyway. If we enlist, it's on our terms," he gave an explanation as to why they'd made the decision.

"You may not have gotten drafted this early though...we could have had more time together," (Y/N) pointed out, her voice becoming shakier with each word she said.

"We'll have more time together," he assured her.

"That can't be promised," she reminded him. There was never any certainty when it came to war...the both of them knew that.

"We'll have the rest of this week," he pointed out, trying to look on the bright side of things.

"Yeah," she agreed with him, trying to put a smile on her face. She was able to, but it quickly faltered, and Tommy said nothing but instead sent her a sympathetic look in response. He began to open his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by (Y/N) before he could get a word out. "Why don't I help you pack now? So that you're not overwhelmed with work as the time gets closer," she blurted out an idea, and immediately felt dumb for having suggested it. You're in the middle of a deep conversation...would he really want to get started on packing? Come on, (Y/N)! she yelled at herself, mentally facepalming. What a way to make things go from bad to worse!

Tommy searched her face for a moment, trying to pick up on any possible cues. (Y/N) held her breath as she watched him do this, hoping that he wouldn't want to continue prying into her thoughts on the news he'd given her. He finally nodded his head after a few moments passed. "Yeah, we can do that," he reluctantly added, finally dropping her hands from his hold.

An awkward silence entered the room as they stood from the bed to move over to where his wardrobe was. Nothing much else was said between the two as (Y/N) got the few outfits that Tommy owned out of his wardrobe and folded them so that they'd fit in the compact suitcase. Tommy didn't do much to help. He instead stood back and racked his brain as he watched (Y/N) go through the motions; trying to think of some way to continue the conversation they'd abruptly ended on the bed. Her answers weren't sitting right with him, it was obvious that she was hesitant about it all - who wouldn't be? - but he needed to know if she herself was ok. It was one thing to be upset about the situation, but another completely to be upset in general. He didn't want the latter for her.

But nothing else was said between the two for the entire time they spent in the bedroom. (Y/N) felt the weight lay heavy on her chest as she followed Tommy back downstairs. The living room had cleared out a bit, and sympathetic looks were given from those who stayed as the couple entered the room again. Everyone knew exactly what had happened in the room. Polly decided that she was going to get started on dinner, and (Y/N) agreed to stay around and join the family for the meal. The topic weighing on everyone's mind wasn't discussed for the remainder of the evening as each person tried hard to think of other things to speak about...the elephant in the room didn't go unnoticed though, you could see what each person was thinking about clearly from the look on their face.

This was going to be a long week.

——

Tommy's promise of he and (Y/N) having the rest of the week to spend together didn't quite turn out the way either of them wanted to. Both barely spoke to each other or spent much time together as they practically threw themselves into their work to try to avoid the inevitable.

Tommy was working hard to make sure that Polly had everything she needed in order to continue the family business when the brothers went away.

(Y/N) took up longer hours at the clothing shop she was hired at, knowing that spending too much time with Tommy and the rest of the Shelbys would make her heart hurt in ways that she wasn't ready for. It was hard not to think about what was awaiting them at the end of the week when they were together.

As much as they didn't want it to, the weekend finally came. Polly made the boys join her at church one last time so that she could pray for their safety and well-being. After that, she and Ada prepared one last meal for the family to have together before the brothers were due at the train station. One person's absence was duly noted though...(Y/N) hadn't showed up at the Watery Lane household despite Tommy inviting her over. His worry grew more and more as it got closer to the time he would be leaving, and he wondered if he'd be seeing his love before he got shipped off to hell.

(Y/N) couldn't bring herself to leave her bed. She knew what Tommy was doing today; knew that he wanted her to be there when it was time, but no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't get herself up and moving.

It wasn't until the clock struck four that she finally managed to bring herself to a sitting position. There was only one hour left until Tommy's train would leave the station. She didn't leave the bed though, and instead just stared at the clock on the wall as it ticked away slowly, taking away the minutes that she could be spending with her love. Why hadn't she left the bed yet?! Why couldn't she bring herself to?!

Something awakened inside of her when the clock struck 4:30. She threw the covers to the side and rushed to put some decent clothes on. Caring less if they looked orderly, or even matched, she grabbed a pair of shoes from the corner of her room before quickly working to make sure her hair looked decent. She didn't want to make it that obvious that she'd just rolled out of bed to run to the train station.

Thankfully the station was close to her family's home. She took off running the second her feet hit the pavement, and she didn't stop until the crowds of people saying goodbye to their loved ones came into view. Her chest started to hurt as she got closer to the station, and she wasn't sure if it was because she was getting closer to what she'd essentially been avoiding for the entire week, or if it was because she'd just sprinted over here.

She slowed down once she hit the edge of the crowd, and she began the process of slowly walking through the throngs of people and looking everywhere for the man she wanted to speak to one last time. It was a tedious process, but it proved successful the moment she spotted a dress she couldn't miss anywhere.

It was one that she made for Polly for her birthday a few years back; when she was just getting started with her career as a seamstress' apprentice. It was made of a darker, floral pattern, and as the years passed, (Y/N) told Polly several times that she didn't need to wear the outfit, but the older woman ignored her and continued wearing it.

To (Y/N)'s relief, Ada, Finn, and their three older brothers - who were now dressed in their uniforms - were standing beside Polly. She wasn't too late. "Tommy!" she called out, hoping that he'd hear her over the buzzing of the crowd as her feet quickly took her in his direction.

He did hear her though...he would hear her anywhere, and in a second, he was turning around to look in the direction of her voice. As much as (Y/N) wanted to freeze and marvel at how his hair looked now (he'd only wore it without it being styled a handful of times, no matter how much she pestered him and told him that it made him look even more irresistible) she resisted the urge and continued walking until she was able to hook her arms around his neck and hug him tightly. He responded to her embrace by holding onto her waist, feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted off of his shoulders now that he was able to see her before he left.

"Look at your hair, Tom," she whispered once she stepped out of the embrace, her hands going up to run through his locks, "I've told you that you look so good with it like this," she continued, smiling as she tried to keep her tears in and not address what was happening around them.

"I didn't do anything to it because we're going to get it cut when we reach the front," he told her, his response bringing her back to the reality of it all. Her smile faltered a little when she heard it, and her eyes searched over his face so that she could commit it to memory and be able to remember it as she went for days without him. "Hey...what's going on in that head of yours, love?" he asked her, bringing her out of her head and back into the world around them, looking at him properly to see that his eyes were locked onto hers as he waited intently for her answer.

"I..." she paused for a moment. Come on, (Y/N), you can't go back to this now! she yelled at herself as she stood with her mouth parted slightly, watching as the light left his eyes more with each second that passed. Say something! "I...I'm proud of you, Tommy. I'm proud of you and I'm proud of what you're doing," she finally got out, her eyes hooked onto his as she spoke. "And I'm sorry that it took me so many days to come to terms with that...I was just so scared at first of what was going to happen with us and with everything, but I'm so, so proud of you," she added, every word she said coming straight from her heart. The slightest smile formed on Tommy's face as he heard what she had to say.

"I love you, (Y/N)," he said to her before he pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her with a passion that almost swept her off of her feet.

"Last call for the five o'clock train! Boarding will end shortly!" the ticket-taker announced as the couple broke away from each other, their chests heaving for air as they came down from the high they were just wrapped up in.

"That's me," Tommy whispered against her lips, his eyes searching hers.

"I love you, soldier," she breathed, smiling at him as she ran her hand down his cheek, feeling the softness of his skin one last time. "Stay safe for me," a somber smile graced her lips as she ended speaking.

"I will, love. I promise," he assured her, pulling her into a final hug before he brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and kiss her one last time.

(Y/N) wanted to hold onto him forever, but she knew she couldn't, and she slid her hands down his forearms before dropping them to her sides as they pulled away. She then took a step back then to fall in beside Polly, who immediately wrapped her arm around the younger woman's shoulders. "I love you," she mouthed to him, watching as he held eye contact for a moment longer before bending to pick up the duffel bags he'd be bringing with him.

He made his way over to the ticket-taker then, having his ticket punched just as the conductor called out 'all aboard' and blew the train's whistle.

(Y/N) watched him as he glanced over his shoulder one last time before ascending the stairs into the traincar and vanishing from sight. She swiped away the tears and held onto Polly tightly as everything was cleared from close by the tracks so that the train could embark on its journey to France. She tried to smile as the engine fired up and began pulling the cars, but it quickly faltered as all of her emotions came crashing down on her.

These next few days, weeks, months, were going to be tough, and she knew that there'd be no getting around that. She was happy, though, that she was able to see Tommy one last time before he left to fight, and that she was able to tell him how she felt...even if she waited until the last possible minute to do so.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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sicktember · 4 months

Text

2024 FAQs

(Since tumblr mobile isn't exactly known for its reliability regarding links at the top of the blog...) We made an updated text post of the event's FAQs. There have been no major changes. We just wanted a text post that reflected the Sicktember 2024 event information.

Sicktember 2023-2021 Past Prompts Text Post [Link]

* What is Sicktember?

-Sicktember is a fan-run, September-long hurt/comfort prompt event focused on sick characters and their caregivers.

* What fandoms can participate?

- Every fandom is welcome to participate, including Original Characters and Original Works!

* When does Sicktember begin?

-The idea is to have a prompt a day for the entire month of September, but that’s more of a guideline than an actual rule.

* Do I have to write all 30 prompts in order to participate?

- Not at all! Don’t feel pressured into writing all 30 prompts. You can write as few or as many as you want. This list is meant to spark inspiration, not cause any undue stress.

* Do I have to write all of the prompts separately or can I combine them?

- You can write all of the prompts in one continuous fic, write them all separately or combine a handful at a time. Do what works for you! Just, please, specify which prompts inspired your work.

* Do I have to write the prompts in order?

-No. You can write them in whatever order you’d like, but again, please identify which prompts your work is based on.

* Can I combine with prompts from other events?

-As long as the other events you’re participating in are okay with it, so are we! Combine all you’d like!

* I don’t write but I can draw. Can I participate?

-Yes! All types of content creators are welcome to join in the fun.

* What if I don’t finish the prompts by the end of September?

- No problem! Take your time and create at your own pace! There’s no rush. But also keep in mind that you are not obligated to fill each and every prompt.

* Are there any restrictions?

- There are only two major restrictions. No sexually explicit material and no illegal or non-consensual relationships.

- No explicit descriptions of sexual encounters (smut/erotica/pornography)

- Innuendo and passing mentions of sexual encounters are okay.

-No romantic relationships between adults and minors, relationships that are incestuous, and/or relationships that are stockholm syndrome based.

- As a hurt/comfort-focused event, we would like to keep the main focus of this particular event on the sick character and their caregiver/caretaker

-This also allows us to leave this event open to a broader range of participants.

*What if I want to use one of the prompts to write something that doesn’t fit within the event rules?

- We understand that inspiration comes from many places and we certainly aren’t here to tell you what you should and shouldn’t write.

- If your prompt-inspired content is outside of the event’s restrictions, then it is no longer for the event, and it should not be associated with it. At that point, your content is for you, and all of the people who would enjoy it!

- In this situation, we ask that you please do not use the event tags, submit the content to the blog, or enter the content into the AO3 collection.

*Can dark themes, character death and/or swearing be included in my content?

- there are no rules against the use of heavy subjects or character death or swearing

-All we ask is that you tag your content appropriately so that readers can decide whether or not that’s the kind of content they want to read.

*There aren’t enough alternate prompts for me. Can you add more? Can I add my own?

- If you need additional alternate prompts let us know! We would be happy to discuss the potentiality of adding one or two more if the need to do so becomes apparent.

-You are also welcome to suggest an additional alternate prompt if you have an idea of what you would like to use. However, there is no guarantee that it will be added to the official list.

-But also, please keep in mind that you are not obligated to write thirty prompts. If you find that there are only a few or perhaps only a single prompt on the list that you’re comfortable working with, then that is absolutely fine! No pressure!

* Once the event begins, will projects be collected anywhere?

- Authors who post their work on the Archive of Our Own (AO3) website are welcome and encouraged to add their work to the collection, ‘Sicktember 2024’

- Content Creators who post or cross-post on Tumblr are encouraged to use the tag #sicktember 2024 so that others can find and enjoy their work.

*How do I post my work to the collection on Archive of Our Own (AO3)?

-When you create a draft or edit your work, there is a section titled [Associations]

-In the section, you will find a text box labeled [Post to Collections/Challenges]

-That is where you will type, Sicktember_2024 (It should auto-fill for you to make a selection. However if it doesn’t, you can type the name of the collection into the bar- exactly as you see it here- and it will still post appropriately.)

- You can also post to the collection by using the ‘post collection’ button on the top right corner of the Sicktember_2024 collection’s page.

*Keep in mind that (a) the collection will not be open until September and (b) your work will not be added to the collection until you hit [Post]

* Will you be promoting/featuring completed projects on Tumblr?

You are welcome and encouraged to submit your work for posting on the @sicktember blog.

Your submission should be formatted as follows

- A link to your content (tumblr, ao3, ff.net, wattpad, etc…)

- The fandom or alternative fandom tag you wish to be included on your submission. (No fandom tag, original work, owl house, m/arvel, c*bra k*i, etc…) ** please limit your fandom tags to 5 or less **

- The prompt you used (the number and the prompt itself)

- A Summary, description or snippet of your content (not a full fic)

The above-mentioned Information does not have to be in that order, but it does have to be clearly included.

** Important things to keep in mind when submitting:

- We will be posting no more than 10 submissions a day.

- Submissions will close one week after the event (Oct. 7)

- To be posted, your submission must be correctly formatted.

- We will queue submissions until the inbox is empty

⭐⭐ Please keep in mind that this is one fan-run event among many. If you don’t agree with the above-mentioned parameters, that’s okay! We want you to feel comfortable with the events you choose to participate in. And if that means not participating in this one, that’s okay too! Find one you love. If you can’t, consider creating one of your own!⭐⭐

**If you have any further questions, send an ask to the @sicktember blog or reach out to @yes-i-am-happyaspie or @obsessionoftheday.

#sicktember #sicktember 2024 #faqs #event faqs #faq #faq post #writing prompts #sickfic prompts #writing event #sick characters #sick character #whump #hurt/comfort #sick character prompt

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gabessquishytum · 5 months

Text

Hi, everyone! Gabe/Leo here. Welcome to my new pinned post. You'll find lots of info here, including a new tag library curated by @seiya-starsniper which should help you filter (or follow) particular bits of content. This post will be updated from time to time and will also tell you whether my inbox is open or not <3

For reference, my inbox is currently OPEN.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Since you've found yourself on my blog, please note that a lot of my content is not safe for work! I am over 18, and if you're on my blog, you should be too! Content rated over 18 will also be tagged as #nsft

Here on my blog, people like to send me asks with scenarios, prompts or fic ideas that they have had, and I take a bit of time each day to respond with my own “yes, and” - collaborating with the original asker to make a small piece of fandom content. Sometimes other people are inspired by this and write their own fics based on the posts! It's a lovely collaborative space where all are welcome - including those who wish to stay anonymous.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

I am primarily focused on dreamling! But I also love to write other ships in the fandom. The tags I use for ships are:

#corintheus

#dreamling

#hoblethros

#hobrinthian

#hobrintheus

#hobstruction

#immortal throuple

#hob x everyone

#hob x lucifer

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

The general tags that I use for sandman/writing content are as follows:

#dream of the endless

#ferdinand kingsley

#fic recs

#hob gadling

#horny q

#meowpheus

#my writing

#nsft

#the sandman

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

I also have some specific alternate universes which you can find or filter out with these tags:

#ace dream

#ace hob

#ballet au

#bdsm au

#bratty dream

#bratty hob

#disabled dreamling

#dreamling gender swap

#catboys

#chef hob

#cow hob

#fantasy au

#fat hob

#fem dream

#fem hob

#mafia au

#mob au

#sugar daddy au

#the addams family

#trans dream

#trans hob

#vampire au

#werewolf au

#warprize au

#warprize hob

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

For more of your tag filtering or searching needs, the following is a list of content warning tags that I will strive to use consistently. This list will be updated depending on what comes up in the future:

#dead dove do not eat

#cw age gap

#cw age regression

#cw agrere

#cw alcohol or #cw intox

#cw attempted murder

#cw birth

#cw biting

#cw blackmail

#cw blood

#cw body modification

#cw body mutilation

#cw breeding

#cw child abuse

#cw cheating

#cw choking

#cw christmas

#cw cnc

#cw cucking

#cw daddy kink

#cw dark content

#cw death

#cw dermatillomania

#cw diaper

#cw disordered eating

#cw domestic control

#cw dubcon or #cw dubious consent

#cw drugging or #cw drugs

#cw exhibitionism

#cw feederism or #cw feeding kink

#cw findom or #cw financial domination

#cw food

#cw food issues

#cw free use

#cw genitalia

#cw grief

#cw guns

#cw homelessness

#cw humiliation

#cw hunger

#cw hybrids

#cw infertility

#cw infidelity

#cw internalized homophobia

#cw kidnapping

#cw lactation

#cw major character death

#cw malnourishment

#cw manipulation

#cw medical

#cw memory loss

#cw menstruation

#cw mental health

#cw monsterfucking

#cw mpreg

#cw murder

#cw noncon

#cw object insertion

#cw objectification

#cw omegaverse

#cw omo

#cw overstim

#cw oviposition

#cw parent death or #cw patricide

#cw pain

#cw physical abuse

#cw piss

#cw pregnancy

#cw prostitution

#cw rough kink

#cw rough sex

#cw s&m

#cw scars

#cw scat

#cw self harm

#cw sex addiction

#cw sex pollen

#cw sex work

#cw sexual harassment

#cw sleep paralysis

#cw somnophilia

#cw spiking

#cw stalking

#cw suicide

#cw sui mention

#cw stockholm syndrome

#cw teacher x student or #cw teacher/student

#cw tentacles

#cw threats

#cw toxic relationship

#cw transphobia

#cw violence

#cw vomit

#cw voyeurism

#cw watersports

#cw weight

#cw wetting

#cw yandere

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Finally, some of my anons like to identify themselves with emojis! This isn't mandatory at all. But here's a list of anons who have emoji-fied themselves (please note this may not be a complete list):

#yan anon

#🐈‍⬛ anon

#🍃 anon

#🦇 anon

#💳 anon

#🦊 anon

#🧀 anon

#🚒 anon

#🔪 anon

#💄 anon

#🌳 anon

#🎮 anon

#💍 anon

#🦒 anon

#🌘 anon

#🎸 anon

#🦎 anon

#🪽anon

#🍓 anon

#🤜 anon

#🐙 anon

#🐉 anon

#💎 anon

#🎭 anon

#🌛 anon

#🌻 anon

#🎉 anon

#❄️ anon

#🍐 anon

#🍭 anon

#🦋 anon

#🤰anon

#🖋 anon

#🏵 anon

#🦩anon

#🪐 anon

#🦄 anon

#💥 anon

#🍰🐲 anon

#☂️ anon

#👠 anon

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Thank you for reading, I hope you have a lovely day! ❤️

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puzzledcretin · 14 days

Text

Sunflower

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @tigerthespahget )

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompt: Sunflower duo (ROTTMNT Mikey & Miles Morales’ SpiderMan) Word Count: 3,360

Read On AO3

“Needless to say, I’m keeping her in check. She was a bad-bad, nevertheless. Callin’ it quits now, baby. I’m a wreck. Crash at my place, baby, you’re a wreck.”

Mikey sprinted across the rooftops of New York City. Keeping to the shadows, much like he had been taught as a child. His feet stayed light on the half walls, avoiding the patches of gravel. Originally, he had come up to the city to tag some walls downtown. Slowly, Mikey was trying to make a name for himself above ground.

Sure, his art was well known underground. However, he was starting to lose faith in his brother’s opinions. Could you blame him? He loved his brothers, more than anything in the world, but they were his brothers! They did not have to love all of his work, and he was sure there were certain pieces that they didn’t care for, but they were obligated to at least pretend.

But on the surface? On the surface, there was opportunity! People from all walks of life and not the narrow, suffocating view of the sewers. People could see his work and he could get new, fresher opinions.

At first, he wasn’t sure how he was going to do it. Despite everything that happened, being friendly with humans was still somewhat frowned upon by his brothers. It was.. Weird. They had plenty of human or human adjacent friends, but there was something about remaining hidden that seemed so important for their survival. He understood why, but it made making friends one of the most difficult tasks in the entire world.

That is why Mikey got himself a fancy new phone (needed it after dropping it off the empire state building, don’t ask) and signed up for social media! Because that couldn’t go wrong, could it?

AngelofNewYork Lvl 16, Sagittarius I put the razz in razzamatazz! Posts: 140 Followers: 11 Following: 248

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly popping off the way he was hoping it would. But! That was fine! Because on occasion, he will see his graffiti popping off on other accounts. The tag #graffitiofnewyork, #graffitiphotography, and #artistsinnewyork were all some of his favorites to patrol. People didn’t know they were his but he loved seeing other people take pictures of his work.

It wasn’t like.. All good, you know? Yeah, a lot of the time he saw people praising his work. It looked cool, it meant this or that. Everyone had an opinion, but it seemed like lately he was seeing more and more criticism than he was used to.

“Whose toddler stole the paint cans”

“Y r the shit artists anon??”

“F”

“This is fuckign vandelism! Arrest this dejenerat!”

… Yeah. And that was fine, he could get over that. Trolls were not something that typically got under his skin, not really. But what does get under his skin is seeing other artists on the scene. Ones who see his art and criticize it to hell and back.

And he gets it. He gets it! Not everyone is going to like his art. Sometimes, Mikey didn’t even like his own art. But it is a disappointment, it does cause him to drag his feet when it comes to the next project.

Mikey grinned beneath his mask. It was an orange respirator, something to protect his lungs from the paint particles. Raph and Leo mandated it, Donnie built it. Such is most of the equipment that winds up in his hands.

Along his waist, Mikey had an array of colors hooked along a belt. Ah!! Yes, his belt. It matched his respirator, bright orange with a butt ton of colors sprayed over it! It was the best way he found to transport his paints but!! It served a double purpose! Mikey was dipping his toes in the fashion pools, and that meant extravagant fashions and unique pieces!

All of which meant nothing to someone trying to remain incognito. So, unfortunately, Mikey was in dull, dark colors. He was wearing cargo pants and a hoodie. Both of which really were not very fashion forward but they hid the whole turtle thing, so it was working. But, we digress. This is not about fashion, though it could be, it is about art! Not that fashion isn’t art but-

Art. Mikey’s art.

The young turtle leapt down from the rooftop, falling into a roll as his momentum carried him through it. He paused as he stood in front of the midtown tunnel entrance. Cars were passing slowly but at this time of night, they were either too busy trying to get home or onto some of their own seedy business to care about what some kid was doing.

If Mikey were a better kid, he’d investigate more. But right now he wasn’t a hero.

He slowly walked into the tunnel, his hands pushed deep into his pockets as he walked deeper. The lights were a hazy orange-yellow, and Mikey was quietly noting to himself that his beautiful golden spray would not be useful in this light, but in his secret spot it would stand out. As he walked deeper into the tunnel, the sounds became amplified around him. The distant sounds of cars bounced off the walls and soaked into his skin. His walking turned to bouncing as he grew closer to his ideal spot. A maintenance door around a quarter of the way through. Mikey had scoped it out a while ago, it was the perfect place to put up a tag. As he came up on the door, Mikey pulled it open with ease and squeezed his way inside. He made sure to shut the door behind him, looking at the large room that was opened up to him.

Right across from him, a large cement wall stood clear. He’d have to be worried about drippage but other than that? There was a large crack that settled diagonally. It ran from the upper left all the way down to the lower right, it was clear cut.

It was the perfect canvas.

Mikey pulled the first can out of his belt, shaking it violently. The small metal ball clattered against the sides over and over until Mikey felt the pigment within was mixed enough. With a pinch of his fingers, the cap popped off and clattered off to the side of the room, to be forgotten.

Then, he got to work.

Today, Mikey had a personal goal. He was going to paint some of the sickest birds you have ever seen in your entire life. Mikey pulled out his crumpled up sketchbook paper as he got close to the wall, testing a spray or two before he started his outline. He was using a dark gray, something to be covered up later.

And on went the layers, slowly but surely. Mikey loved spray painting, it made his brain go outside the box rather than stay inside its constrictions. He had to really focus on what was going where. But that’s why he was using a template.

Time seemed to stop existing in that room, Mikey didn’t know how long he was down there. But he did know that, eventually, he came to a point where he was pleased with what he had done. He took a huge step back, letting the golden can drop to his side as he observed the scene right before him. Golden doves flying out of the crack in the wall, strong and powerful against the dull concrete. Mikey grinned, his hands moving to his hips.

“Thinkin' in a bad way, losin' your grip. Screamin' at my face, baby, don't trip. Someone took a big L, don't know how that felt. Lookin' at you sideways, party on tilt.”

Mikey pulled out his phone, angling it as best he could to get the doves all in at once. As his finger hovered over the capture button, light appeared at the corner of his vision.

Something strong was coming, that’s all Mikey knew, but he didn’t have time to react before a dark mass shot out of the light source and crashed into him. His phone went flying off in some distant direction, a flash of its own and the distinct shutter of the camera app were the only indications that it was still functional.

Mikey tumbled to the floor, groaning as his own arm smacked him across the face. Had he been hit with a missile? Is that what happened?

Mikey slowly lifted his head up from the floor when he heard a groan that mirrored his own.

“Leo..?”

“Whose Leo?”

The two figures froze as they stared at each other. Mikey.. Did not recognize this person. Their mask- At least he hoped it was a mask- was black with a spiderweb pattern. Eyes rimmed with a red fabric.

“Who are you??” Mikey questioned, very quick to leap up to his feet. The other figure pushed himself up, holding both his hands up quickly. Mikey felt the itch in his palms, the need to pull his weapon out and defend himself from this stranger. Especially because he could see some kind of device smoking from his wrist.

“It’s okay! I’m Spider-Man!” The stranger shouted, causing Mikey to cock his head to the side.

“Spider-Man?? Who is that??” He questioned.

The figure’s arms seemed to falter for a moment, his own head cocking to the opposite side. “You.. You don’t know who Spider-Man is? You know, webslinging hero of New York? Actually- Are we in New York City? Does New York exist?? Am I in Fallout??”

Mikey blinked slowly at the figure, trying to figure out what this guy was babbling about. A.. A hero? Like in a comic book? He feels like he should be surprised, he really should. But somehow, compared to everything else, this somehow just seemed to make sense to him. Mikey didn’t understand the Fallout bit- but then he remembered his respirator.

“Oh! No! No, no! I was just painting, no nuclear fallout at all!” Mikey shouted as he reached up and pulled his mask off without thinking. “See? Completely normal!”

“... You’re a turtle,” The stranger said slowly, his eyes turning into slits. Mikey looked down at mask then back up at them.

“Okay, so not normal! But everyone else is! .. You aren’t panicking.” Mikey noted, his own eyebrows drawing together.

“Well, no.. I mean, you are pretty weird- No offense! But uh.. I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff through my travels..” Their hand moved up to rub at the back of their neck.

“Travels…?”

Their eyes shot open, then they shook their head. “Isn’t it actually your turn to tell me something about you? Like uh, your name?”

“I’m Michelangelo, but everyone just calls me Mikey!” The turtle responded, holding his hand out, “I guess it’s nice to meet you… Spider-Man?”

“Gah- You know what? Call me Miles,”

And just like that, the stranger had a name.

Miles reached out, smacking his hand against Mikey’s. As if the two had done it thousands of times before, their fingers curled around each other in a secret handshake. The two stared at their hands for a long moment before Mikey pulled back first. Had they met somewhere before? Likely not, but Mikey couldn’t help but grin at this immediate connection. Maybe, they could be friends.

“So, um, do you come through portals often?” Mikey questioned, leaning over to the side to look behind Miles. But the area around him was void of any light from before. Miles looked over his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh! No, not really. I mean, I do on occasion, yeah, but usually I try to stay home. You know, not trying to get in trouble. I just uh.. I guess the villain, his name is Electro..? Well, he fried this watch my friend gave me and.. Now I’m here.” Miles said, gesturing to the smoking device on his wrist.

“... Can you get home..?” Mikey questioned, placing his hands on his hips. Miles’ eyes widened and he very quickly pulled the watch before his eyes, tapping at the screen as it flickered rapidly. “No.. No! Come on..” Miles muttered, brushing his hand against his face.

“I.. Well, I can, but also I can’t. Here if I just..” Miles pressed the button on the side of the watch, listening to it chime for a moment. “That should give my location to my friend.. She can come get me, but until then..”

Miles looked around, “You said you were painting?”

Mikey’s grin slowly turned full blast as he saw the golden opportunity. He grabbed Miles’ wrist, pulling him the few feet he needed to just to turn the hero in the right direction to see it.

“Oh, yo!” Miles’ eyes went ride as he crossed the space to come up to the wall. “This is sick, man! I love incorporating the environment around me into the piece, it feels like it really shows love to the canvas, you know?”

Mikey was quick to move up next to him, clapping his hands together, “Yeah! Yeah, ohmigosh, yeah. Wow. I am so glad that you understand, I feel like no one gets it around here!”

“What? How can people not get it! I swear, art is dead,” Miles complained, crossing his arms over his chest. But he looked over to Mikey. He had no mouth but the little artist could see the smile that laid beneath the mask through his eyes alone.

“I don’t think it’s dead, it’s just learning. You gotta respect the process,” Mikey noted as he pulled one of the cans from his belt, tossing it over to Mile, “Do you paint?”

Miles caught the can, looking it over for a moment. Ruby red, how appropriate. “Do I paint? All the time. Sometimes when you’re patrolling the streets, you have way too much free time on your hands. Mind if I tag a wall?”

Mikey mulled it over, looking at the space around him- He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have this entire room planned out head to toe. But then he let out a small hum. “Actually, please do. Then I have something to remember you by when you inevitably have to go home,”

Miles seemed to light up at that, shaking his can as he extended his arm out. With a sharp THWIP! A web shot out from his wrist and connected to the ceiling. Miles pulled himself up with it, finding a spot up by the ceiling. “I figure I’ll take over this spot up here where a land turtle like you can’t reach,” Miles teased, looking over his shoulder smugly as he started to spray the wall.

“Don’t be too sure about that, spider! I may look grounded but I am as free as they come!” Mikey called back, but he refrained from showing off. Instead, he grabbed his own golden can of paint from the ground and moved to stand below Miles. In sync, the two started to paint.

Mikey put his name in tag, sharp curves but sharper points. Large and proud! With it, he placed one of his signatures. A golden turtle shell- Kind of on the nose, he knows. But at this point, being subtle has not gotten him the results he has wanted.

Alternatively, Miles did much the same. In a bright red, he wrote “Miles” onto the wall. But he was less controlled- No, not less controlled at all. He was deliberate in where he let the paint build up. The drips of the paint rolled down the cement with practiced ease. Mikey admired that. While he was trying so hard to control his paints to make them look nice and proper, but this style was fun and unique!

The two chatted as they worked, Miles talked about his life- Apparently he was a student and a hero at the same time. Mikey didn’t understand how he did it, Mikey could barely be a hero some days! But Mikey got to talk about his brothers some, he learned that Miles didn’t have any. That was wild! But April didn’t have siblings either so it wasn’t too wild.

Instead, Miles had an infinite amount of himself out there to bond with. Mikey remembered listening to Donnie once upon a time, how the multiverse would allow for anything to be possible as long as it could be conceived. That meant, there were infinite versions of Miles. That also meant there were infinite versions of himself out there as well.

But! That’s why Miles was here! Because he was able to travel to these universes. That’s how he met his friend Gwen!

“Yeah! And my friend, Peter, he showed me how to do all this cool stuff! He’s kind of like.. Well, you said your dad was your sensei? He’s kind of like mine,” Miles explained.

Mikey grinned, “Oh yeah? That’s pretty cool! Maybe one day a version of me will come out of a portal and teach me how to be a cool hero,” he pondered, tapping his chin.

“Yeah? Well if he does, figure out how to come visit me.” Miles grinned.

Mikey went to open his mouth, but as he did, that light came back. Mikey got a good look at it now. It was bright with various boxes glitching in and out of it. Like a comic tearing apart at the seams! It was cool!

But, that also means that Miles has to go.

Miles sighs, dropping down to the ground before the portal, turning to face Mikey. “This is my ride..”

Mikey sighed, holding his hand out, “Come visit again, you here? We have an entire room to fill.”

Miles’ hand smacked into his, but instead of leaving it at a handshake, he pulled Mikey in for a hug. “I’ll be back before you know it, promise.” Miles smirked, stepping back from the hug. “Good luck, Mikey.”

Miles stepped through the portal, and Mikey stared at it until it disappeared. He stopped, looking around. There were so many cans everywhere. With a sigh, he gathered them all up. It was nearing morning, he needed to go home. Mikey almost left without his phone! Almost, of course. Because he did hear his text tone right as he was about to leave the room. He rushed over to the side of the room to pick it up.

Delightfully, the screen wasn’t cracked at all. Donnie had said it could survive a 50 foot drop, and the small ten feet it flew was only a fraction of that. He moved to the center of the room, framing his golden doves once again in the middle of the screen. Mikey stuck his tongue out as he focused in and.. Snap!

Mikey grinned, tapping the small photo icon to view his masterpiece.

He paused, however, as he looked down at the small photo that was next up in the preview. He swiped his finger to the right and he couldn’t stop himself from breaking out into laughter.

On his phone screen, a photo of Miles and him both falling to the ground. Miles was flying with a bit more momentum than Mikey was, but both of their eyes were comically wide. He didn’t even realize his phone had captured this moment.

He left it alone, tucking his phone into his pocket as he once again left for the door.

A week later, Mikey would come back. An image wouldn’t leave his mind, something that felt important enough to brand the room with. On the wall of that maintenance room in the tunnel, he recreated the portal where Miles disappeared. He made the comic boxes, the Ben-Day dots, he even tossed in a spider emblem or two. He didn’t know if Miles would come back, he certainly hoped so. Mikey needed more friends who could understand the things he like.

Miles didn’t have to come back, he had left enough of an impression on the young artist, but if he did? Mikey had a spray can with his name on it waiting.

“Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya. You're the sunflower.

You're the sunflower.”

#tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #miles morales #spiderverse #tmnt write fight

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