#can the cloak actually face palm

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

#—🖋 #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #astronetwrk #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #alhaitham x you #genshin x you #emotional blabbering ahead in the tags beware #this is hitting me in a place i didn't know existed hjsjs #like. i haven't lost anyone but i have lost my life as i know it? #this past year was full of so many endings and i've been struggling in some way everyday #like i didn't know that the last time i saw my friends would truly be the last time we ever saw each other #i didn't know that i'd be bidding goodbye to my parents as i left home through an airport #ANYWAY ENOUGH DUMPING. ig i'm just telling you to hug the people you love tighter and cherish every moment you spend with them #time goes by really quickly and you don't know where it'll go #ily guys #ew barf feelings </3 /j

[chronicowboy]

When Connor finally comes over to the loft, Buck can only think thank god.

Its not that he doesn't like Kameron, he actually really enjoys her company. She's funny and bubbly and enjoys learning whatever new facts he'd found on Wikipedia that day and she has killer commentary for shitty reality TV.

Its not even the whole pregnant thing. He laughs when she balances her plate on her belly and he always braves her adventures in craving combinations even if it ends with him gagging and swearing never to eat tuna or jelly ever again - sidenote: chips and whipped cream is a new go-to snack.

He's just fed up of feeling like a perpetual roommate in his own apartment yet again. And his couch fucking sucks.

Also, like, its great that Connor and Kameron are starting to talk things through.

But his couch sucks.

So, when Connor comes over looking sheepish and apologetic, Buck welcomes him in with a smile. Kameron... not so much.

"I'm... gonna head upstairs," Buck mumbles into the awkward silence of the kitchen, "and get into my running gear." He nods once before fleeing up to his bedroom.

Buck dives for his headphones when their hushed voices start hissing at each other, connecting them up to his phone with fast hands and blasting his workout playlist as loud as he can bear. He strips efficiently, pulling on a pair of shorts and a tank top in the bathroom when the voices get louder. Then he's rushing downstairs and grabbing his sneakers, wondering if it would be wise to run all the way to Eddie's house.

His hand is an inch away from the doorknob when Connor stops him. With a silent sigh, Buck pops a headphone out and turns to face the scene in front of him.

Kameron is leaning on the kitchen island, palms flat against the marble, fingers curled under her hands, head hung low. Connor is wide-eyed and pleading, his grip on Buck's wrist tight and unyielding as he keeps him fixed to his spot.

"Buck, tell me you could raise a kid that wasn't yours," he begs, something frantic to his voice. Buck thinks he recognises the fear in Connor's eyes, thinks it looks a lot like Chimney haunting the loft weeks after Hen and Eddie had returned home. Not a fear of covid or DNA, but a fear of fatherhood cloaked in a thousand defences. "Tell me that it wouldn't bug you every single day."

Buck blinks. He opens his mouth, but something thick and cloying crawls up his throat and stops the words from coming out.

He sees flashes. Too-long curls and crutches and glasses. Nights spent huddled on a couch in front of the same shitty kid's film that Buck would happily watch a hundred times over, days spent hunched over worksheets at the dining table, mornings heavy with sleep but light with joy. Trips to the zoo, visits to the aquarium, tours of the observatory. Nightmares and tears and a run away on his doorstep. Sodden clothes and clasped hands and such visceral fear that Buck had thought he was dying. Saying no to one last game, mixing veggies into the sauce, putting his foot down on screen time. A bag full of pharmacy supplies and the tiles of the bathroom floor cold under him and growing pains Buck feels in his old bones.

"It wouldn't," Buck croaks, it feels a lot like a confession. "My captain has been more of a dad to me than my father ever was." Buck shakes his head, shrugs. "Its not about DNA, Connor, its about love."

"But." Connor's chest heaves with panicked breaths. "So, you'd do it? You'd raise another man's kid?"

Buck recognises the fear again, but this time its his own. Connor is feeling the same fear that had Buck staggering through the ravaged streets of Los Angeles. The same fear that had Buck withdrawing, trying to chase Eddie and Christopher out of the door with a list of all his sins. The same fear that had Buck reminding Eddie of Christopher's biological family. The fear Buck feels every time he has to say goodbye to Chris.

Its then that Buck's phone buzzes. He glances down at the new notification. A picture of Eddie scowling down at a cookbook captioned uh oh - backup needed ASAP.

"Oh," Buck breathes down at the screen.

All the flashes suddenly comes together, one beautiful mosaic of parental devotion.

Buck remembers the way Chimney's dad's words had lodged something sharp and painful into his chest, remembers wondering why. He remembers a quiet conversation on opposite sides of a hospital bed, remembers wondering why me. He remembers scribbling hearts together for an assignment, remembers its his turn to save you. He remembers wondering if he could be a donor not dad and Eddie asking if he knew any of Christopher's secrets.

"Buck?" Connor prompts.

"I'd do it," Buck says, only looking up from his phone when it fades to black. When he says it, it sounds a lot like you know I wouldn't. "Because... even though that kid might not be my blood, he'd still be mine," here, his voice cracks right down the middle. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"What? Buck!"

"Sorry." Buck yanks the door open and looks over his shoulder with an apologetic shrug. "My kid needs me."

#sami rambles #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #buck x eddie #buddie #911 spec #christopher diaz #buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family fic #911 spec fic #911 speculation #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 ficlet #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #buck x eddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck and christopher

[myboipotterimagines]

Golden Pt. 2 - Weasley Twins x Reader

Thank you for all the love on part one. I genuinely love this AU and hope you all do too. <3

Other Parts: Part One, Part Three

Your eyes flickered between the two Weasley boys, refusing to accept that you could have two soulmates - even though they were looking you straight in the face. "This is a joke, right?" you finally ask. "I don't think anyone could pull off a joke like this," Fred spoke, gently placing his palm back to the matching spot on your cheekbone. "Even us," George laughed. "And why would we? No one dreams of half a soulmate." You don't know why, but your heart aches at his words. "I didn't dream of having you as my soulmate, either," you retort, pulling away from both Weasleys. "Is that so, sweetheart?" He takes a step closer, smirking. "Because the rouge of your cheeks says otherwise."

"Back off her, George," Fred commands, pulling the two of you apart. "We have to get out of here now or Umbridge will kill us. Like actually kill us." "Alright, soulmate. You coming with us or not?" George asks. "Like she's going to go anywhere with us now, George," Fred scoffs. "You're a total-" "I'm in," you say, cutting him off.

Fred pulled you out of the broom closet before you could change your mind. He held onto your hand as the three of you ran through the halls, avoiding the blasts of light above you. Suddenly, curses mixed into the light of the fireworks. You risked a quick look back and saw Umbridge and the rest of her cult following you. "Shit!" you yelled, ducking from a bright red ray of light.

"Accio!" both twins yelled, and after a moment a broom hit each of their hands. They mounted the brooms, Fred pulling you right behind him. You clutch him closely while shooting a string of spells behind you at Umbridge. With a final toss of fireworks, you're gone - Hogwarts far behind.

It was no time before you landed down in Diagon Alley. "What are we doing here?" you ask. The town was a graveyard - each shop having been closed for what seemed to be months.

"Alohamora," George whispered, cracking open a door to a building near the end of the lot. "You are looking at the start of our joke shop - name still pending." "And our home for the next month. If we told our mum we were leaving Hogwarts she would drag us straight back. So we have to wait her out here," Fred adds.

After spelling on the lights, George leads you in. The place was nowhere near finished, but you could see the bones of the operation. Half-finished products were strewn over the ground, haphazard notes that only they could read near each one. "This is really cool," you smile.

"I would advise you not to touch anything. There's a method to our madness and I really don't want you to accidentally blow yourself up," George says. You nod. "No touching. Got it." "Come on, bedroom's this way," Fred leads. You wish you could stop the heat from rising to your face, but George sees it immediately, smirking to himself. You ignore him, following Fred closely up the stairs.

"We didn't really prepare for guests," he admits, rubbing the nape of his neck. You enter the bedroom to find two beds on either side of the wall, an simple dresser by each one. And that was it. Not even a couch. The room was just sad. You laughed, "I can tell. If you can spare a pillow I'll sleep in the corner. It'll be cozy." "You are not sleeping on the floor," both twins immediately protested. "No way we're letting any guest sleep on the ground, let alone our soulmate," George scoffs.

"You'll have my bed tonight. We'll figure something else out by tomorrow," Fred adds.

You protested, of course, but the two fought back harder. You finally just gave in, heading towards the bed. You finally take off your cloak, aching to get out of your whole uniform, but knowing you would have to wait until tomorrow to get anything remotely comfortable to wear.

Fred immediately picks up on your discomfort. "You can wear these tonight," he says, pulling a sweater out of his dresser, then a pair of joggers. You retreat to the bathroom to pull on the clothes, and as you do you notice the golden F stitched into the sweater. You smile as the rub the end of the sleeve between your fingers.

The twins had changed out of their robes by the time you returned. George had already gone to bed, and Fred was waiting for you on his. You sat down beside him, finally taking a moment to rest after the insanity of the day. "Thank you for this," you said, nodding down to your sweater. "And for bringing me with you, and letting me sleep on your bed, and for not meeting me in the way I always feared you would."

Fred brings his hand to your face, holding you from your jaw to your ear, just as he had when you fell. "I don't think my hands could ever hurt you." He spoke the words quietly, but they filled your entire head. When you looked at him, you felt dizzy. It was all too much - his kindness, his brother's apprehension, the fact that they were both your soulmates. Was that even possible? In all your years you'd never heard of a person having two soulmates, let alone at the same time. But there they were. There he was, staring down at you with the kindest eyes you'd ever seen on a man.

"Can I kiss you?" Fred asked. His cheeks rouged as he asked, and yours followed. You couldn't speak, so you just nodded. And then the hand that had settled onto your skin, like it belonged there, pulled you into him. His lips were soft against yours, moving as slowly as a person possibly could. Still, his touch was electric and the shockwaves surged through you.

Your heart lurched in it's chest when he pulled away from you. "Goodnight," he smiled, pushing himself off of his bed. You quickly grabbed his hand, halting him. "Stay." Fortunately, he didn't require much convincing. He let you become comfortable before sliding into bed behind you, wrapping one hand around your waist.

"Merlin," George huffed, causing both of you to jump. "The two of you cannot fit comfortably on that bed. With a quick flick of his hand, his bed pushed against his brothers, the sheets melding together. You yelped as strong hands pulled you up from the outside of the bed and plopped you back down right in the middle. "I will not be cuddled by Fred in my sleep again. I trust you to keep your distance."

"With all due respect, Georgie. You are the last person I would want to cuddle in this room," Fred shot back, wrapping a protective arm around you. "I would sure hope so," he rolled his eyes, finally lowering himself into bed beside you. He didn't bother to face the other direction, instead studying your face. Against your will, you blushed once more - which only caused him to smirk. "Sweet dreams, princess," he teased.

"Sweet dreams, Georgie," you smiled back, finally causing his cheeks to burn.

***

Author's Note: I'm thinking about making this a series. Let me know what you all think. And if I do make it a series - would y'all want smut or no?

#fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #weasley twins x reader #fred weasley x reader x george weasley #why choose #soulmates au #harrypotter imagine #george weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #fred weasley imagine

[bowieandqueen11]

Zoro Falling In Love With You Would Include...

Request: I've been binge watching one piece this Friday night so I could appreciate your recent requests and finally send one in! Please can you write for Zoro falling in love? 🥹❤️ I know you would do it amazingly!

Yayayay I've been waiting to write something like this for Zoro, thank you lovely!!! I had WAY too much fun writing this one I am so sorry if I went overboard on the imagery but also sorry not sorry I want to press a thousand kisses over this beautiful man's face

Okay this actually took way too much time to write so comments are much much appreciated!!

Warning: slightly suggestive if you squint, mention of scratching/ injuries and sword fighting

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @starryyshadows.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Oh, mosshead. What a dopey ass himbo you are. Istg this m*therf*cker right here (affectionate) would be so god damn ANNOYING when he's in love. Forget about Zoro nearly grabbing Sanji by his curly brows and swinging him like a ragdoll over the railings any time his continuous nosebleeds drip into his sake. Zoro is just as bad, just a needle swung in the opposite direction; he grumbles around the ship like a mopey, exasperated crocodile, snapping at anyone who comes near him that isn't you.

He wasn't built for love; hellfire roared through his veins, ravishing every cell in his body until his teeth gritted and lips bled in his struggle for self-discipline. He was a predator; rampant, ravaging, resolved in his fortitude. So why? Oh god, why? Why did he feel like he was being torn apart? Ravished by teeth that left rupturing silver punctures in his lungs, shredded by claws that streamed blinding light through the chambers of his heart.

He had felt like that: bent over doubled, clutching his chest in pain when the two of you first met as teenagers. If it hadn't been pitiful enough that you had bested him during your first sparring match at the Shimotsuki Dojo, you had to rub salt into the wound by being kind to him afterwards. He had scoffed when you had thrown your helmet to the ground and held out your hand to him, a scowl cloaking his face and making his teeth grind as you offered him advice on how to perfect your technique. Yet all you had done in response to his slight was to smile: a smile so shining, so unjustly kindly, so prepossessing and beautiful that the swordsman froze in shock, a fleeting flash of pure light haloing his eyes.

He knew. He knew, right there and then. That you were the only thing in all of the seas that could stand in his way. In that moment, he had decided that he would like to live forever in that strand of light: that one that strayed through a gap between the oak leaves, straying past its dark, dense leaves, foraging past the crawling thickets to instead brush against the tip of your cheek.

'What does it matter anyway?', Zoro had glowered, refusing to look back at you again. 'It's not as if you're going to stick around. Once your gone, I'll be the best fighter here again.'

'I'm not going anywhere. Not until I defeat you ten more times, at least', you added, once you noticed him rolling your eyes. You held your hand out, and Zoro glanced down at your outreaching fingers warily. 'No matter where we are or what happens to us, I'll always be a better swordsman than you.' His lips finally curl up in a smile then as he reaches out to shake your hand, and the feeling sends a spark of something running down his fingertips. His whole body feels alight, and he spends the whole rest of the day clenching his fingers into his palm and trying desperately to relish the feeling.

Which is why, for a while, Zoro seems to go extra hard on you: calling you away after lessons for private sparring matches deep in the woods, where only the crunchy bark could hear your swift steps and the fine mist wrapped around the pale trees and sent a cold shake down your hilted hand. The only way to warm yourself up was to butt the edge of your sword against Zoro's flailing torso, shoving him back so you could use the leverage to pin his panting face up against the nearest tree trunk. This time, though - this time, you surprise him.

If he was disappointed in himself for losing again, it soon melted away by the feel of your torso pressing up against his heaving lungs. For a moment, his lips tighten into a thin line as sees your approaching forehead and believes you're straight up just going to headbutt his sorry ass. He jumps even more when your skin lands... softly? against the burning side of his temple. He can't seem able to find his breath, the world seeming to be frozen in glinting threads of light as you linger against the young demon. All that exists is the soft push of your nose against his fluttering shut eyelid. The warm puff of breath as you sigh against the shell of his ear. The light scrape of the bark against his back as he shivers. The sound of his own heart, his blood scorching through his veins and convulsing against the sharp cage of his ribs.

He's so hyperaware of his body tantalisingly close to yours; his stiff elbows lay drawn up by his side, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly as he spreads and flexes his fingers, slowly drawing them to hover around your back. He was still too afraid to touch you.

Too afraid of the fire burning through his fingertips again.

But before he could muster up the courage you had pulled away, and the moment faded into a jaded dream that he nestled safely in the back of his memories.

It's impossible to shake Zoro from you after that moment. He hounds after you like a coveting beast: he stays tied to your hip like a disruptive dog harnessed on a leash. Your favourite activity is sneaking out of your dorms after hours and running down to meet by the riverbed: feet sprinting across the cream petals and sharp pine needles to collapse next to one another among the buzz of the fireflies nestling above the woven grass. For a while, as the two of you turn your tired heads to the skies, there's nothing but a silent affinity settling over the clearing. Nothing but the feel of the silk sleeve of Zoro's pyjamas brushing over the side of your cheek as unclasps his hands from behind his head and warily rests them in the short space between your hips. Nothing but the sound of your extolled voice as you point up at the bursts of sparks and swirls of silver against the darkness, enrapturing Zoro as you chart out the dips of your favourite constellations.

The reflection of the skies you had spent your younger years on the seas watching with wonder fill your eyes with a wonderous light, the delight drawing your attention away and allowing Zoro the opportunity to docilely turn his head to face you instead. His cheek freezes against the dew, but he's too revered in memorising the scrunch of your nose as you swat your hand at him for not paying attention: too busy watching the placid look that softens your smile as you look, too busy wishing he wasn't so cowardly. Wishing he didn't feel so feeble. Wishing, as his hand clawed at his thigh and dug in deep enough to leave bruises, that he could just reach out and touch you.

He jumps when you click your fingers in front of his crossing eyes. 'Zoro, are you even listening?'

He shrugged. 'Kinda. I don't know much about this stuff. If I can't hit it, I don't care.'

'You should! One day, when I become the greatest sword fighter in the world, I'm going to sail into those stars and discover all the secrets this world has to offer.' You flopped your free hand over your stomach with a content sigh, the spiralling glow of the heavens raining down and coating your face with sparks of silver.

He snorted. 'That sounds stupid. You can't sail into the sky.'

'You're just jealous because you're not invited.'

'Good. Who said I wanted to come.'

Zoro may be an idiot, but he's also a man who learns from his mistakes.

He doesn't know what overtakes him. Adrenaline? Rage? An overwhelming surge of fondness? The thought pounding in his head that if he doesn't do this now, he'll spend forever locked away in this cage? His fingers itch across the grass. His whole body squirms, the heat rolling through his body making the perspiration bead on his forehead, but still he keeps going. It's only when he feels your hand jolt back as his pinkie bumps against the side of your wrist that he begins to feel stupid.

Growing self-restraint be damned, as soon as you recover from the shock and shyly place your hand back down by your side, he pounces. Initially, the squeeze of his fingers as they wrap around your cool palm almost breaks bone, but all you do is rub your thumb over the edge of his knuckles.

You know its his way of telling you he loves you, even if he is too young and stubborn and proud to say it.

You both knew that one day you would leave him for the stars. When the time comes, and you leave Shimotsuki Village, to stop the sinews of his heart from completely scorching away with every knot of your ship, the demon suffocates any thought of you.

When he meets you again that fateful day: tied up to a Marine post in a dusty courtyard, tired, frustrated, solemn, for the first time in his life he begins to feel his judgement sway. When your face popped around the yard gates on your way out from meeting Axehand Morgan, your feet skid so comically across the ground the cloud of smoke it raised was so huge it even made Zoro sneeze. With a hand on your hip, and eyes widened in disbelief, you stepped out into the sunlight to survey the man bowed before you.

'I always knew I'd see you tied up one day', you smirked, shoving the handful of berries you had earnt from trading in your last bounty into the satchel by your hip before wandering over to untie him. 'Just thought it would be me doing the tying.'

'Y/n?', he asks incredulously, trying his best to dart his eyes nonchalantly up and down your body despite how fervently his voice was trying to waver. He sneered, tipping his head in the other direction and staring at the ground as you tug on the rather tight knots around his wrist. 'What the hell are you doing here.'

When you finally manage to tug him loose off the boards, his knees sag so quickly beneath him that the swordsman nearly goes collapsing headfirst onto the ground. With reflexes so quick they could only be rivalled by your own sparring buddy himself, a firm hand slaps against his sternum. A quick tug pulls him back, Zoro's knees dirtying with beige as he kneels back against you.

'Same as you, oh great swordsman', you laugh against his ear. 'I always told you you'd have competition. And from the looks of it, I'm winning.'

For a second you're concerned you've overstepped: the familiarity, the fondness you thought everlasting between you both a figment of your imagination when Zoro tilts his head back slightly to glare at you from the corners of his eyes. Placing a hand on his knee he braces himself, and steps up. For a moment, you're even more terrified he's about to kick you to the ground - or even worse, turn his back and walk off, ignoring you completely. But then he surprises you. The corners of his lips twitch in what - no way- could only be the beginnings of a smile?! before you're lifted off the ground and crushed in a hug so unyielding between his solid chest and taut arms that you can't help but bury your head into his shoulder blade and laugh.

It wasn't very hard to convince Luffy to let you join his crew - I mean, when you took down three Marines with just one punch, and he saw the powerhouse you and Zoro were as you fought back to back with Axehand Morgan, you were coming, and that was that. No buts. No excuses. Don't argue with your Captain.

I mean, bless his heart, Zoro is still a dumbass though, as perceptive as he is. And he's still sore. It takes a little bit of work to climb through the trellises of his grave heart. But little by little, he begins to open up to you again. He starts to grumble less when you climb up to join him during his late nights on watch up in the Crow's Nest. At first, as he burrows his back into the planks and crosses his arms in front of his chest, the steady breathing of his stoic body makes your job seem even harder. Undeterred, you rocked back on your heels and clucked your tongue in nervousness. But you should have known: even with his eyes closed, concentration edged into the furrows of his face, he's far too perspicacious for his own good. Even though he's doing his best to look brooding and bored, his foot shoots out and kicks his sword out of the way - launching it back across your heels and barring you from tumbling back down and falling down the hatch.

Every time you drag yourself up in the middle of the night to join him, you can tell his full concentration is centred on you, even if his eyes never even move behind their lids. He's pointedly listening out for your move, your every breath, your every heartbeat - which comes in very handy for darting out and catching in his massive palm the warm cups of cider you had precariously tried to carry up. Eventually, after a full week of you sitting up there Zoro finally relents his pride; even with Luffy's vest and Usopp's jacket wrapped around you, you clutch at the lapels of Sanji's suit jacket that your friends had very kindly lent you to try and stop shivering from the cold. Zoro doesn't even speak, just raises his elbow a little bit, and you don't need a second invitation to come clambering into the warmth of his side.

God, if he hadn't spent every moment of every day since he was thirteen years old dreaming of holding you in his arms. You pretend, for his sake, that you can't feel his heart thrumming wildly against your ear.

You catch the former bounty hunter staring at you from across the Lounge’s breakfast table most mornings. The intensity of his unwavering eye would be strong enough to make you blush, if you hadn't turned your attention back to stabbing at Luffy's grabby hands with the prongs of your fork. It's only when Sanji clasps his hands to his cheek, and in a faux sugary sweet sing-song voice professes 'how romantic mosshead can be! What person wouldn't love being stared at like roadkill!', that all hell breaks loose. Luffy's too busy munching on your pancake to truly register you and Nami nearly flying leapfrog over Zoro's back to try and stop him from throwing the poor cook through the window.

Although you succeed, Sanji does have to spend the rest of the morning sulkily smoking out of the corner of his mouth while wringing orange juice out of his hair.

Zoro is extremely, extremely protective over you. Even though you know how much he hates talking, he draws all the attention to himself away from Cabaji, even while tied up to Buggy' circus wheel. When the knives start whizzing past his head, he doesn't even flinch: safe in the knowledge that no matter what happens, you're safe from these buffoons. When Nami finally manages to pick her cage's lock and help free the two of you, you offer Zoro your hand as you cautiously steady him on the ground again. He jolts, and for a moment you're worried one of the knives actually did hit him; while you flip his palm trying to find any sign of a scratch, Zoro's eyes focus on you in wild shock. He feels fifteen again as he gently rubs your searching fingers between his coarse pointer finger and thumb, sobbing into his bed and holding the hilt of his sword, pretending it was your hand. Your warmth. And here you were, come back to him, offering it freely. He felt like falling to his knees, a pliant supplicant to your unwarranted mercy.

One time he nearly made you bust out laughing: since Zoro spends most of his day napping in such random intervals, during a rogue storm aboard the Going Merry one cloudy evening the swordsman was still awake. It was during your struggle to stop yourself pitching right off your bed and slamming into the wall, and planting yourself firmly from sliding to the left and body slamming a very irritated looking Nami, whose head was covered by one of her bunched up pillows, that you spotted a shadow flitting across the porthole on your door. Zoro's tall, awkward outline hesitantly moved as if he were about to rap at the door, before the sound of him yelling at himself under his breath made you snort aloud.

His head rises at the sound, and before he can take a step backward to try and abort his masterplan of sneaking into your room under the guise of checking if you were alright with the storm battering the rocking ship, you had slammed open the door and nearly flung Zoro into your hammock like a ragdoll. For a moment, Zoro lies there like a statue, unsure of where to put his hands or if it's alright that the sway of the ship means that he can't unsquish his cheek from against the side of your eyebrow. When his hand hesitantly begins to fall over your back and fold you tightly against his pecs with a squeeze, you know that's his trepid way of trying to let you know he still loved you.

Not to mention when you wake up and he's lying with his nose nearly indented into yours, his sleepy eyes looking so peaceful for once... just admiring you with the warm glow of the sun dousing him in holiness.

One time he got really lost trying to find you and Luffy after the two of you had the very sensible idea of setting off to the nearest island on a search for hidden treasure. After he had spent hours wading through muddy creeks and tearing some tangled thorns away from his face, out you come wandering from behind a tree. Thinking you were some kind of wild animal, Zoro has you pinned against the bark of the nearest tree before you even have time to blink.

Not one to be defeated, you kick out at his legs with a delighted laugh, knocking the man nearly ass over head onto his back. You grin, victorious, as you crawl between his legs like a ravenous tiger, knocking the hilt of his blade far out of reach of his clenching fingers. As your knee presses against the inner seam of his muscled thigh, you can tell by the forced gulp of his bobbing throat how hard he's struggling. When you dig your fingernails deeply enough into his wrists to elicit a throaty hum of approval, when his abdomen keeps bucking ever so slightly off the reeds to try and shake you off, you just know the man's imagined this scenario a lot of times, in a lot of different ways over the years.

(I mean this man could throw you off easily let's be real.)

When the Straw Hat Crew meet Kaya, this man - istg - he nearly goes weak at the knees when you come down the stairs in your brand new borrowed outfit. His breathless inhale earned him a distasteful glare from Klahadore, but he didn't even care that he was showing such careless, unmeasured adoration. It took Luffy nearly slapping him across the face with the shrimp he was waving in front of his nose to draw him back to some sense of reality.

'I know!', the Captain had smiled. 'The food here is so good, I was daydreaming about it too!'

Having the good fortune to uh *definitely by chance and not because you snuck into the dining hall earlier to switch the place cards* - to sit next to Zoro offers him the opportunity to make his feelings more plain, in a subtle way. Perfect timing! As soon as Luffy clambers up onto the table and draws the wrath of the strangely severe butler, Zoro's hand latches across yours under the tablecloth and squeezes. He blinks languidly, his face as unreadable as ever as he takes a sip out of his champagne flute and clears his throat, but you notice. You know every part of him: every idiosyncrasy, every bob of his Adam's Apple, the tensed pull of his jaw muscle as he clenches his teeth, the warm flush rising up his cheeks, you know them all. As if they were so innate, so interwoven with your own being, that you weren't sure of a time when your hearts hadn't been devoured by each other's. Each the predator. Each the prey.

He leaves his hand on your knee for the rest of the dinner, and you refuse to remove his latched fingers and let him go.

You kiss him for the first time that night: just a sweet little tease of lingering lips against the pure radiance of his cheek.

As he walks you down the 'confusing' corridors that are 'definitely a trap' by Zoro's own declaration, you unlink yourself from his arm to straighten the collar of his silk shirt. 'You look nice', you say sincerely, eyebrows furrowing as you trace the outline of his bare collar between the open buttons. 'Even though swords are more your style, you look good in a suit. You look good in everything.'

'Uh... thanks', he balks, his head emptying as his entire being instead focuses on the feeling of your fingertip scratching of his chest. 'You- your eyes look nice', he bluntly replies. 'Like two rice balls.'

Bless him, he meant well.

And then you kiss him with a raise of your tippy toes and final clutch of your hands against his shoulders, before retreating back into your room and leaving him extinguished within the shadows. He spends the next few hours almost deliriously wandering the corridors, trying to temper the tight ball growling in his belly. To try and find a sense of clarity, some kind of retinence. Looking past the billowing blue curtains and out through the slats of the casement windows lining the ornate, ostentatious glass cases, a warning pangs in Zoro's heart. How could he? How could he find restraint, when you had spent all these years driving his thoughts wild? How could he keep you safe, when he could focus on nothing but the wetness still lingering against his cheek? How could he fulfil his dreams, when all he wants right there. Just past the clear moonlight drifting silver into his eyelids, there your stars lay.

He wasn't about to let you sail away from him this time, to alight only in his memories: to pulse through the hollow beats of his hear and cool his charred veins like a cruel reminder of a salvation he had never deserved.

He wasn’t going to lose you to his callow cowardice. Not ever again.

When he comes knocking on your door, you don't expect the demon bounty hunter to blurt out a fevered 'I love you!', before turning and stamping off. But I suppose, as you ran after to him to drag him back into your room by the scuff of his neck and slam the wide expanse of his back against the door to shut it, he wasn't expecting to spend the night filling poor Kaya's house with unbridled moans.

#one piece #one piece imagine #zoro #zoro imagine #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro imagine #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro headcanons #roronoa zoro headcanons #sanji #monkey d luffy #nami #opla #opla imagine

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Exhibitionism, infidelity, Aegon’s a dick in this one but it’s bc he’s Insecure, voyeur-ish, oral f!receiving, Criston Lives To Serve Women, one-sided feelings, doggy-style, pnv!sex, multiple orgasms, it Appears Mr. Cole is being Used but nah she wants to crawl inside his armor, BI AEGON RIGHTS!!!!

A/N: This was alternately labeled ‘Mr. Criston dicks down’

Criston dragged Aegon’s limp form into the bed, carelessly throwing the stinking wretch into the fine bedding. Once again picked up from a night out, the knight had received a tip from a gold cloak that your idiot husband was getting fucked with the curtains opened, the blonde’s loud moans and pink prick on display for all to see on the Street of Silk.

Aegon mumbled and rolled on his side, covering his face with a pillow, snoring within seconds. You could still see the slick stains on the seat of his ass and frowned. He’d take cocks before he drank enough to take you. You held your arms around your robed waist and murmured, “Thank you Ser.” You couldn’t bear laying back down beside him. Misery wafted off you in waves.

Criston remained silent, presence looming, warm leather sliding along the bared crook of your neck. The brunette thumbed at the rigid muscles at the base of your skull— always drawn tight. You feebly moaned, falling back into his intimate embrace. His other hand possessively splayed across your waist to your stomach, fingertips tightening just-so.

The knight murmured, “He’s so much easier like this. I can feel you relaxing already.”

Your shoulders were unbearably tense. Criston moved his other hand to clamp down on your tender muscles. It was a pleasant feeling, warm pressure aided by softened leather. His familiar scent engulfed you, the man nosing at your hair and inhaling.

Lulled from your lover’s warm hands and presence you whispered, “He dishonors me. My entire family.” Criston dug the heels of his palms into your muscles, earning another helpless moan. The knight growled, “I know sweetling. I know”, his grip tightened, “I thought about leaving the sot and taking you in this bed all night. He’s like a poison vine, crawling atop everything, leaving it’s mark.”

You turned up to look at Criston’s thinned lips, thick brows furrowed and dark eyes boring into Aegon. You reached up to caress a stubbled cheek, soften his raging frustrations. He let out a deep breath, the leather vice on your body loosening.

Cautiously you turned further, now facing your dear knight. He looked upset still, swearing, “He has no shame. No cares. Fucking fool, as much as I cared and loved for the boy.” Now your smaller hands held his tanned face, catching those dark orbs, immediately softening upon your gaze.

“Do not fret Criston, you’ve eased the burn, burdened what you did not have to. I’m blessed to have you in my arms.

The brunette swallowed thickly, emotions welling. He croaked, “I’d never not stand against who dishonors the future queen. All of those limping lordlings can attest to that. I’m blessed further to have you, Princess. I’ll take your burdens until I leave this world.”

He leant down to take your lips, gentle and kind. Your palms snuck up into his pretty curls, lightly tugging and scratching his scalp. Criston sighed against your breath, tongues dancing in an experienced form. His big hands made slow circles from your waist, hips, to ass. The white knight kneaded at the softer flesh, groaning your name.

Only the sound of Aegon’s drunken snoring intertwined with your heightening breath and soft sighs of pleasure. You asked against his moist lips, eyes fervent, “Take me, I need you love.” Dark brown sought your own, Criston’s eyes moving to and fro. He eyed the defiled Aegon and nodded briskly.

“If he awakes, this could go very wrong my princess,” he murmured with a worried gaze.

“If he awakes I hope he feels dishonored as I have been. He’d probably think it was a dream.”

The blonde actually had no clue. He was too self-absorbed, laughed off the japes about the white knight over his wife, under the bed. Aegon would laugh, “I think the sot still burns over my cunt sister, how tragic. The bastards might’ve been his.” He’d eye you, lips pouting, body stiff, “Afraid you and the ‘Realms Delight’ have little in common. I think he likes a little fire.”

Criston physically flipped you out of the horrid memory. Your upper body was pinned to the bed, eyes gazing up at those bite-swollen lips and messy white hair. You wanted him to hurt, just as you and your lover had. Turning your head to face the Dornishman you undid the robe and lay bare to his gaze now, always undone by the look of reverence.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful, let me have a taste first? Please princess?,” he begged, eyes shiny and wide, desperation pitching his voice. You nodded assent, mouth falling open as his perfect lips kissed your rapidly swelling cunt. He moaned into you, gloves carelessly tossed by now, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin.

He gripped at your thighs while lapping up to that precious bundle, stubble scraping against delicate skin. You writhed backwards, crying out softly and grabbing a handful of thick curls. “C-Criston, oh, ha!”

He’d slipped two big fingers inside a now-weeping cunt, wet mouth suckling at your button. The man had to hold a hip to keep you down, shaking apart at the seams. You were whimpering and yanking at his hair, cunny shivering and twitching around Criston’s crooked fingers— lazily beckoning your orgasm to make its way down.

He shoved a third finger in and flicked the hood of your bud, once, twice, then in rapid succession with an expert tongue. Now you didn’t even hold back the wail, finishing messily on your lover’s face. He groaned and lapped, purring little praises, big hands still kneading trembling flesh. You wanted more, now, let your dear Criston consume you.

He huffed a laugh when you slowly hiked a leg up, then another, exposing your puffy core to him. Criston breathed against your skin, a lilt to his tone, “Are you needy sweetling? Need my cock while your fool husband is sleeping in the same bed?” He snickered while getting up to loosen his breeches and some outer armor.

“I wonder if he’s even moved? I had a better view than you, my princess.”

You sneered over your shoulder, “Lucky you, hm?”

Criston grinned as he eased one knee onto the bed, hand guiding his heavy cock forward. You whined again, the blunt tip practically a tease. Reaching backwards with a grunt you pulled his hips flush to your ass. There was a dull slap, your cry of ecstasy, Criston’s winded ‘fuck!’

He smacked your ass and growled, “Not needy, ravenous,” he pressed his warm body to your back, “absolutely ravenous.” You nodded in jerks, skin erupting into a sweat, goosebumps up and down your bared skin. Criston’s sculpted lips kissed and mouthed against your nape, winding your hair around his left hand.

You stuttered weakly, “C-come on my l-love, s’full.”

He grinned against your skin, shoving his lean hips forward. The knight murmured in a teasing lilt, “Mhm dove? Feel how much I desire you? How you drive me insane? I’ll ruin you for any other— including that one.”

He punctuated the end of the sentence with a pointed thrust, jerking your head upwards to stare at Aegon’s puffy face. He was still out, twitching a bit. You mewled, “You already have, take me- take me!” Keeping tanned skin plastered to your own, he fucked you rough and quick.

You had no time to adjust— grunts and cries forced out by his ever-moving cock. The brunette’s right hand held your waist, crooking your back for a better angle. He still had your head facing Aegon, gloating in the debauchery in front of your husband’s face.

You bucked back onto the familiar girth, whining your white knight’s name. He didn’t let up, abusing your already sensitive cunt. Although still were a bit tender from earlier, the burn was exquisite. Your hands wrenched in the bedspread were ordered by your lover to grope at your tits, play around with an overused clit.

He panted into your ear, “Such a good sweetling, s-sucking me in, keep it up.”

You turned to meet his lips, sloppily mashing your mouth against his. Criston whined deep in in his chest, opening up to drag his tongue across yours. It was a messy affair, the pair of you too busy chanting litanies of sweet names between swears. His hips began to drag into disjointed little grinds, Criston’s pretty eyes scrunching tight.

He begged against your drooling lips, “C’mon- haaah- c’mon.” He helplessly gasped and jerked into your tightening cunt. You nodded, eyes lidded and hazy, promising, “I’m right there, oh my love, my sweetheart.” Reaching up to caress his stubbled cheek you looked forward. Criston was whining softly against your face with his eyes closed and mouth agape, so lovely, the picture of erotic pleasure.

Aegon’s violet eyes were a different story. They were open in shock, staring dead on. His plush lips opened, closed, opened— gaping like a fish. At that moment Criston struck gold and you seized with a high cry, wailing your lover’s name. The orgasm that hit you was extra sweet layered with self-satisfaction.

Criston stuttered, “O-oh gods, gods, fuckyesyesyes, I’m coming for you, yes!” He shoved his face into the crook of your neck, pretty nose mashed into your skin as he moaned long and whorish. You gasped, grinning, cooing, “That’s it my love, fill me up, yes, good boy.”

Aegon’s plush lips wobbled, his face blotchy with something. Did he really expect you to cry and wait for his attention all this time? The knight beside and inside you came to, lashes fluttering. He laughed, “You’re dreaming princeling, go back to sleep.”

The blonde croaked, “But she’s mine.” He was dumbfounded, still drunk out of his mind. Tears gathered in those Valyrian eyes. You couldn’t help but giggle at Criston’s ploy. Purring with satisfaction you added, “Roll over fool, you’ll wake up with a pounding head and a wife that doesn’t fuck your Kingsguard. Although she dreams of it.”

Aegon looked lost and sad but did so, rolling over and away from you two. Criston laid a possessive peck on your cheekbone, snickering, “Didn’t think he’d get all weepy about it.” You shrugged and replied, “Good. If he wasn’t such a brat I wouldn’t play this off. Need you too much.”

The brunette grinned easily, nosing against you. He rasped, “True. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up dove.” He slid out with a hiss and the pair of you got quickly dressed— lest Aegon awaken again. You sent off the sweet knight with one more kiss, him escorting you to your separate chambers for the night. You wouldn’t sleep next to the drunk sot.

“Would you fuck Cole if you had the chance?,” Aegon asked abruptly during breakfast. It was just the two of you, the prince requesting a private audience. You raised a brow while nibbling on cheese, humming, “Why would you ask that? I’m sworn to you.”

He frowned, sagging into his chair, eyes rimmed and red. He muttered, “Had a strange dream, you were fucking Cole in our bed last night.” You laughed, a sudden burst. The prince hissed, “It wasn’t a joke, nor very pleasant. He’s a dumb dog, loyal to whoever throws a bone.”

You replied, “He’s merely chivalrous. Pretty face. Shame he’s common-born.” Aegon scoffed, biting into his meal.

“You’ll have no one but me,” he stated.

“Of course, husband dearest. You do love to remind me of that,” you said absently.

Aegon leveled you with a look, an attempt to intimidate. All you saw was fear. The prince’s crippling fear of being alone. Oh. It felt so good. You hoped next time he doesn’t fully wake up.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #Criston cole imagine #one-sided Aegon #ser criston cole smut

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Sneaking around

Summary : Draco is being tailed by Harry, but he doesn't know that. He goes to meet his secret Ravenclaw girlfriend y/n. 

Harry slid out of Slughorn's party and followed Malfoy. He knew his cloak would be of use as he threw it over him. Draco Malfoy during this whole semester looked sickly and pale but today he looked…Draco.

 He followed him through the secret passageway on the third floor that was rarely used; he wondered when Draco had found it. He was so deep in thought he hadn't almost noticed that Draco had stopped. 

Suddenly black hair flicked from a corner. Draco lounged and pulled out a laughing Ravenclaw girl. 

"Salazar Y/n," 

"Hi~" Draco's scowl dropped and a shy smile made its way there instead. 

"Hello," Draco rolled out. 

"Your hair is a mess Malfoy, are you actually using your shampoo?"

"Of course I am, i was bloody thrown from Slughorn's stupid party" 

"Sounds a bit hmmm jealous, was a certain Harry Potter there?" Harry froze once he heard his name. 

"Don't start, you saying his name once is enough,"

"Shall I start calling him the chosen one or the other he who must not be named." Harry was mesmerized by her, it was like she radiated happiness. 

Draco shook his head so hard that his hair became more messed up. 

"Jeez, Draco relax," 

"Potter's been trailing me lately," Y/n raised her eyebrows. 

"If I didn't know any better I'd ship you two," Harry wanted to retch in his hiding place. "Lorminuim"

"That's new," Draco remarked, flopping on a nearby couch. "Made it?" 

"Nah 7th years, it's a silencing charm which also acts as an alarm if anyone steps within 10 feet of our invisible bubble we'll know"  Harry froze again, if he moved. He'll be in deep trouble.

However everything except for one fact flew over Draco's head as he sat up. "7th Year boys?"

Y/N blinked at him before she threw back her head and laughed. "What if it was a boy?" Y/n teases coming closer. "Mmm, what if it was?" 

Draco rolled his eyes. Y/n sat on his lap and cupped his face in her hands. Smooshing his face makes him look like a fish. Harry was still in severe shock. 

“I’m yours, mon amor est pour toi et toi sulement,” Draco burst out laughing. “Stop laughing I tried.” 

Draco pressed soft kisses into her palm. “I know, bloody accent needs help but, I love you too” he then said something in perfect french. Harry had enough and he, under his cloak, moved backwards inch by inch turning with each step, he did so till he was out. 

“Harry?” He spun to find Hermione and Ron behind him. "Harry? You look like you've seen a ghost,"

"Malfoy,"

"Don't tell me you followed him, can you belive this Ron, wait, you knew didn't you," Hermione pointed at Ron's red ears.

"I- Harry what about Malfoy what did you catch him doing," 

"He and y/n are a thing," 

"What? They barely are in the same space at the same time," Hermione said crossing her arms. "I mean yeah, y/n is close to the slytherin boys."

"What-" 

******************************************************************************************************************************************************

Somehow news had spread quickly. Mostly thanks to Ron and his, "MALFOY AND Y/N ARE YOU BLOODY SERIOUS MATE" Soon it even reached the love birds themselves. 

"Pansy told me that she heard it from Luna who heard it from Ginny who heard it from Ron."Y/n was sitting at the head of Draco's four-poster bed with his head in her lap 

"Do you think he caught us snogging somewhere," 

"I would hope not else you won't be getting any." Draco pouted. 

You’re cute when you pout

“Thank you,” Draco flushed slightly. She herself blushed, she said that outloud. 

"Nevermind, it was probably Potter maybe he tailed me on one of our dates," 

"Maybe," Draco started to play with her hair.  

"We can't keep hiding in your dorm, unlike you, a dinner person, I am a breakfast person." 

Draco sighed at that. They only had two classes today both after lunch. "Please let's just stay here, just for now," 

"Fine, you owe me," 

Draco just smiled and cuddled into y/n, "I really love you y/n, like a lot that i actually let on" Y/n froze.

"Y/n? Y/n you don't have to say it back, I just-"

"I love you too,"  Draco sat up and looked at her. 

“You don’t need to tell me you love me, I don-” she shut him up with a kiss. Suddenly the door barged open, 

“HA PANSY YOU WERE RIGHT COME CHECK THIS OUT,” Blaise in all his glory stood heaving with laughter. Soon they were joined by Pansy Theodore Matheo and Lorenzo. Draco with a wave of his wand had shoved them out and locked them out. 

“Why are we friends with them,”

“Say the word and they’re gone,” she laughed an kissed Draco back. 

“I’ll think about it, since we’ve been caught and I’m starving, let’s go,” Draco sighed and help her off the bed. “But you’ll still owe me a bunch of snacks later,”

Draco looked at her a small smile on his lips. “Deal,” she smiled and his heart stuttered. He was truly enamored with her.

#draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy x y/n #draco fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x you

[butterflewaway]

Hi! I really liked the scenario where the MC of touchstarved was too dumb to realize the boys simping for her and I wanted to as about how the others boys react to Leander being the only one who can hold hands with the mc (and a Leander pov knowing the others are jealous) and maybe even MC touching his face again to feel the difference in texture. Hope that's not too much! Thank you anyway!

Ohhhh you are so fun!! I like this request!~

I couldn't figure out where to fit Mhin and Kuras as I doubt they'd be at the bar in the early afternoon so let me know if you'd like a part 2 as a continuation! <3

Warnings: jealousy!!! Leander is his own warning, taunting! touching uwu

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dreary weather really was something else in this city. How could the air feel cool yet humid yet stifling as if pulling the breath from your lungs? Your bandages were dripping with sweat and coming loose, so you practically jogged into the Wet Wick.

Members of Leander's Bloodhounds were scattered around loosely, thankfully not densely packed this early in the afternoon. As you were about to slip behind a group of men and run up the stairs, an arm shot out from behind the bar to grab your hood, pulling it straight off.

Your hair tumbled out and you blinked as your eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Leander was leaned over the bar, lips pulled up into a smooth, pretty smile, eyes looking as tired as ever. "Hey pretty thing. Where you been all day?" You balled your hands into fists under your cloak and smiled back shyly.

"Oh you know. Around." Your ominous answer did little to dismay Leander, and he pulled you closer to the bar. "Would you like a drink, pretty? On the house." The barmaid looked over briefly after hearing that to scowl at the tall man. She hustled to the kitchen to presumably complain to the other workers.

You smiled as you shook your head. "Ah, no thanks. I was actually just on my way up. Really tired from ah- the day." You stared at each other in silence as your words replayed in your head. You could see the disbelief in Leander's eyes. Tired from the day? The sun had barely been up for less then five hours.

Leander let go of your cloak, and without thinking you moved your hand from the safety blanket to straighten the fabric. Piercing green eyes watched your every movement like a predator. "Ah." Fuck. You messed up. You flinched under his scrutinizing gaze and rushed to tuck your hand back into safety.

But before you could, his gloved hand once again reached out to grab, this time your hand. Deep inside, you knew Leander wouldn't get hurt. You flinched anyway. As if sensing your unenthusiastic response, Leander held up your hand to his face and gently kissed your palm, not breaking eye contact.

Your face turned beet red, mouth agape as you stared into his charming pale green eyes. Light reflected from the candles and bounced off his golden earring, grabbing the attention of the newcomers shuffling into the bar. You held your breath as Leander calmly unwrapped your hand halfway and rested his cheek against your palm.

You had no way of knowing, with your back turned to the entrance of the establishment. And though Leander acted as if the only thing he saw was you, in his peripheral he saw his dearest companions staring at the display before them with a mix of anger, jealousy, sadness, and thinly-veiled disgust.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers over his cheek and dipped down to trace the scar along his jaw. Your lashes fluttered tiredly, as if weighed down by the world. He smiled into your hand and pet your head. "Go take a nap pretty. You look like you need it." You looked away to hide your reddening cheeks and nodded, pulling away and wrapping your hand simultaneously as you trudged up the stairs, completely unaware of the eyes that followed.

Vere slid into his usual seat, pink eyes narrowing on Leander's face. The mage simply stared back blankly, before remembering where he was. A big smile erupted on his face and he grinned at the fox. "Hello Vere. Thirsty?" There was a sharp edge to the questioning lilt of Leander's tone. Vere scowled and reached to grab a bottle of champagne poorly hid by the missing barmaid.

Ais slid into the seat beside him, red eyes digging holes into Leander's cheek, as if expecting it to start decaying at any second. When nothing happened for a frame of five seconds, he peeled his unnerving gaze away to look at Vere's pretty pout. As Leander hummed and mixed a drink for the demon, his lips briefly flashes a wicked smile. He hadn't been chosen yet, but he was damned sure he was ahead of everyone else.

#ais touchstarved #touchstarved game #touchstarved x reader #touchstarved headcanons #touchstarved fic #touchstarved #mhin #ts kuras #ais ts #leander touchstarved #ts leander #touchstarved leander #vere touchstarved #vere #mhin touchstarved #touchstarved mhin #red spring studios #touchstarved demo

[nyanggk]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MR. SIM! — s.jy

PART 2 : MY SHY HUSBAND

PAIRING enhypen jake x female reader

SYNOPSIS after marrying the man of your nightmares, your husband, jake, shows you that he's actually an angel labeled with bad manners.

GENRE romance, arranged marriage, comedy

WARNING profanities, suggestive content, piercings, MDNI

wc. 5k+

— happy birthday to this pervert :)) ! I didn't have the time to write a full smut so the rest is up to yalls imaginations, hopefully you guys still find it funny.

To be wed is the practice of both hearts joining one another in a matrimonial ceremony. There, they swear in front of everyone; their families, friends, and to God. They promise to become one, to console in another, to love each through thick and thin until death do they part. But how can you surrender yourself fully when you have no such feelings for the man in front of you?

When the pastor instructs the both of you to conjoin your palms, through the white veil you wore, you watch with quiet eyes as your groom shies away from your hold. Vengeance and malice are hidden behind your irises and you almost audibly scoff.

In the background, the pastor continues to lecture the both of you about the principles of a wedding, how God should be the center of your everything. Yet your world has been taken away from you, and therefore, your center is filled with void.

"Mr. Jaeyun Jake Sim," You hear the man cloaked in white call for the boy who stood in front of you, Jake, pulling you out of your plotting thoughts. 

"Do you take Miss YN to be your lawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, 'til death do you part?"

Not even a second passes, he says, "I do, father."

He wants this, wants to marry you, however, you don't. You may not be able to avoid this marriage, but you will try in every way you can to avoid him.

Jake is handsome and every bit of his physique makes him seem like the sweetest angel. Today, his hair is nicely parted and styled to perfection. He's clad in a typical yet dashing suit, the dress shirt underneath hugging his frame to the point where you can see the outline of his pecks whenever he breathes. You caught the stylists gossiping with each other a while ago, the contents being your grooms natural beauty. They were going on and on about how naturally his face glowed, and how adorable his smile is when he curled his lips upwards. Not to mention, how nice and accommodating he is. If the two of you met under different circumstances, you have no doubt that you'll be the one making the first move.

"And do you, Miss YN, take Mr. Jaeyun Jake Sim to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, til death do you part?"

I don't.

But you have no choice and so, you gulp, letting empty words fall out of your mouth. "I do."

"Now, with the power vested in me, I pronounce the both of you, husband and wife." The pastor in charge announces, and right then, cheers erupt inside the small cathedral as echoes of their claps resound all throughout. You wince when you look at your parents' smile, clapping in an excited manner as they gush to those beside them about how happy they are. Your mother even shedding a tear. However, this is all fluke, something that they had forced onto you regardless of the fact that you despised it.

You didn't think arranged marriages were still a thing in the 20th century, but your parents have proved you wrong. There's not an ounce of them that felt guilty, even when you lashed out, and told them how you don't want to be wed with a stranger just for the company's benefit. But they said it was good for you.

"Don't you see?" Your mom asks as if it's the most obvious thing, grabbing both your arms to make you face her. "Finally, your image of being a whore—"

"Yuri!" Your dad lashes out in anger as he never calls your mother anything but their pet names for each other. This case is different as she's not only making you do something that you don't want, but is calling his own daughter a slut.

You and your mother had never seen each other eye to eye when it came to your nightly agendas. Well, neither did your father, but he loved you too much to tie you down.

"Fine." She breathes out, composing herself. "A playgirl. Your image of being a playgirl can all be erased. Jake is a sweet boy. I have no doubt that you'll fall in love with him eventually."

Oh, the misogyny.

First of all, you're not a playgirl nor are you a whore. You'd prefer the term "An Anti-Romantic that Sleeps Around a lot." Yeah, that's way better.

But all your efforts to sway your parents' minds were in vain— though your dad agreed, your mother didn't, and if there was something more powerful than your father, that was his wife— as by early November, they already had the whole wedding and reception planned, and here you are now, being announced as Sim Jake's beloved wife, his last name now being attached to yours.

Fuck your mother. Fuck your dad for not stopping her. Fuck Jake for agreeing.

If he truly has a heart as pure as milk, he wouldn't have agreed, but milk goes rotten eventually, and you assume the same case has happened to Jake. Yet, the fucker still acts like he's an angel.

"You may now kiss the bride." He says, gesturing to your now husband. 

Just when you thought Jake would happily lean in and kiss you, he doesn't. He shakes in his spot and bites his lip, a nervous habit you've concluded after meeting him just a few times before. He'd done the same when the two of you were introduced for the first time, when the two of you met for dinner with each other's parents, and many other occasions.

You're not going to lie, but you found this habit cute. So, you tell yourself that you're the one leaning in because you want this to be over with, not because you want to get a taste of the strawberry chapstick on his red lips.

At first, Jake's whole body becomes rigid, and you're about to pull away when he loops his arms around your waist and deepens the kiss. Now, it's your body's turn to become rigid. Nevertheless, you keep kissing him because he just tastes so good, completely disregarding the supposed fact that you hate his entire being, reasoning to yourself that you're just acting.

When the time comes to pull away, Jake watches your reaction with nervous eyes, afraid that he's overstepped his already small boundary with you. He knows you don't want this, knows that you don't have any sort of romantic feelings with him, but he can't help it.

The first time he saw you was at a club his friends dragged him to. Jake can't hold his alcohol well, and always proclaimed himself as the driver, meaning that he wasn't going to have a drink at all.

From where Jake sat, talking to a drunk Heeseung, he caught sight of you on the dance floor. He was so in awe of the charisma you showed. He knew the alcohol must've had a part in it, but that didn't matter because to Jake, you were a goddess partying within a sea of mere mortals. You were one of a kind and the spotlight was on you. At that time, Jake was having doubts if he was sane or not for how can someone be this attracted to a stranger they've never even talked to beforehand? He has no idea if it was because of the way your body moved or if it was the way your hands clumsily wrapped around his neck after he had made the daring move to approach you.

Without the alcohol, Jake had the time of his life listening to your drunken rants beside the sidewalk, and his heart started beating laps when you leaned in to rest your head against his shoulder.

"You're such a sweet guy." You slurred out, hand absentmindedly fidgeting with the loose threads of his woolen sweater. "Can I kiss you?"

Taken aback, the boy stutters on his breath, and he looks at you for confirmation. He knows you're drunk, but the determination between your eyes is so adorable, how can he possibly say no? He knows you're drunk, but giving his first kiss to you shouldn't be that bad of a crime, right?

When he timidly nods, you take the initiative, and lean in. When you do, it's like a billion butterflies suddenly fluttered their wings inside his stomach, and he coils into your touch, melting into your body.

Your lips lay against each other for a while before Jake instinctively opens his lips, not wanting to part but needing to breathe, and you take that as your queue to put your warm tongue inside his mouth. That's when Jake feels the small metal bead pierced onto your wet muscle, the piercing on your tongue rubbing against the roof of his mouth and tongue, and Jake can't help but release a small whimper into your kiss.

Jake never wanted something so bad in his life before. He was always willing to give, and put others first. Maybe, just for this time, he can be selfish, and have you.

You probably had no recollection of him, but he had every bit of you reserved in his mind. Your meeting has become a core memory, and Jake will cherish it forever. With that, he'll show you he's worth putting yourself down, and make up for what he's done. Forgive him, but he just can't continue to bear watching you sleep with random men anymore when it should be him that you come home to. You'll be safe with him and he'll treat you right. He just hopes you give him a chance despite your resentment.

Jake watches with sadness as you pull away from each other, and acts nonchalant about the whole kiss as for a moment, he thought that you enjoyed it. The priest then catches his eye and the boy thanks him for leading the ceremony of your wedding while you completely ignore everyone's existence.

It's been about a week into your marriage. Currently, the two of you are still at your honeymoon, your parents deciding to give the whole month to the two, hoping for a baby by the end of it. It's definitely not going to happen, Jake knows that much as with the way you still act cold and dismissive towards him, even Jake doubts if he can hold a civil conversation with you soon.

Though he's been trying to get close to you, it seems as if Jake still hasn't made any sort of progress. He's made sure to be extra nice and charming, accommodating to your every need, being there for you whenever you need a helping hand, but nothing is working. He doesn't want a baby with you. Well, he wants one but he's willing to wait, and if you don't want one then he'll personally make up a lie saying that he's infertile to your parents. He's never lied before, but he'll do it for you.

All Jake wants is for you to acknowledge his presence, to at least spare him a glance. He's been craving to hear your voice and he's willing to beg.

"Good morning." He greets when he sees you coming out of the room, hair tangled in a sleepy manner as you grumble out a response.

The both of you had agreed that you would have the bed all to yourself— well, you claimed it and he complied— seeing as there was no way in hell that you would sleep beside him. Jake gladly accepted the couch, not a single peep of complaint was thrown your way which saves you more time if you were to argue.

Jakes is sitting on the couch, watching a cartoon. You would've thought it was cute for a grown married man to watch children's shows if it weren't for the earful of complaints and lectures your mom threw at you in the early morning. 

She knew fully that you hadn't been treating Jake like a human being. The other day, she found out through the guards that you left him to go party at the hotel's club, and when you were on the phone talking to your mother and Jake just so happened to trudge in and ask you a question, you brushed him off.

It was safe to say that your mother is the least bit pleased with your behavior, and rang your phone to death while you were happily fast asleep in dreamland. When you picked up, she continued on with her rant, effectively ruining your day even before it began, burning your eardrums off in the process.

Being the bright guy that Jake is, his cheerful mood picks up upon seeing his wife, talking to you excitedly about his plans for today as if you hadn't been the shittiest person to him for the past week. "Do you want to go out today? I was thinking we could go to the beach—"

"Sure, Jake." You answer dismissively as you pull open the fridges door. "Whatever you want."

Jake's mood deflates after hearing your lack of interest. "Oh... uhm, Okay..."

Later on, you and Jake venture out to the beach, and you watch him by the shores as you sit on a blanket, a shade put up prior by Jake. He wanted to block off the sunlight from hitting your skin, knowing full well that you hated the heat.

Now, after setting up your rest area, he runs to go and meet up with a tan man sporting stylish dreadlocks, soon finding out that he's going to be learning how to surf.

Ohh this is going to be so amusing to watch.

You watch as he keenly listens to the surfing instructor about the do's and dont's when it comes to surfing, nodding along here and there. The board he chose was a sea blue with two bold yellow stripes along the middle. Wet, his hair clings to his forehead, him having to sweep it back from time to time whenever it comes in the way of his vision.

It seemed as if their little pep talk had already come to an end as Jake readjusts his grasp onto the board before looking at you with elated eyes, a huge grin forming across his face. Right then, you notice the way the ends of his mouth curl up into adorable hooks, and you suddenly feel the random urge to trace it. 

Dazed, you wave at Jake and give him a small smile. That seemed to be enough to boost his morale as he unconsciously rewards you with the most adorable look you've ever seen. It was unbelievably charming. A smile so sweet that it puts you under a trance. One where he didn't show his teeth, his mouth forming into a straight line while his cheeks bunch up, his eyebrows raising themselves up. A type of smile that made his cheeks look like soft bread, and he nudged his thumb towards the sea as if to tell you that he's heading into the water.

When Jake turns his back, you snap out, scolding yourself as you ignore the way your heart's beating.

At first, you had planned to leave while Jake is preoccupied, but now, you find yourself stuck to the same spot, looking at your husband as he loses balance on the surfboard and dives headfirst into the water for the sixth time since he went in. You tell yourself that you've stayed because his clumsiness amuses you, not because of the proud smile he throws your way at each progress he makes. He's looking at you as if he's searching for your validation each time he manages to prolong his balance on the surfboard, the eratic oceans doing nothing to help. But regardless, you reward him with a cheer and a thumbs up, him breaking into a boyish grin soon after receving his prize.

He looks overwhelmingly charming like this, and each time he falls, he makes sure to go down in a variety of poses. At his antics, you can't help but laugh at the boy and shake your head, unbelieving at the fact that you're laughing at your husband whom you supposedly hate.

Lying chest down on the surfboard, his hands paddle at his sides to gain momentum when he notices a wave soon to crash, clearly looking excited. However, you aren't. 

You can't help but let the panic in you grow as this isn't just a normal sized wave. It's huge, and comparing it to his body, he looks like he's going to get devoured into the water, especially since he's still a beginner.

You stand up from the beach towel you've been laying on, a hand to your chest as you hold your breath. When Jake manages to get on top of the wave, he looks at you in victory, but before you can return the gesture, Jake loses his footing and disappears into the water.

"No…" You inch closer to the sea, feet getting soaked into the water as you wait for Jake to come up. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Jake's instructor begins to grow worried, and you watch him paddle his surfboard close to the area where Jake had disappeared.

"Jake!?" You call out his name yet you don't get a reply. Jake always replies to you. Even when you scream or scoff his name out, he still answers. So, why isn't he now?

Wanting nothing more than to dive into the water and find him yourself, you chuck your dress off, and swim towards where his instructor is heading, following his lead so the both of you can search for your husband. 

With the wire on the surfboard strapped onto Jake's ankle, you can only hope that his board soon floats up, and after a few long seconds, it does. Finally, you release a loud sigh, quickly paddling your hands to its location, finding your husband passed out. Your heart only sinks deeper at the thought of something terrible happening to him.

Without wasting any more time, both you and the instructor drag Jake's body up to the shore, carefully placing him down. With fear stricken eyes, you cup Jake's cheek in the palm of your hand, shaking it gently in a desperate attempt to wake him up. 

"Jake? Wake up, please." You beg as your hands shake when you grab a hold of his own, clutching them in yours and kissing the back of it as you watch the instructor perform CPR on your husband.

The man presses down on his chest a couple of times before putting his ear next to Jake's mouth, searching for signs of breathing. When nothing happens, the instructor tells you that he's going to have to give Jake mouth to mouth precipitation, and you quickly agree. As the man's lips inch closer to Jakes', your husband suddenly bolt's up, stunning both you and the instructor as you realize that your husband was faking everything all along. 

"I'm awake! I'm awake!" He says, frantically pushing the instructor off, and your jaw hangs in disbelief.

"You asshole!" You scream out, slapping his chest as you feel stray tears trickle down your face at having been worried that he had been gone forever. "Why would you do that, huh? W-Why the fuck are you laughing?! Jake, stop!"

Ugh, how dare he laugh?! You feel so frustrated right now that you just want to punch that sick grin off his face. 

Once Jake notices that you aren't taking his joke the same way he is, he immediately gets serious. He pulls you in for an embrace, and you gladly take it without much resistance, tears stopping soon after as you're just happy that he's alive.

Soon, annoyance comes rushing back into your senses and you dig your palms to his chest, pulling away from him. "Fuck you! I can't believe I bothered to give a shit about you! You pull that type of stunt again Jake Sim, you're not only going to lose a wife, but your kids too!"

And it's safe to say that mixed with the fear of losing his dear wife, Jake felt awfully guilty for trying to sneakily steal a kiss from you. Now that he thinks about it, he couldn't be anymore stupid to do such a horrid prank on you. His intentions might have been for his own selfish desire, but he didn't think you'd shed tears. 

You're a fucking asshole, Jake. You just made your wife cry.

It's safe to say that due to his theatrics, your day of wild surfing and sitting by the beach has been cancelled. Not only that but it's as if the heavens sympathize with your mood, the sky turning gray and dark, a foreboding sign that a storm is about dawn.

It's currently night time and you still feel as sour as a sweaty armpit. You've been mercilessly ignoring Jake since the events earlier this morning, wanting him to learn a lesson or two in comedy because none of that shit was even close to funny! It was scary; the thought of him leaving.

Everytime he tries to strike up a conversation with you, you shut him down with short answers and snide remarks. The same topic of "Oh, why don't you just pretend to drown yada yada." recurring on and on and Jake is forced to retreat, though, the idea of trying again never leaving his mind once. 

Even Though he's back in phase one— the phase where you hate his guts— he knows he can get past this. He can do it. He just needs to take his time and give you yours. All he wants right now is to beg down on his knees, and tell you how much he regretted doing it. If only you'd let him, he would lick your feet if you asked.

The two of you were supposed to have dinner outside when the rain started pouring, barring the two of you inside your hotel room as for some reason, the hotel made the bright idea to build the restaurant without a roof. Even though you detested having to be in the same room as Jake, you wouldn't dare getting wet. Luckily for the both of you, room service was a thing.

A part of you feels like you should act nicer towards the boy, besides, he is your husband. During your stay here, he's been nothing but a sweetheart; paying for everything, guiding you, and entertaining every childish plan you have to spite him— well, save for the stupid shit he pulled  this morning— obviously, nothing worked. He just took every dumb thing you did as adorable, even when you ignored him.

"Room service!" A man announces from the other side of the door. Being the gentleman that he is, Jake gets up before you do, telling you that he'll get it.

When the door cracks open, pops of confetti and a series of cheers erupt inside your suite. The whole group of staff shows up, and they all start singing him a happy birthday. One of the staff drags in a cart full of intricate looking dishes placed gently on top, a large bottle of champagne sat nicely inside a bucket of ice, and a lighted cake with the writings "Happy 20th Birthday!" written on it.

Of course today just had to be his birthday! Now, how are you supposed to maintain your cold exterior once finding out that you've not only forgotten your husband's birthday, but also ignored him the whole day while he was just trying to get a kiss from you. It sounds so dumb yet you assume that it's an idea Jake is willing to entertain.

The poor boy gets taken aback, speechless as they surprise him on his birthday, but nonetheless, he starts clapping smally and humming with them. When he sees that they're putting the dishes down, he goes in to help them, however they shoo the boy away.

"Happy birthday Mr. Jake!" They all cheered in unison, and as their song came to an end, a staff lifted up the cake, and gestured for him to blow the candles off.

Before he does, he closes his eyes, a boyish grin on his face and you almost blurt out the word "Cute" in front of everyone. It certainly won't be out of the ordinary for them, but you can only guess the inner turmoil it's going to give you.

When he's done with his wish, he blows out his candles, and once again, cheers and claps erupt, you joining in and smiling at him, realizing that you can stop being an asshole just for today since it's his birthday.

"Mrs. Sim," A staff member calls out and asks excitedly, "Aren't you going to give the birthday boy a kiss?"

Both freezing on the spot, you and Jake lock eyes with each other, but no one notices as everyone shoots up in hoots, telling you enthusiastically to give your husband a kiss. 

You take Jake by surprise when you suddenly stride towards him, pressing your lipstick coated lips on his in front of everybody. Like the first time you've kissed him, his cheeks burn, and his heart beats faster. It's like he's reliving his first kiss all over again; this version being done in front of a crowd.

His eyes are wide and unbelieving, and upon seeing his adorable reaction, you laugh, dragging your finger across the cake's icing and smearing it on his cheek before walking back with a shake of your head and he doesn't miss the giggle that escapes your lips.

Once he regains his composure and the rave eventually dies down, he thanks the staff, and bids them all a nice farewell, escorting them outside. Jake, being the kind and respectful boy that he is, doesn't forget to bow, showing his gratitude, and you're once again reminded that you're married to a literal angel, and not a devil reincarnate like how you make him out to be. 

Maybe being married to Jake Sim isn't so bad. You're still angry at your parents for approving this, and you still haven't proved the hunch you had that Jake is an accomplice. However, if you find out that he is, would it change your perspective of him knowing that this kind and angel like persona is his natural self? Is it so bad to be stuck with this man for the rest of your life?

Gosh, it sounds like you're developing a case of Stockholm Syndrome, or are you just plainly bat shit crazy because are you really coming to terms with your situation this early on?

Regardless, you don't know why you've been fussing so much. You're not obligated to fall in love with the man. You just have to treat him how he deserves, like a normal human being. Sure, your endless nights reigned with sex might come to a holt for a few— you'll surely have to if you don't want to be perceived as a cheater by the media. God knows what your mother would do if she finds out you've broken poor little Jakey Wakey's fragile heart and it's safe to say that you don't want to hear any of that bullshit soon.

"Uhm…" Is the first thing he says to you after the kiss. Poor Jake is unsure of where the two of you stand. Maybe you were just pressured and kissed him so as to not raise the suspicion that you have absolutely no feelings for him. If that were the case, then he feels like it's his fault. "You hungry?" 

Of Course he asks you. Jake always puts you first regardless of the situation.

"A bit." You reply to him with a soft sigh, feeling unsure yourself after the act you impulsively did.

Jake looks a bit disappointed for a moment as he genuinely thought that you might want to spend some time with him. It's his birthday after all, but he guessed that he had to try even harder for you to accept him if he truly wanted you.

You can see the heartbreak inside his puppy-like eyes, and you bet that if he had a tail, it would've stopped wagging right then. Now, you immediately regret what you said. You could've just lied and said you were hungry for his sake. Read the room you dumb bitch!

"Oh, then we can eat later when you're hungry. I'll heat it up later so it's still hot. For now, I guess—"

"Are you hungry?" You cut him off, placing your book down, sitting up and leaning forward so you can admire the food, and act as if your question didn't just send him into overdrive, this being the first time you've asked a question that showed even a sliver of interest in regards to him.

"Y-Yeah." He says, stuttering out his answer.

You sit up, feeling determined to make up for your bad behavior. "Then we eat." Gesturing for him to sit beside you on the rug right in front of the coffee table, you serve him a plate. 

You feel Jake's stare at the side of your head as he watches you put noodles on his plate so, you look up with questioning eyes, knitting your eyebrows as if to ask if there was a problem. "What?"

"N-Nothing." He says quickly before seating beside you, making sure to put an appropriate amount of space between the two of you so as to not overstep the boundaries that he's already thankful to have with you.

"Eat up. I wouldn't want your mom scolding me for not taking care of her baby boy."

It was as if something in Jake had been ignited when the pet name came out of your mouth. It wasn't in the terms that he wanted it to be in, but just hearing your voice along with those words sends his body on fire, and Jake can only wish you would call him that.

The night goes on with the two of you talking over dinner, Jake being giddy and jumpy the whole time. Despite the grim night, Jake lights up the room with his golden aura, and it's as if there weren't thunder clapping outside. 

Surprisingly, the boy is fairly clumsy. He knocked his glass of water, your glass of water, smeared pasta juice all over his face in a delirious attempt to make you smile— which he succeeded as he even made you laugh— and lastly, spilled wine all over your white shirt.

"I still don't understand how you managed to knock the wine onto my shirt." You scoff out an unbelieving laugh, not at all angry with your shirt being ruined as you make your way to the small of your suite's closet.

"I'm really sorry." He apologizes cutely, following behind you like a puppy, and you can't help but want to pinch his cheeks. "I'll get you a new shirt tomorrow if you want?"

"You're so sweet Jake." You comment, pulling your stained shirt off your body, exposing your bra cladded chest to your husband as if it wouldn't drive him nuts. 

It's the wine working its way into your system that's making you act so shamelessly as you and Jake had a few glasses prior whilst eating. The both of you are a bit tipsy, but there's no decision you can't make in this state of mind.

Taking the chance, your husband rakes over your body, but not before catching himself slipping. He slaps himself for being so perverted, but does it again either way, and to Jake's embarrassment, you catch him.

He's about to blurt out another apology again, but you stop him by tangling your arms around his neck, pulling his body flushed against yours in the heat of the moment. "If you're going to be a pervert Jake, might as well own up to it, right?"

Jake can only stare at you with unbelieving and shaken eyes at having been caught, all the while having your naked skin pressed against his. His body is burning in want and need, and his lack of judgment and the heat of the moment overtakes his stature as he grasps onto your hips in a fit of desperation, hopelessly gripping them ground himself and have you closer.

"I asked you a question, Jake." You draw out, fingers digging themselves into his cheeks to catch his focus.

"I… I…" He's at a loss, finding it embarrassing having to confess his desires for you in such a scenario.

"Come on, puppy. You can do it." You urge on, and Jake releases a pitiful whine at the pet name, one he could only dream of you giving him. "I'm not going to fuck you otherwise."

At that, Jake's ears perk up, eyes wide and onlooking at your claim. His black boba eyes are addicting to look at. The hand that was pressing on both of his cheeks went to trace the curve of his lips, biting your lip in the process as if to contain yourself from smiling too wide. "Yes, I'm a— fuck — I'm a pervert."

"There he is," You cheer, smirking at how compliant your husband is already. "And what else?"

What else is there? Do you really want him to confess how much he's been dying for you to fuck him? Is that it? 

Jake's mind is jumbled. The wine didn't make him drunk, you did as now, he’s tipsy from both the words that fall off your lips and your touches. 

"You're a whore. That's what you are. " You say, answering for him as you release the grip you had on his cheeks. "Do you think I never noticed the way you'd peep into my room in the middle of the night, hm? Or, the time where you were humping the pillow you took from my room? You thought I didn't know what you were doing, didn't you?"

From the millionth time, Jake becomes speechless, and he's unsure if you're angry at him or not, though it seems to be as if you're just trying to make him own up. However, one things for sure, his dick is getting hard.

"At the end of the day, our little goody two shoes Jake is just a whore." You spit out with venom. 

"Why don't you show me how desperate you are?"

TAGLIST: @amarillyis @samanthaaaa1 @meowmeowhoon @wonswondrland @axartia @heesflor @caty-catts @enhacolor @donghoonie-3 @artstaeh @kuleo26 @heestart @kyanmeai @jjongbadnae @alex-is-sleeping @avbie @love-4-keum @wtfsuhani @lumiseung @jaylaxies @hoon-lvr @kimchijjajang @gobighee @notsimpingforbangchan @wonyofanclub

let's all wish jake a happy birthday!

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen jake #enhypen hyung line #enhypen x reader #enhypen sub #sub enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #enhypen crack #sim jaeyun #enhypen imagines

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Don't Fear the Reaper [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: 'Hello Darkness, my old friend. I see you've come to stalk my store again.' Or, why fear Death when you can just Pavlov him with cookies into carrying your groceries?

A/N: Based on this wonderful brain rot from a very lovely anon! Continued apologies to anyone who actually knows French, because I do not lol. So Rook's babbling is all Google baby

[PART 1] [PART 2]

“I hear you’ve been dealing with an infestation.”

You arched a brow and pointedly settled the last of the little, strawberry, tarts into its box with a heavy plap. You took your time piping a neat dollop of cream on the top and then fixing the tiny sugar berry adornments into a smiley face.

“You’re free to call the health inspector,” you intoned, handing over the box. “That’ll be ten copper, your highness.”

Riddle’s face went as red as the dessert in his hands.

“Don’t call me that!” he hissed, ducking back further beneath the hood of his cloak. The cloak that was clearly made of the finest, crimson, silks money could buy. The one with real gold embroidered along the crisp edges and an ivory clasp shaped into a literal crown. 

You shrugged. At least he’d moved past demanding outright that ‘of course he wasn’t the prince! How dare you! To think yourself so presumptuous! As if royalty would ever even consider visiting this hovel of yours! Off with your head!’ Those had been a fun few weeks.

You poked around in your stacks upon stacks of baked goods and unearthed a little, cherry, cookie. You slipped it into the box alongside his tart and hoped that counted as a metaphorical pat on the head. There, there, little lord. This humble one will tell no one of your secret, commoner, shames.

Some of that choked-red color started to fade from his cheeks, and Riddle accepted the offering with an expression that on any normal person you might have called a pout.  

“I was trying to be tactful,” he spat, tucking the bribe further into the packaging with a stiff twitch of the fingers. “But I don’t know why I even bother.”

You shrugged again and made brief eye contact with the terribly unsubtle guard stationed at your front door. Cater, or Carter, or something like that. He greeted everyone who walked by with a cheerful little wave and a wink. He was charismatic, and loud, and apparently—as you had discovered when you’d tried to hand him a little slice of cake as a consolation treat for putting up with his charge’s emotionally constipated nonsense—hated sweet things with every fiber of his being. You didn’t trust him for a second.

The pair of you locked gazes over Riddle’s shoulder, and his lips quirked into a smirk that was sharper than it was fond. Ah. So it was one of those days, was it?

“Is there something else you wanted?” you prodded intentionally, as Riddle turned to make his retreat.

The Prince paused for a moment, and you watched his teeth worry a bit at his lower lip—a nervous habit he claimed forwards and backwards he absolutely did not possess. After a moment of silent deliberation, he straightened his spine into something stiff and regal.

“There are rumors going around that your business may be suffering from a… pest problem,” he said, like he was chewing over each word individually. “And while I firmly believe that people should endeavor to work through their own problems, if this is indeed a problem…” he paused, hands tightening a bit around the pastry box tucked neatly between his palms before looking back up to meet your gaze with that harsh sort of determination that always made him seem very much like someone who ought to be ruling over entire kingdoms. “I’m certain the Royal Family would be more than happy to come to the aid any of their subjects, should they ask for it.”

You ducked your head in a nod that you hoped was the appropriate level of polite for such a declaration.

“Your concern is appreciated, your high—”

His face twisted up in a sneer and you beamed.

“—Highly esteemed customer,” you finished with a chirp. “But I’m perfectly capable of crushing a few cockroaches.”

Riddle nodded at you tightly and made a swift exit. Cater flicked his fingers at you in a half-salute and the pair continued on down the cobblestone street and out of sight.

“Do you actually have pests here?” a tiny old lady asked from her place perusing your shelves. She looked like an onion that had been left in the sun for a couple dozen years, and the question seemed kinder than it did probing. Like she would happily help you hunt down the little buggers herself. “Roaches, I mean…?”

“Oh no,” you reassured. “It’s much bigger.”

You watched the poor thing nearly go into conniptions and offered her a cup of fresh chai on the house.

.

.

As much as you had kindly reassured your most affluent patron otherwise, you were indeed suffering under the aforementioned ‘pest problem.’ And while your squishing abilities were normally the stuff of legend, you didn’t think there was a boot big enough in the whole world to rid you of your current guest.

“Quelle très belle matinée! And made all the better by my dearest friend!”

You grunted and let the door slip shut with a tinkle behind him. Rook nearly bounced to your oven and peered inside with all the eagerness of a wide-eyed child. You’d long since learned not to bother yanking him back from the flames. They never even seemed to warm his pale cheeks, let alone melt him into the puddle of charred goo that they rationally ought to.

“Macarons?” he chirped, and turned to you like he was waiting for a Good Noodle Sticker. He leaned closer, and you watched the sputtering heat sway around and away from him like a tangible thing. He sniffed a few times, looking thoughtful. “Flavored delightfully with that lovely rosewater syrup you were steeping last night?

You hummed in affirmation and handed him a little almond cookie for his efforts. It felt a bit like training a dog.

The first time you’d told a dejected looking Rook that he could eat his treat in your shop rather than using it an as excuse to punt him out the door, he’d practically glowed. And had apparently taken the offer as an extension of a permanent invitation. He still waited patiently at the front door each morning, still marveled at the merry jingle of the bell when you allowed him entrance, and always wiped his feet. You’d hoped a bit that perhaps overexposure to your meager, repetitive, livelihood would have him eventually bowing out from boredom. But if anything, he seemed to have become more enamored with your dealings as the weeks passed.

And now that you’d given him express permission to hover, his originally vested interest had become outright sticky. There was no more plastering himself distantly to the window when he could go and literally shove his face into an oven, or perch himself at your shoulder like a wide-eyed owl as you tried to whip egg whites into peaks without repeatedly elbowing him in the gut. He puttered after you like a duck quacking for its mother, spouting off every question under the sun about temperatures, and consistencies, and the merits of baking powder versus soda.

“And these are meant to be… burned? Yes?”

“Dehydrated,” you sighed. “And not these. You’re thinking of the meringue cookies.”

“Ah, I see. Those crunchy delicacies from yesterday that looked to be little clouds,” he hummed, nodding along. The feather on his hat bobbed over a hot coal and sparked with embers. You reached out with a frustrated huff to whack the walking fire hazard back into a gently smoking mess rather than the start of an outright blaze. “Merci, merci!” Rook trilled as you beat him with a damp towel. Black soot floated through the air like dust motes under the sun, and he grinned through your grouchy manhandling as he always did. “Ahh, cher pâtissier! You always do dote on me so!”

You were about to argue back about how keeping him from unintentionally annihilating your entire kitchen was not ‘doting,’ when your eyes trailed over something strangely gunky and off colored stuck on the back of his cloak. You leaned forward to pluck up whatever it was, and Rook’s fingers flew out to snatch up your wrist before you could even blink.

“Please pardon me, mon cœur!” he beamed, the lines of his leather gloves a soft weight against your flour dusted skin. “I have tried to be most diligent in keeping myself clean for our morning rendezvous! But alas, it would seem I’ve missed a spot this time around.”

Part of you was sorely tempted to ask what—who—had apparently dirtied his robes. But you decided ultimately that it was still far too early to be discussing the remnants of the unfortunate victims off his hit list, and honestly you really weren’t sure you would have cared even with another four hours of sleep and a full mug of caffeine in you. So you waved him off and went back to worrying over your spice racks and tallying cups of flour.

Rook pillowed his chin in his hand and watched you putter about with a sigh that sounded far too besotted for anyone’s good. Those eerily green eyes of his seemed to glow in the lowlight, and he only gushed even more ridiculously when you launched a wet rag at the mess on his back and demanded he mop up his own nonsense or get out.  

.

.

You didn’t realize that Rook was slowly staying later and later into the day until Ace came by to collect your weekly booklet of receipts and would not step through the door.

“What are you, contagious?” you harumphed, pointedly leaning over the threshold to shove your collection of bits and bobs into his waiting hands rather than stepping out into the street to join him.

“More like superstitious,” he snipped. He crossed his arms and gave your shop a pointed once over. “I thought Egg Boy was overexaggerating, but you really just…” He waved his hands around his head for a moment before letting out an angry huff that sounded a bit too much like an overboiled kettle. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?!”

“You literally ate raw dough off my floor less than a month ago,” you accused.

“I already told you I didn’t know it wasn’t cooked!—And that’s not the point!” he seethed. “Don’t you realize who that is?” he continued, voice dipping into one of those angry whispers that was never really a whisper.

You rolled your eyes and turned to shout over your shoulder. “Rook Hunt?”

The blonde instantly perked up from his place perched by the counter, where he’d very clearly been watching this entire exchange with a lazily curling grin.

“Oui! However can I be of assistance to you, my lovely, darling, pâtis—”

You turned back to Ace.

“Yes, I know who he is.”

“—And of course I know who you are as well!” Rook barreled onwards, slipping forward to drape himself along your shadow like a cat might settle itself into a sunbeam. He never leaned on you outright, but he always made a point to get close enough that he may as well have. “The wonderful artiste who has shown me nothing but the greatest kindness! Ah, mon humain préféré! With your endless hospitality and words sweeter than even the finest of the confections you craft!”

Ace’s expression twisted up like the very idea of another living being considering you to be even halfway pleasant was a war crime. Which, you know, totally fair. But before your redheaded acquaintance could continue with his appalled gaping, Rook leaned over your shoulder with a smile that looked not quite right on his face. The wide brim of his hat obscured your view of the rest of him—casting the remaining slopes of his sharp features into inky darkness.

“And but of course, I know you as well, Monsieur Trappola!”

Whatever rotten, sour, look Ace had been pulling froze over into something nearly deathlike. He went so pale so quickly your thoughts swung back to wondering if maybe he really was contagious with something.

Your shaky friend? Fellow gossip? associate audibly gulped, but when neither he nor your leech of a guest said anything further, you prompted them both with a vaguely curious, “Oh? You’ve met before?”

“Not recently,” Rook trilled, sounding positively delighted. “But I suppose I am familiar with everyone in this petite ville one way or another.”

You hummed, not particularly satisfied with that non-answer of an explanation. But your brief bought of inquisitiveness was quickly being overshadowed by the very real risk that Ace may actually topple over frothing at the mouth and twitching like a rabid racoon at your doorstep. Which would no doubt be terrible for business.

“You better get going,” you prompted, debating giving him a shove with your foot. “Before you start running behind on your pickups.”

“Right…” Ace muttered, swallowing past a lump in his throat. “I should—I’ll be doing that. Leaving. I’ll be leaving.”

“Adieu, Monsieur Trappola!~” Rook called, as the door slid shut with a pleasant tingle. “I’m certain we’ll be seeing you!”

There was a lingering, creaking, da-dong sound from overhead and you wondered idly if maybe there was something a bit off with your bells.

.

.

That afternoon, after you finally heaved an exhausted sigh of relief and flipped the ‘OPEN’ sign at your storefront to ‘CLOSED,’ Rook was still perched on the little stool you’d set out for him. The late-day sunshine cast him in all sorts of unfamiliar shades of gold, and while the shadows beneath his feet had always seemed to stretch a bit long and sit a bit oddly, they twitched even more strangely in the glow of the summer light. You blinked at him in open surprise, and he blinked back at you.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Mon chéri, I am always here!” he chirped, and you rolled your eyes towards the ceiling in a silent bid for patience.

“No you’re not,” you argued. “I think I would have noticed.”

Rook held a gloved hand to his mouth to smother a laugh and shook his head at you like you were just the funniest little thing.

“As you say, my tenacious pâtissier.”

You sighed and moved to untie the ribbon of your apron. “Whatever. I suppose I could use your help anyways. I need to run to the markets.”

The Bounty Hunter’s eyes lit with that familiar, sparkling, enthusiasm and he clasped his fingers in his lap with a gust of breath that sounded like it rattled every one of his bones as it squeaked its way out of him.You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. You hoped he hadn’t caught whatever mystery ailment Ace had been sagging under when he’d arrived at your door that morning.

“Shopping!” he outright beamed, putting the glitter of the afternoon sun to shame. “Une nouvelle aventure avec mon amour! Et en journée! Temps à passer avec—”

“Enoughwith your nonsense,” you groaned, tossing your dirtied apron onto a free hook. “Do you want to come or not?”

“But of course! I would be most honored to—”

You shoved a wicker basket into his hands and hurriedly moved to usher him out the door before he could begin monologuing in earnest.

Rook walked the familiar path to the markets like a tourist on holiday—stopping every now and again to wax poetic about the way that a potted flower looked in the afternoon light, staring in awe at each bizarre crack in the pavement as if it was a natural marvel worth gawking at. He muttered something dazedly under his breath at one point about ‘what messes might embed themselves in these fissures of the earth,’ but you carried on like you’d gone blind and deaf. A skill you’d become incredibly proficient with as of late.

When you finally arrived at the little hub of stalls, there was an audible gasp from somewhere in the thin crowds. You decided once again that you were better off feigning impairment and pushed onwards as if you had no idea that people were parting around you and your new companion like the pair of you were riddled with plague sores. The gossipy man who sold you your favorite strawberries went a bit green when you approached, and you continued merrily with your farce.

You had only just leaned forward to get a better look at some of the berries you tended to hoard like a dragon to gold, when suddenly the bright reds and blues beneath your fingers went nearly grey—nearly rotten. There was a long, sharp, shadow curling along the fruit. Rook was hovering at your shoulder, as he of course tended to do, and you glanced between him and the twisting, creeping, darkness swallowing the contents of the little stall in front of you. Clearly it was his purple-clad frame blocking the sunlight and casting all these weird shadows, but it was still a bit bizarre. It was like the brightness itself was being sucked from the afternoon, rather than just the cool play of the light that it ought to be.

You reached out curiously to poke a finger into the dancing bits of darkness and were surprised to find that it felt like something solid. A tangible sort of bite against your skin. Something sharp, and cold as the grave—

“Perhaps the melons, mon cœur!” Rook chirped loudly, redirecting your prodding with a cheery nudge. “They smell enticingly ripe.”

You hummed, your musings on the unnatural settling into the back of your mind in favor of reaching out to give the fruits a good shake. They did feel quite nice.

Rook swayed a bit at your shoulder, and you glanced up at him with an arched brow.

“Are you alright?”

“I do not often spend time in the sun,” he admitted, and you blinked once again at those lanky shadows before turning on him with a tight, little, frown.

“You should have said something,” you scolded. “I would have brought you a—” your eyes landed on his wide brimmed hat and its cheerful, black, feather as it bobbed in the breeze. “…never mind. But you still should have told me.”

“Ah, your worry is a balm upon ma pauvre âme!” he crooned, resting his palm against his heart. “What has a wretched creature such as I done to earn such warm regard? And alas—what then could this poor beast do to maintain such a blessing?”

“He could help me find a bag of milled flour for one thing,” you sighed, hoping to derail the burgeoning soliloquy.

“But of course!” he chirped and immediately darted off around a corner to hunt down what you’d asked of him.

You gathered up a heaping portion of fresh berries (back to the their healthy, summer, glow now that your shadow had been sent away), and ruffled around in your bag to retrieve the coppers needed to pay for your haul. The vendor reached out a shaky hand to clasp at your wrist and you raised a brow at him curiously.

“Are you okay?” he hissed, still a very unpleasant shade of sea-sick.

“Are any of us really?” you intoned blandly, and dropped the required coins neatly on the cart.

You’d only just turned back around when Rook came trotting back through the rows of carts—three gigantic sacks of flour tossed over one shoulder. It looked absolutely ridiculous, with the mass of them rising far past his head and setting his hat at an awkward slope.

“That seems a little excessive,” you sighed.

“Non, non!” he argued. “You are nearly out! There will certainly not be enough to prepare both the croissants and that lovely chocolate cake you were planning to make.”

“Oh,” you blinked, and mentally tried to tally up whatever had remained of your provisions. He was probably right—you’d gone a bit overboard experimenting with different types of pretzel dough. “You don’t mind carrying that, do you?” you asked with a furrowed brow. “That all looks like it weighs nearly as much as you do.”

Rook chuckled pleasantly under his breath, and somehow managed to dip forward into a bow that didn’t end with the enormous sacks balanced atop his shoulders spilling forward all over the road.

“It would be my pleasure, mon cœur,” he smiled, very nearly a purr.

You shrugged and went back to meandering contentedly through the stalls, happy to push all of the menial physical labor off onto someone who seemed more than delighted to relish in its ache. Rook trailed merrily at your heels—the sun heavy at his back and highlighting each step with those dripping, inky, shadows. The faint outline of a ragged, hooded, robe brushed nearly unseen through the dirt, broken only by trailing, white, puffs of loose flour.

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #Rook Hunt x Yuu #Reaper!Rook #Monster Mayhem #Fantasy AU #Rook Hunt #Riddle Rosehearts #Cater Diamond #Ace Trappola #Monster Mayhem Rook Part 2

[halloworhorecrux]

Draco: Not to make unnecessary comments

Harry: ughh

Draco: HOWever- your cloak has a stain, which I distinctly remember you received two days ago when you were trying to drink jasmine tea while running away from Granger.

Harry: You know, I don't think you know what the word unnecessary means.

Draco: Course I do, it is when something is irrelevant to a situation. The stain in question is very relevant by chance that we are in close proximity to each other and I can see right there *pokes stain*

Harry: *smacks at hand* Do not touch

Draco: *begins to grapple for Harrys hand* But I am showing you, Stop smacking * pulls wand*

Harry: Put that away you imbecile, you will give away our position *tries to get the wand away*

Draco: I am just trying to be helpful * shoves wand along with harrys hand closer to stain* Now hold still

Harry: I'll shove this wand up your nose *face palms hand into Draco's face*

Draco: ahhhh! I CAN NOT breathe you idiaaAAAAt. FINE! FINE, keep your stupid stain. *angrily tries to push him away*

Harry: Stop shoving me, we are in a box trying to be stealthy *grabs Malfoys hair*

Head Auror Robards: No need, gentleman.

Draco:

Harry:

Draco:

Harry:

Head Auror Robards: The rest of the team has apprehended our targets. Apparently, it was reported that a couple having a martial dispute helped disguise the drop as well kept the criminals enthralled as they placed bets on who was right.

*********************************************

The interrogation

Draco: You agree with me right *points at criminal* He said I was right, Potter! HA!

Harry: Well if HE says your right then it must be true.

Draco: I'll kill you, Potter. I will cut off that rats nest you call hair and shove it down your throat!

Harry: Then maybe I won't have you listen to your annoying voice ever again.

Draco: So now my voice is annoying. You weren't saying that last night

Criminal: I am very uncomfortable

Draco: Shut it! This isn't even about you. I refuse to listen to an idiot who messes up brewing a simple pepperup potion. Honestly, quit your day job as you besmirch the art of potion making. I would pay actual gallons for you to choose any other illegal activity just so I don't ever have to try to distill and examine another one of your potions.

Criminal: *cries*

Harry: What happened to HE agrees with you?

Draco: Shut your trap, don't think I'll forget you calling my voice annoying. I'm done here, enjoy the parlor floor when you get home.

#drarry #harry x draco #harco #auror partners #stealth missions or couples counseling you decide

[hp-hcs]

I saw your post about being on a big Theodore kick and HONESTLY SAME. Gimme anything Theo and I’ll read it, a Theodore Nott x male reader would honestly be incredible because there’s SO LITTLE OUT THERE (my little gay heart is broken) the plot can be anything you want I just want a happy ending please ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

OH MY GOD THAT IS SO FACTS CAN WE P L E A S E STOP WITH ALL ‘X READER’S INHERENTLY BEING FEM-SPECIFIC????

Splinched (Chapter One) — death eater! theodore nott x splinched! male! muggleborn! reader

TWs: graphic descriptions of a wound, blood, injury, and the like; also theo’s just kinda a dick ngl

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sshhhh “…nother skirmish has broken out in D…”zzzzzz “…lley, leading to the fire that has com…” ssshhhh “…tely consumed Flourish & Blotts. It is with great sadne…” bzzzz “…nd regret that the Wizarding Wireless Ne…” sshhzzz “…ork News must inform our listeners of the murders o…” pssshzh “…Creevy and Florean Fortes…” ssshhhh “…ue. Additionally, the foll…” zzzzzzsssshh “…en abducted: L…” pssshhhzbbbbzzzz “…Alice…” zzzzzzzhhh “…Y/N L/N…”

Theodore smacks the radio once more and it goes quiet. You flinch back at the sudden aggression.

He mistakes the flinch for movement, whirling around and pointing his wand at your throat.

“Don’t. Move.”

You freeze, eyes wide, and nod rapidly.

Theodore grunts, turning back to his original task of stoking the campfire that existed as the only thing lighting the dark area. The heavily wooded space Theodore had chosen as a stopping spot for the night creeped you out. Branches constantly cracked nearby, leaves rustled with creatures passing through, and the trees rose up so high, the moon and stars were completely blocked out.

Shivering, you drew your meager cloak tighter around yourself, biting your lip in pain as you brush against your wound. You squeeze your nails into your palm to keep from crying out. The waves of pain seem never ending, the wound sending sharp stabs of agony up your ribs and across your entire torso.

“Fucking Salazar, are you really crying?” Theodore’s voice dripped with disgust. “You’re pathetic.”

“Strong words coming from a magical Nazi,” you bite out through the pain, scoffing bitterly. “Just kill me an’ get it over with, for both of our sakes.”

His face contorts into a vicious scowl and his grip tightens around his wand again. He stares at you with those terrifyingly dead eyes before moving closer to where you sit on the ground by the fire.

“You’re injured.”

“What?”

“Merlin, are you fucking stupid?” He spits. “You’re. Injured.”

“Thanks, Sherlock, I wasn’t fucking aware.”

He switches his wand to his other hand and moves even closer, tugging at the edge of your cloak. Your fingers, trembling with the pain and exhaustion you feel, let go of the fabric with no resistance.

“Lumos.”

You can hear Theodore draw in a sharp breath as he holds his wand closer to your torso. His other hand comes up and traces the edge of it with surprisingly gentle fingers.

You wince at the sudden flare of pain.

“Does that hurt?” He glances up at you. You could’ve sworn that for a second, something flashed through those dead eyes—pity, maybe, or sympathy, even?

“No, I actually always flinch whenever something doesn’t hurt.”

“No need to be a smartass,” he sneers, any traces of pity completely gone. “You got splinched.”

You grimace. “Fuck.”

“Indeed,” he drawls, tugging at your cloak. “Take this off.”

You mock-gasp. “Mr. Nott, I barely know you!”

“Merlin help me- I swear to Salazar, L/N…”

You roll your eyes and unfasten your cloak, letting it drop to the ground around you. You shiver in the late evening chill, goosebumps rising on your arms.

Theodore leans in closer, illuminating your wound with his wand. He cringes, his fingers once again returning to trace over the edges, trying to determine how large the injury is.

You gasp in pain, digging your nails into your palms again. Theodore glanced up at you, then back down at your torso.

“Think you could stand?”

You hesitate.

He nods, mostly to himself, and gets to his feet, slinging your arm around his shoulder and half-walking you, half-carrying you into the shoddy tent he’d been able to conjure. (“Believe it or not, L/N, I’ve never seen a muggle tent before. Stop laughing.”)

He helps you lay down on one of the blankets, you wincing with every little movement. He closes and wards the tent with a few simple spells, crawling over and kneeling by your side.

“Take off your shirt,” he grunts as he digs through his bag.

You comply, shaking fingers fumbling with the buttons. Theodore is caught off guard when he doesn’t hear any snappy comeback from you and glances over curiously.

Your shirt’s only about halfway unbuttoned, your fingers too slick with your own blood to unfasten the slippery buttons.

He huffs, smacking your hands away and unbuttoning your shirt himself.

He draws in another sharp breath at the sight. “Uh- this…is beyond my knowledge.”

Your breaths are shallow and your eyes closed. You nod after a second too long, blood rushing in your ears.

“‘ve you got thread an’ a needle?” You ask quietly after a moment.

“No. That’s barbaric. Fucking Merlin-” he huffs, grabbing his wand and trying a few simple healing spells that really don’t do much against a wound of your size.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. O-”

“If you say okay one more time, I’m going to punch you.”

It doesn’t seem like Theodore heard you. “We can’t Apparate, we don’t have a portkey, and you’re too injured to fly or walk. Fuck.”

“Aww, guess you’re gonna have to spend even more time with little ol’ me then, huh?”

“If you weren’t actively bleeding out, I’d crucio your ass so fast,” he threatens through gritted teeth.

“Kinky.”

Theo just sighs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t move. I’m gonna try to fix this, alright?”

“Yeah, cause you’ve been great at that so far.”

He doesn’t answer, instead slowly chanting a spell you’re completely unfamiliar with. You’ve never heard it before, but you can tell that every word that comes out of his mouth is absolutely dripping in Dark magic.

Gasping sharply, fresh, torturous pain claws at your torso, sinking its nails into your flesh and dragging the jagged edges back together. You can feel your bones being jarringly shoved back into place, your skin knitting itself back together twisted and wrong.

You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, your teeth drawing blood as you squeeze your eyes shut. Eventually, you can take no more and cry out in agony, weakly swatting at his hand for him to stop.

His wand falls from his hand with a clatter. He fumbles for what to do, settling on just gripping your hand and shushing you, as if you were a child.

Your chest spasms with the effort of taking a breath, and you grasp his hand back as tight as you can.

“Shit. Okay. Okay- uh, that’s- that’s enough, for now. We can pick this back up tomorrow,” Theo’s voice rises in pitch and his anxiety becomes palpable.

Your fingers tremble against the back of his hand, tears pricking at your eyes as you gasp in a breath. “H-hurts.”

“Shh, I know, I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers, keeping his grasp on your hand steady and smoothing down your hair with his free hand.

Theodore bit his lip nervously. The spell wasn’t finished; your ribs still looked like a jumbled up mess underneath stretched-taut skin. Your entire torso was a mess of contractured scars that left your skin looking wrinkled and messed up, like someone had pulled a running stitch through a piece of fabric too tightly.

You, one of the most bitingly acerbic, tough-as-nails guys he’d ever met, had been reduced to a whimpering, crying mess under Theo’s spell. You still held his hand, but had turned your head to press your face against his knee, mumbling incoherently under your breath.

Theodore could feel the Dark magic of his spell fizzing and crackling off of you. He bit his lip again, deliberating, before gently moving your face back from his knee so that he could lie down next to you.

You blindly reach for him, his hand on your shoulder gently guiding you to bury your face into his chest. He wraps his free arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

Theo squeezed his eyes shut with every muffled whimper and cry that came from your lips, mentally berating himself for the odd flutter of his heart he feels when you cling to him.

Stop it, Theodore. Now is not the time.

Well…why isn’t it?

He’s alone, in a very small tent, with a cute guy who is utterly reliant on Theo for survival.

Really, what’s so bad about making the best of the current situation?

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #gay #x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott

[crabas-lordes]

You don't mind the bared teeth of their permanent grin, even as it twists into something strained. Those black eyes narrow with the only white one, orange pupils flashing into something that would send most running.

Not you. Never you.

You've dealt with Eclipse enough for so long that you know when it's safe to run or not. And now is not the time.

Eclipse dangerously dips his head, nearly silhouetting that minacious gaze and grin. The sharp, ray-like horns are always so beautiful crowning him in this light, but you keep your eyes on theirs. You don't blink, you don't step back. Your mouth twitches, and you hold your swallow. You're not foolish, however. You know he senses how your insides tighten and shake as their imposing form leans toward you.

He's a predator ready to pounce, and you've always been the prey biding the time to escape.

His mouth finally parts, and his words roll with a hiss of his native tongue. "You're so quick to side with them and judge me when you don't know the whole picture yourself, umbra. Shall I paint it for you, or is your opinion already set?" Something inside their mouth sharply clicks and clatters.

You don't relent with your own special glare. You let your eyes cascade down Eclipse's hunched and obviously tensed form. An exhale releases from your nose as you see his eggplant-purple cloak swish around his legs. Looking at him now brings a tingling pang through your chest at the thought of Sun and Moon.

You love them both.

And it hurts because...

You've taken a liking to him.

"Alright," you give in quietly. You're nice enough to speak his tongue. "I'll listen."

You lift your shoulders and ball your hands into fists. You can feel how warm and clammy your palms are through your fingerless gloves. Your brow twitches, and you finally lift your head. All you can see is the black shadowing Eclipse's face, brightening pupils sizing up your bite-sized frame. Fitting of their namesake. Their smile has thinned so much it's almost just a line, but the shine of those daggers still catches your eye.

Oh, but life preservation be damned. Having a lack of it got you this far.

You intently point, hardening your glare. You don't care how much your hand shakes, you're being plenty nice enough. And it's only because you've dealt with Cannibals for all your space life.

"So, justify eating your crew then."

—

Some things may be different in the actual fic, but! Another concept thing where your good ol' friends Sun and Moon tell you the truth of their past, and it makes you confront your other dear ol' friend about it :)

Eclipse and the Beings Made of Stardust AU belongs to @maudiemoods

The MC is gender neutral, but how I drew them is how I personally imagine them.

(AH I also forgot the wispy back part of Eclipse's head in the first panel, but it's fine lol)

#beings made of stardust au #fnaf au #traditional sketches #drabble #fnaf eclipse #alien eclipse

[gasterofficial]

@kanrix too many pictures to put in a reply or anything so i'm just gonna make a post FHLDSKJFHDLSKf this also goes out to anyone else who could benefit from my little gaster cosplay tutorial fhjkghkfg

aight this is the earliest picture i have but basically I cut an oval out of 4mm foam, and used scrap pieces of the same size foam that i just had laying around to do another layer on top for added support and thickness. after that i did my best to roughly mark where my eyes, nose and mouse were and cut the eyes out so that they would line up with my own, and used the markings for the mouth and nose to cut a hole into the inside of the mask for my nose to fit into. the mask has a higher layer of foam only on the very tip of the nose because i had to keep my nose from sticking out or pushing the mask too far off my face lol.

anyway after all of that i used a heat gun to heat the foam (WITHOUT melting it and preferably in a well-ventilated area) on both sides and then held it to my face in position to help it mold better to the shape of my head. it looked like this when i was done (i also cut into the upper layer of foam to make the eye scars)

after that I covered the entire thing with this amazing thing called foam-mo, it's basically like foam in a water-based binder that behaves like craft clay. it's easy to work with and SUPER lightweight when it dries and it's absolutely perfect for making organic textures

it lost a bit of the dimensionality in the drips after it dried, but I just went over it with another layer where I wanted more texture, and used a dremel tool with a sanding bit to sand down parts that I wanted more depressed.

then after that were the first and second paint jobs. this included using an ultra dark carbon nanotube ink in the scars to get them as black as possible (and matte). after the second paint job I used a type of fabric called "speaker cloth" to cover up the eye and mouth holes. I hot glued the speaker cloth down from the inside and then painted over the fabric on both sides with fabric stiffener on the mouth hole ONLY (it can make it harder to see through the eye holes) since the mouth hole is so wide and is most subject to the shape distortion from how the mask was heat-shaped.

then finally the last paint job which included final shading touchups AND some extra work with white puffy paint, which I used to give the effect of the face dripping down.

the very last step was adding the pupils as a dot of intense blue glow in the dark paint. it took a few coats to get it thick enough, and then on top of the bead of glow in the dark paint i added a tiny dot of plain white paint to make them pop even more. add a 1/2 inch elastic strap around the back of the mask glued down on the inside and you're done!

also, here's some pictures of the first glove I painted, if the reference would be helpful. The gloves were sewn using a self-made "hand turkey" pattern from tracing the shape of my hand onto paper. it's not a perfect pattern, but it's serviceable enough for stretchy fabrics. and I did use a stretchy fabric: white moisture-wicking athletic wear fabric, because I was worried my hands would sweat a lot. and I was right! but this choice of fabric makes that much less of a problem. and also makes you feel like your hands are freezing off (being in the void simulator ig)

the painting job was done with just plain black and white acrylics mixed with a fabric paint medium. i traced the finger joints where my fingers actually creased, and just kind of... did my best to make the palm holes match up lmfao

As for the cloak and robe, I did sew those both myself, so I can't point you to a seller. BUT what I CAN do is tell you what patterns and fabrics I used and whether or not it was worth the intense labor of love! (short answer, for the cloak? yes! for the robe? NO.) I'd have to go dig up the patterns though, so let me know if that's of interest to anybody

but yeah, hope this post is informative and potentially helpful!

#mine #my art #art #cosplay #gaster #undertale #deltarune #utdr #w.d. gaster #cosplay tutorial #gaster cosplay #long post

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

F/M Durgetash one-shot I birthed within a single day. Dead Dove: I don't like Gortash (hence the title), but I do find him mysteriously, annoyingly attractive. Couldn't get him out of my head - so I tried, the best way I knew how - by writing a fic xD. I hope you like it, but it's not essential to my wellbeing, I just really needed to get this off my chest. But it's been fun, so hopefully you'll have fun too.

Explicit 18+, F/M, Enver Gortash / The Dark Urge (old name Talas, new name Nara, some half-elf or other, unimportant), rough sex, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie, some emotional trauma, light stabbing/cutting with a dagger, a bit of aftercare in the form of bathing together.

Yes, Gortash bathes in this story. TWICE. He really needs it :P.

I Don't Like You

01 - Brain worms having a field day.

The night is slowly creeping in, but I’m in no state of mind to sleep. I pace and I rake my hair and I groan. My friends are watching me with concern in their eyes. I can’t blame them—I must look like a lunatic, more so than usually.

I feel like I’m going insane and for a whole new set of reasons than before.

What were we?

Gortash got into my head and now he’s refusing to leave. Was he just trying to mess with me? Did he notice the unmasked disdain in my face and decide to make my skin crawl in revenge? He must know I only have red fog in my brain where my past should be. And he looks just like the kind of man who would lie about it to make me nauseated. No way I’ve ever let those grubby hands touch me.

Yet…

I can hardly admit it to myself, but nausea is not the full extent of my reaction. I feel as if my own body knows this man. My memory is still a blank page, but something in me recognizes him. Something primal. Something hungry.

The urges I’ve been having since meeting Gortash have very little to do with Bhaal.

“Honeymuffin, are you still not ready for bed?”

I hear Halsin’s soothing voice and immediately feel myself relaxing. I turn to him, grateful for the distraction. He’s only dressed in his underpants and the sight of his bushy chest hits a dirty note.

I ignore his question and just press into him, kissing his gentle lips with ferociousness he hasn’t experienced from me yet. He’s responsive and gives in for a few seconds, but then chuckles into my mouth and drags me off of him by the shoulders to inspect me.

“What has gotten into you, my love?”

I groan, freeing myself from his grip. I always appreciate how sensitive he is to my moods and thoughts, but right now, I would die of embarrassment if someone actually found out what’s running through my head.

“I’m just irritated,” I lie through my teeth. “Gortash is one annoying son of a bitch. I hate that we have to pretend to work with him. ‘Notice the way he just kept us there under the threat of violence, to witness his sham of an inauguration? After everything he said about wanting to be partners? Ugh, I could just…” My fists close of their own accord, crushing the imaginary windpipe.

Halsin chuckles again and runs a calloused palm softly along my jaw in a comforting gesture.

“I know, Nara, I know,” he grumbles low, pulling me into a hug. “He irked me, as well. He isn’t worth the stress, though. Let’s sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

But I can’t sleep. Once Halsin goes into his trance, it’s like he’s not here to hold me together anymore. I toss and turn. I grit my teeth. I grunt and pull on my hair. I try to silence my thoughts with a pillow over my head. It’s no use. I know what I have to do to get some peace of mind.

I get up as quietly as I possibly can. I don’t bother changing—I don’t plan to impress anyone. I just take a small dagger and throw a cloak over my shoulders, so I can hide in the shadows more easily, and sneak out of the inn.

I’m going to make him tell me the truth.

02 - Urge! But not to kill.

Getting into the Wyrmrock is laughably easy. I know the guards would just let me pass, but there’s no way in the Nine Hells I would embarrass myself like that. Little ol’ me going to see “Lord” Gortash in my casual clothes in the middle of the night—what a delicious story for the Baldur’s Mouth it would make. So I utilize every last muscle memory from the past I don’t remember, slipping in completely undetected.

He’s in the throne room, but not sitting on the damned thing. The main section is drowning in darkness, but I see a sliver of light coming from behind the door to one of the adjacent rooms. A study, maybe?

I almost trigger one of the traps as I’m sneaking towards him. There are Steel Watch still stationed around the room, but they appear less than attentive this time. Do they have some sort of down time? Or did Gortash put them in do-not-disturb mode?

I’m trying to not get myself executed, so I push down the instinct to grip the dagger I’m hiding under the cloak. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have made such theatrics to gain my cooperation this morning. The question of whether I wanted him dead remains to be answered.

I take a quiet peek into the warmly lit room and suppress a whistle. It’s a study alright, but one Gortash seems to be using as an apartment—a wide, comfortable, richly adorned bed stands next to his desk, draped in red silk. He’s not in it, though—he sits by the desk, bent over a document, clad only in what looks like a bathrobe.

I try to filter myself through the crack in the door, but the stupid hinges creak so loud I gasp and just inelegantly stumble inside.

Gortash jumps off his chair and twirls around, body taut, eyes alert, a quill in his left hand held like a weapon, the other hand ready to shove the metal claws of his fancy gold netherstone-adorned gauntlet into someone’s eye. I grit my teeth and consider pulling out the dagger—but the second his gaze lands on me, he straightens and lets out a half relieved, half amused chortle.

“Sneaking up on me again?” He shakes his shaggy head. “Are Bhaalists simply unable to set up a meeting, like the rest of us?”

I open my mouth, a scathing comeback ready, but as soon as I let the air in the room in, I’m stunned. There’s a distinct fragrance of soap and perfume, a freshness that only comes from thoroughly scrubbing yourself clean, and, among them, the unmistakable scent of him. The musk that speaks directly to the undamaged parts of my brain.

I can’t believe how clean Gortash looks now. He evidently didn’t plan on any public appearances this late at night, so even his hair is not styled into spikes anymore and it’s just messily sticking out in natural directions, still a little damp from the bath. Funny—he didn’t think to wash before his big inauguration, but he washed now, when no one important is scheduled to see him?

He takes my silence as an opportunity to speak more, instead of waiting for an answer. He tilts his head, gaze slowly gliding down my body, and smirks.

“Shouldn’t you be curled on your bed next to the enormous druid, sleeping soundly? Wouldn’t he be oh so hurt if he knew you were seeking another man’s company?”

“What the fuck would you know?” I snap, his tone setting off a charge of anger inside me. “You don’t know him. Hells, you don’t know me! You don’t get to make snarky remarks about my enormous druid.”

Gortash cackles quietly and puts up his hands in a calming gesture.

“Of course I don’t.” His smirk deepens, his eyes studying my face. “But trust me, kitten. No one…” he takes a seductive little step towards me, “knows you like I do.”

“I doubt that,” I rasp barely audibly, a lump forming in my throat. My guts clench, breath shortening in panic. It’s all just an elaborate joke, I’m sure… but it feels so familiar.

“You really don’t remember,” he quips softly, as if to himself, and I can hear a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“What were we, Gortash?” I whisper, voice quivering on the cusp of a mental breakdown.

He stares at me, chewing his cheek, and his answer is a single word: “Enver.”

“What?” I scowl, anger rising again.

“My name,” he reminds me quietly. “You used to call me Enver, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me pet names, Gortash,” I force through my teeth. “Whatever you dreamed was between us, it’s most definitely not there anymore.”

“Alright.” He presses his lips together in annoyance, but steps closer, eyes radiating something close to malice. I gulp, my hand curling into a fist, pressing to the hilt at my hip. “I won’t call you kitten, or love, or sweetheart. Those were all just words I used to tease you with.” Drawling, stretching his words, he hovers above me. “But I have earned the right to call you Talas.”

That makes me pause and I just blink at him blankly for a second. “Who’s that?”

Genuine shock colors his face. He takes a step back, mouth agape. “That you don’t remember my name, I would understand. But how do you not remember your own?”

“Because someone caved my head in, trying to kill me!” I scream, suddenly overflowing with something I haven’t felt for a while: self-pity. I feel tears prickle in my eyes and that just makes me want to yell louder. “Because someone took everything from me. And where the fuck were you when I was bleeding out into the dirt?! If you were such a shitty partner, why in the Hells did I even bother with you?”

Gortash’s features softened, pain and regret gleaming in his eyes.

“I wasn’t your keeper, Talas,” he countered. “You were always an independent force, often off on business I had no say in. But when you didn’t come back one day, I searched for you.” His eyebrows join in a pleading line. “I searched for you with every bit of resources I could spare. Then Orin muscled in on our plot and made me stop under the threat of unraveling the whole thing. I accepted you as a loss… but I mourned for a long time.”

His words eat their way into my chest like acid. I don’t want to believe a single one, but something in me knows it’s the truth.

“Don’t tell me you loved me,” I hiss. “You don’t strike me as a man who allows himself such weaknesses.”

He smirks and I bristle. I knew it. Liar!

“Love is for children,” he chuckles. “We had something much more precious. We made a great team. Your monstrosity and mine were in perfect harmony. No one understood me like you did. No one encouraged my every exploit like you did. You were such a horrible influence on me,” he purrs, his eyes half closed. “Delicious. Deplorable. Delightful.”

I gulp and shiver under the intensity of his gaze. It feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes and I can’t decide how I feel about it. I want to be disgusted, but that knot low in my belly has a different agenda. Without remembering a single minute of knowing him, my body knows it used to crave this man’s attention.

He extends his unclawed hand to me and grazes my skin. It burns and it tickles and it sends powerful signals all over my nervous system. But this is not what I want. It can’t be.

Quick as lightning, I pull my dagger out and press it to his neck in warning.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I filter through my teeth.

He catches my wrist quicker than I would’ve given him credit for. Instead of pulling it away, though, he presses the blade closer, almost cutting into himself. I gasp in shock, struggling against his strength. His dead eyes flicker to life, ablaze with desire.

“There she is,” he whispers almost breathlessly, biting his lip. “You seem so different… but I knew my pet monster was somewhere in there.”

“I’m nothing of yours,” I force through my dried throat, my voice failing me.

Suddenly, he moves my hand away from his neck, only to press my white-knuckled fist to his lips in a kiss. My whole body responds, buzzing in approval. “You don’t mean that,” he teases, his hot breath tickling the spot he kissed.

“Don’t do that,” I breathe out, a lump forming in my throat, making my voice sound funny.

He pulls my wrist to his mouth and licks it with a quick flick before his teeth start to nibble on the sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of ecstasy down my arm.

“Stop it,” I beg, the command I meant to utter melting into a pathetic mewl.

I twist and try to get away for a second or two, but he keeps moving lower and lower, licking, sucking, biting, and every last defense I had crumbles into ashes. It doesn’t matter that I’m someone else now. It doesn’t matter that I would never consciously and honestly team up with him again. It doesn’t matter what I think of him or what I believe he deserves.

I never had a chance. My body knows him, my body craves him. He’s like a drug addiction I never quite shook, and at the slightest sweet taste I relapse right back into him.

03 - A master. A slave.

He pulls me in, mouth still hungrily devouring my arm inch by inch, while his free hand frantically unties my cloak, revealing my simple shirt and long skirt underneath.

“You used to wear fancier things.” He side-eyes my clothing, not letting it distract him from my skin too much. “And would get mad when I tore them to shreds. This is perfect.”

My sluggish thoughts haven’t even begun to analyze the meaning in his words when he presses me flush to his chest, moving from nibbling on my shoulder to assaulting my mouth. I gasp for the breath he keeps stealing with every touch, but let him surround me and trap me with his body. I feel his desperate need mirroring my own. His taste is surprisingly sweet, with just a hint of hot spice.

“No,” I manage to mumble through our locked lips, grasping at the last straws of control. My hand is finally free—I try stabbing him in the crook of his neck. He yelps and groans, but my muscles are so useless I’ve barely scratched him. A thin streak of blood trickles out of the cut, marring the delicate fabric of his robe.

“You thought that would stop me?” he purrs, pulling the robe off his body. “Your knives left more than one scar on me. It was our thing.”

I stare at his muscly, hairy chest, mute. I see scars on his torso, criss-crossing his skin like a crude carving. That couldn’t be my doing… But the metallic scent of his blood sends a new sort of excitement through me. I know it’s my Urge, I know it’s not really me, but my will is weakened. My hand raises and cuts him again—just a little, but enough to satisfy the craving.

“Your body remembers,” he whispers into my ear, standing my hair on their ends.

His gloved hand caresses my arm and shoulder and closes around my throat. I gasp in panic, or I think I do, but heat pools in my lower regions in response. He presses a touch harder; his gold ornaments are digging into my skin, claws pinching my nape and my head is starting to swim with lack of oxygen. My fingers wrap around his wrist, but for some reason I don’t pull him away.

“Every time you hurt me, I will hurt you back,” he promises in a sweet, sin-filled voice. “Call it our love language.”

He lets go of my neck, hands roughly gripping my waist instead. He twirls us around and sits me on top of his desk. I fumble to find balance and end up sending his documents, ink and quills all over the floor. Instead of complaining, he eagerly swipes the rest of the items off the surface and pushes me down on my back.

The panic it triggers gives me back a chunk of my reason. Instead of letting him, I fight back, clawing at his bare chest with my nails and my dagger, leaving bloody gashes over his skin.

His head lulls back for a moment, which makes me realize I’m not helping at all. He’s enjoying the pain I give him. He takes fistfuls of my shirt and bends down to bite my shoulder—hard. I yelp, reaching into his hair to pull him away, but he’s already ripping clothes off of my torso, baring my skin, spilling my breasts.

“You are even more magnificent than I remember,” he rasps, grazing my curves with his gaze alone. The reverent look on his face sets my loins on fire.

I’m beginning to understand how I could’ve let him so close to me. A young, confused little thing, raised in worship of the Lord of Murder, would have no idea what love looks like. I’m still learning and stumbling, despite Halsin’s best efforts. A man who could make her feel so beautiful, so wanted among all the blood and death… such a man would have had the key to her rotten little heart.

I’m not that girl anymore. But I know that feeling. Its draw is familiar and powerful. My hands let go of his hair and fall next to my head, letting him run his rough palms across my chest and knead the pliant shape of my breasts.

His teeth close around one of my nipples and press just hard enough to shoot a barbed string of ecstasy directly to my sex. I muffle the moan with my hands. I can’t just let him win like that. I’m not doing this because I’m easy. I’m doing it so I don’t go insane.

“I missed this,” Gortash drawls, his lips and tongue making slow circles on my chest. “I missed you.” He bites into my flesh, gently, teasingly, while his hand slowly moves towards my sex. “In all your glory, Talas.”

“Stop calling me that,” I protest weakly, but he just chuckles and continues lower, and lower.

“You may not remember me,” he breathes on my folds, shamefully wet and wanton, “but I remember everything about you.”

And he dives between my thighs like a man who’s been starving and now can finally eat.

I gasp loudly, my hands instinctively grasping for something to hold onto—his hair. My legs twitch and wrap around him. I’m half worried I’m killing him, but he gives no indication of discomfort. His mouth is making the most intimidatingly dirty noises I’ve ever heard and I’m melting on his face.

All it takes him is a few minutes, stretched impossibly long in my damaged mind. I swallow the urge to scream and just grunt, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He looks up from my lap, slick and gasping for breath, and smirks smugly. He knows I enjoyed it, no use hiding it.

He picks his robe off the floor and wipes his face, still watching me. My brain is too hazy to worry about the way I’m splayed on his desk, eaten out, undone. He props himself above me and studies my face.

“This is your most beautiful look,” he sighs, taking in the flush of my cheeks, the sweat glistening on my brow and the mess I made of my hair. “Precious little Bhaal-babe.”

I’m still coming down from the high when I feel him slip inside me. I distantly realize I should’ve gathered enough wit to stop him, but it’s too late. I squeeze around him in welcome and let out a long and thoroughly embarrassing moan. He matches me, closing his eyes.

“You still fit me like a glove.”

He’s so right. I live for the delicious stretch of Halsin’s gentle, loving thrusts—it’s the only sex I remember having, but I would kill for more—but this… Gortash feels like he was tailored specifically for me. My body knows his shape, just as it knows his touch. It’s like coming home after a long time and finding your old room exactly as you left it.

“Oh gods, I really do,” I groan as he lazily moves inside, savoring each stroke.

I wrap my legs around his waist and just enjoy the sensation, closing my eyes to ignore his intimate gaze for the sake of my sanity. If he’s trying to make me fall for him again, he’s as out of his mind as I am.

Clearly getting bored of the slow pace, he pulls me up and plops me back down on my belly. I’m too weak and needy to issue a protest, I just whine at the unexpected and unwelcome absence of him. He silences my discontent with a firm thrust that makes me gasp and clutch the edges of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white again.

“I know you love this one,” he purrs and presses my legs together with his own. “Sometimes you like to be in control. Other times you like to be controlled. You were the most fun I’ve ever had with anyone.”

I let out a growl at him mentioning his other partners while balls-deep in me. Perhaps he didn’t really want me back. Maybe he just missed the “fun”.

“You’re also the only one who made me consider settling down, Talas,” he continues as if he understood very well why his words upset me. “I wanted to breed you and watch you teach the little runt how to gut people.”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I sputter, miraculously finding enough ire to at least issue a warning, while still being happily pinned under him.

He chuckles. “Your response is still the same. Last time it was Daddy dearest… but you changed your mind about doing his bidding. Is Halsin aware you’re not going to give him a litter of cubs one day as he might hope?”

I don’t know how he even learned all these things about me, but I don’t care much. I grab the dagger left forgotten on the desk next to me and jam the blade into his thigh. Not deep enough to cripple, but definitely causing a lot of pain.

Gortash lets out a strangled scream, which mixes with a moan of pleasure not two seconds later. Fuck. I didn’t mean for him to like it.

What he does next pushes all irrelevant thoughts out of my head: he grabs my hair and yanks hard, pulling my head back, making my little cry sound ever more pathetic. His free hand digs fingers into my hip, holding me steady as he begins pounding into me with force.

I just open my mouth mutely, gasping for air, my eyes filling with tears. My brain turns into mush under the intensity of sensations he’s sending through my tortured body. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t think. I hear a high-pitched whine through the mist around me… and I realize it’s mine. I’m screaming, lost in the sweet place between pain and complete ecstasy.

I spasm around his length so hard I can hear him gasp as well. My whole body shakes and curls into itself, a shaking, sweaty, moaning mess writhing on the cool polished wood of the desk. I can feel him swell within me, hot and ready, and I know he’s coming too—still inside me.

But I don’t care. I want it. Whatever he might hope to gain from it, I know I’m safe.

Instead of going slack like a good boy, he pulls out and flips me on my back again. He holds my legs spread, admiring what he did to me. I feel his seed leak out of me and drip to the floor. He smiles contently, dragging a fingertip across my clit, drawing out every last twitch my muscles are willing to give.

“This could be us every day,” he says softly. “Think about it.”

I don’t have an answer he would like, but he doesn’t wait for one. He picks me up in the most unexpectedly gentle way and carries me to the other side of the room. I thought he was putting me on the bed, either to sleep, cuddle or continue blissfully torturing me, but my breath hitches in surprise when he suddenly dips me into warm water. I slip into a roomy bathtub, blinking in confusion.

My brain needs a minute to restart, so I just watch him get inside with me, sitting me in his lap, cradling me. I don’t have the strength to protest. I just watch the little pinkish streaks, as water begins to wash out his wounds.

04 - This is why we can’t have nice things.

“How did you have this ready? Do you have invisible servants or something?”

Gortash chuckles and I vibrate along on his chest, making frantic little waves on the surface.

“The miracle of technology, Talas. My desk has a few convenient buttons and this tub fills and warms up automatically. I pressed one before we began.”

Well, that is convenient. I’m not sure if I want to be in this bath with him now, but it sure feels good on my exhausted muscles and aching sex. His arms around me feel nice, too, as much as I hate admitting it. I can hate a person and still enjoy their closeness, right? Right?

His hands caress me under the water and I let them.

“Good to know you bathe with your gauntlets on,” I quip, noticing the distinctive feel of metal against my skin.

He pulls his right hand up and turns it from one side to the other, letting the gold reflect the glimmer of flames in the nearby fireplace. The netherstone pulses with its own light, alive and tempting as the power it holds.

“While I’m more than happy to entertain you, I’m not letting my most prized possession just lie around for you to steal,” he smirks and I turn my head to have a better look at him, honestly impressed. “You changed. Your goals inevitably changed, too. I don’t trust you anymore, Talas.” He runs a soft finger along my jaw, dropping to the line of my neck and to my clavicle. I shiver, even submerged in warmth, too tired to correct the name this time. “If you want it for yourself, you’re going to have to kill me.”

I give him an evaluating once-over; then my eyes move to the dagger I left on the desk. His gaze follows mine and his smirk stretches more.

“Just keep in mind that those Steel Watchers outside will only take about ten seconds to join us. And even you, my dear, don’t have the skill to defeat them all naked and unarmed to get out of here alive.” His fingers trace the shape of my lips. “I would hate it if something happened to you before I had the chance to win you over.”

“You’re so full of shit, Gortash,” I sigh, laying my head in the crook of his neck. I feel too lazy to murder anyone right now, anyway. “You sent me to hunt Orin down and told me to not come back without her stone. You expect me to believe you actually give a fuck about me and care what I think about you? I’m here against your explicit orders, your lordship.”

“You came to see me surrounded by your new friends,” he grumbles and I finally hear discontent in his voice. “In the company of your new lover. What did you think I would do, fall on my knees in front of all my esteemed guests and your openly hostile troupe and beg you to come back to me?”

“Hmm, so your excuse is your pride?” I sneer. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, no matter how trustworthy you somehow manage to sound. I only agreed to your deal because you didn’t give me any better choice. Karlach was furious. She wants you dead oh so very much. She gets really graphic, describing how she wants to kill you. You’re lucky I didn’t bring her along.”

Gortash groans and pinches the root of his nose.

“The company you keep nowadays,” he chides. “No wonder you changed so much. Every one of those bloody soft-hearted idiots putting their own opinions in your emptied mind.”

“When that’s what you wanted to do.” I nod in mock commiseration.

“I want us to be partners,” he scowls, tone wounded. “Equals. Sharing the power over the whole world. The Lord is only a part for me to play in public, while you reign over your own murderous kingdom from the shadows, unobstructed by law, unhindered by so-called heroes trying to stop you. We can have everything we’ve ever wanted. Together.”

I can’t believe how tempting he sounds right now. I close my eyes, letting my Urge surface just enough to enjoy the pure simplicity of the world he describes. I could let go. I could stop fighting for every sliver of free will. I could bathe in blood and have people worship my god through me. The Urge would be sated—I could feel the sweet rush of ecstasy from killing without worrying I might hurt someone close to me.

I would be lying if I said this vision of the future never crossed my mind. It’s an everyday struggle, trying to stay good, trying to do only good. A struggle I’m inevitably going to lose if my Urge grows in intensity for much longer. Killing Halsin. Or Lae’zel. Or Gale. The death of anyone in my camp—by my hand—would break me.

I care too much. Sometimes I imagine what it would feel like if I didn’t care at all.

“You would never tolerate any of my friends by my side, Gortash,” I say flatly. “If you really do want me, you want me all to yourself. Isolated, depending only on you. Malleable. So that if—gods forbid—I disagree with you, you could push all the right buttons and get me to change my mind, with no one to challenge your influence over me.”

I don’t know how, but I know it’s true. It’s what all people drunk on power do. The more powerless they feel without it, the more they enjoy any sliver of it they get and abuse the shit out of it. It’s why Gortash wants control over others in the first place. Inside, there’s a small, scared, unloved little boy, whose parents sold him to a devil.

I blink, my heartbeat spiking, as I realize I’ve just recalled a bit of my past—our past. Something I couldn’t have learned since the nautiloid. Was it Gortash himself, who confided in me, or did I discover this piece of history by myself? It feels like something he would keep very close and tell no one, so it wouldn’t damage the lofty image he’s trying to maintain.

“You’re just being paranoid, kitten,” he brushes me off, but his expression is no longer sporting his typical airy easiness. “When we were together, I was your confidant and your strength against the increasing demands of your Father. But you weren’t some impressionable child. You were determined and unyielding. Sharp as your blades.”

Sharp blades. Bhaal. His demands.

A sinking dread begins to fill my guts and I lift off Gortash’s chest to put some distance between us. My brain is still fuzzy, but bits of memories are beginning to float to the surface of my consciousness.

“Bhaal’s grand design,” I say in a shaking voice, “is for everyone to die for him. I was supposed to kill you, and then myself, as the last mortal alive. Did you know?”

Gortash’s eyes round in horror.

“Of course not! What kind of crazy design is that? How would he get any more murders with no one left to die?”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and carry it out, anyway. Just like mad Orin is probably doing now. What a good little Daddy’s lapdog.

“But that wasn’t what you planned for yourself, was it?” I press, my voice steadying with my increasing certainty. “And so I was suddenly in the way. Just what would it take for you to turn on your closest ally? Is her planning your murder enough?”

“What are you trying to say, Talas?” he hisses, but I can see fear in his eyes.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I growl, sliding away from him, so I can get out of the bathtub without him catching me. “You tried to kill me! Just so I wouldn’t kill you first.”

I jump to my feet, nearly slipping on the smooth wet surface, but holding my balance well enough to scramble out of the water. He tries grabbing my hand, then my leg, but I slip out of his grasp easily. I throw myself towards the desk and retake possession of my only weapon. By the time he’s out of the tub, I’m already pointing it at his throat.

“Listen to me, Talas—” he puts his hands up in a calming gesture, but I’ve had enough of his smooth words for one night.

“You picked up a fucking rock and you beat me and kicked me and tossed me against stone walls!”

I scream and I’m sure my prevalent feelings are pure rage, but out of nowhere I get ambushed by tears and sobs. My memories are still a mess, but the flashes of my body being beaten to a pulp are vivid and terrifying.

“Talas, please—”

“I bled and begged, and you teased and laughed, as if it was the funniest shit you ever got to do! And now that I’m somehow back, you’re trying to get me to believe your sweet lies, just so I won’t remember what you did to me. But I remember! I REMEMBER!”

I know I sound completely unhinged, but my chest is so filled with a mix of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced, that it threatens to burst.

“IT WASN’T ME!” Gortash’s volume finally matches mine, making me wince and pause just enough for him to get a word in. “I would never hurt you like that! If I really had to kill you, dearest, I would’ve done it quick and clean. Because I love you, you stupid thing!”

His confession feels like a slap to the face. I didn’t see that coming. My first instinct is to pronounce it as another lie, especially in retrospect to the first time he mentioned love tonight, but my mind finally calms enough to actually think.

A man like him wouldn’t say anything like that if he didn’t mean it. It sounded… pathetic. Baring his soul similarly to revealing his most embarrassing childhood memory, knowing his feelings are unrequited. His pride would never allow him to grovel so much. Not anymore, not when he’s got a taste of actually being respected.

“Please, believe me,” he pleads, breath ragged, eyes wide. “I have no reason to hate you. This sounds like someone who had every reason. Who enjoyed your agony and loved seeing you on your knees. I. Would. Never.”

“But you…” I exhale, confused. I’ve almost had it. I’ve almost found the one responsible for my unfortunate fate. “Then who the fuck did this to me?” I whisper and stifle another sob.

“Please put down the dagger, Talas.” Gortash points at the sharp tip still hovering between his clavicles. I reluctantly lower it. I’m honestly pleasantly surprised he let me threaten him for so long without trying to disarm me. It makes me trust him just a smidge more. “And maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Stop calling me that!” I lash out annoyedly. “My name is Nara now. Deal with it.”

“When you stop calling me Gortash,” he smirks in response, his easy charm back.

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Enver,” I say begrudgingly, but the name feels much better on my tongue than I expected. I must’ve been used to calling him that, just as he said.

I turn to the desk, intent on putting the weapon back, but I freeze mid-step. A mix of stimuli, a flicker of light, a rustle of the fur rug on the floor, perhaps even a smell… and the memory of my attempted murder clears a bit more.

I see a shiny red surface with an opalescent finish. Hear a rustle of a long braid and the pitter-patter of bare feet on stone. I hear laughter again, but this time I’m not just imagining Gortash’s… Enver’s, I clearly recall a woman’s voice having the time of her life.

“Orin.”

The name falls flatly from my lips. I feel cold dread seep into my soul at the image of her. I never quite understood why she had this effect on me—until now. Even though my memory was coming up empty, she was triggering a post-traumatic response all the same, just like when my body yielded to Enver.

“Hm?”

I turn back, dagger still in my hand. I don’t plan on letting go of it any time soon. Enver watches me warily, with a hint of curiosity in his face.

“It was Orin.”

He frowns at first. Opens his mouth, presumably to defend her. Then closes it again, his features smoothing out.

“It makes sense. She took your place, both in the cult and in the Absolute plot. She wanted you gone. And she really seems to hate you, though I wouldn’t expect her to need any solid reason to kick someone to death. She would happily do it just for fun.”

I close my eyes for a second, but I only need a few gulps of breath to make up my mind. I pick up my torn and discarded clothes off the floor and put them back on, securing them in place as well as possible.

“Where are you going?”

Enver reaches for me and grabs my arm. I toss him a warning glare, but don’t move. He’s still naked and wet from head to toe, he poses virtually no danger to me.

“To hunt,” I answer plainly. “I know a mad bitch that needs killing.”

“Don’t be rash,” he shakes his head, some of the slicked back damp hair falling into his eyes. “You can’t know where she is. Or who she is. She could slaughter your whole camp while you sleep and you’d be left alone to face her. Remember, she is the Slayer now.”

“Well, since we’re counting suspects, she could very well be you,” I give him a wry smile. “But I doubt she would keep going this long, having me all to herself like that, so you’re probably safe.” He doesn’t appreciate my joke, scowling like a jack-o-lantern, concern crumpling his features. “I need to go back to my friends and figure out a way to find her before she does any real damage, Enver. I need to go now.”

He slowly lets go of my arm, letting me finish putting the cloak on.

“No need to sneak through the throne room, by the way,” he notes, watching me hide underneath the wide hood. “The Watch was instructed to let you in. If someone could really just sneak past them like that, I could easily expect Orin in your place. Thankfully, the Watch can spot the difference, with you having a tadpole.”

My eyebrows rise. So that’s why he took that bath? Did he think my unsettled hormones would lead me back to Wyrmrock to see him? I clearly never liked grimy men—and he knows it.

“You were waiting for me?”

“I was hopeful,” he confessed, dropping his gaze for a moment. “I couldn’t risk just inviting you. But at least I made sure you would get in without complications. You always did like to have all the facts.”

I chuckle and shake my head. I still believe at least half of his words are lies and most of the other half are cleverly picked and arranged bits of truth. But now I’m also pretty sure there’s something genuine in him, too. Hidden very deep, surrounded by enemies—but it’s there.

“Be safe, Talas,” he says quietly. “Nara,” he corrects himself, smiling softly. “You have your work cut out for you.”

“I’ll do my best to not disappoint,” I shrug, sheathing my dagger, stepping away.

“And will you at least consider my proposition?” He calls after me when I’m almost out the door. His voice sounds tentative. “That’s all I ask.”

I let my gaze slide down the length of his naked body, weighing my options. Well, consideration really costs me nothing, does it? It’s very unlikely that I will agree to it. I have much better prospects in my scope now—much healthier ones. But the least I can do for him is give it a thought.

“Sure,” I grace him with a little smile. “I will consider it.”

If you like this story, please show it by giving it some love: give a like, reblog, leave a nice comment.

I would also be very grateful if you take a few seconds out of your day and leave a kudos on the AO3 issue of this story ♥ (You CAN vote as guests.) THANK YOU!

#durgetash #gortash x durge #enver gortash #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #Durge datamining some memories #emotional trauma #good durge #resisting durge #durge x halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 halsin

[reidsaurora]

"Left Behind" ~ S. Reid

Summary: When a little wooden box reminds you of all the good memories you share with Spencer, it has him thinking about the possibilities of losing them.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,235

Content Warning: lots of angst, lots of talk about dementia, tiny mention of food, tiny mention of weapons in a joking manner, lmk if i missed anything!

Genre: Angst, lots of it too

Extra Notes: i hate the summary too

Based On the Prompt: "A Stash Of…" from this year's @domaystic prompts

Originally Written: 04/13/2023 through 04/24/2023

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

You weren't actually sure what started your current conversation, but you knew it had something to do with the little wooden box you and Spencer were digging through.

"Do you remember this?" he chuckled, holding up a napkin with random X's and O's scribbled across it.

You smiled as you inspected the paper, the red ink inspiring a flood of memories to rain down in your head. "Our first date. That cute little deli in downtown D.C."

"Mhm," he answered, "Nothing like a good game of tic-tac-toe while you're waiting for your food." He continued sifting through the various items in the box, his eyes lighting up as he showed you what appeared to be an entry ticket. "Oh! Look at this!"

"The midnight premiere of The Force Awakens! Gosh, you were so cute in your Jedi cloak."

He chuckled, though his eyes darted away from yours. "Yeah, that was a pretty great night. Well, until security almost kicked us out of the theater for having 'weapons' on us."

Your hand met his jaw, your thumb lifting his face with a single touch. His eyes found yours again, only this time those honey brown eyes pooled with tears. The corners of his mouth were turned downward. It looked as though his whole face was falling.

Your thumb traced soft lines over the stubble on his chin, and it wasn't until then that you noticed just how tired Spencer looked. Too tired to shave, too tired to hold himself up, too tired to speak.

"What's wrong?" you pressed anyway. Your heart ached, like a bullet shot straight through it, as you started to ask, "Have I-"

His bottom lip trembled as he shook his head. "Believe me, you couldn't do anything this bad in a million years."

"Anything this bad?" A thousand thoughts raced through your head as you attempted to determine what bad thing he was talking about.

The tears welling in his eyes finally slipped and once again he parted from your gaze. "What if one day," he said, voice cracking, "these mementos are all I'll have to go by?"

You moved to sit beside him, pulling him into you. Your fingers swept through his hair, and the familiar scent of his cologne floated around you, a protective bubble, a shield keeping any harm away from you and him.

The room stayed silent as you waited for Spencer to continue. He felt helpless, weak, small inside your embrace, but with one kiss on his forehead, you reminded him that it was okay, that he was okay. And with one caress of the cheek, he was reminded that you were his safe place. The only place he was absolutely sure he could fall apart, because he knew you'd be there to pick up his broken pieces.

He swallowed hard, leaning further into you. Neither of you were sure where he started and you ended. "I'm scared. I'm so scared," he confessed, his tone quiet.

Your hand moved from his cheek to his back, lightly pressing your fingertips against the skin where his shirt rode up. "Why are you scared?" you asked simply, meeting him with an equally soft voice.

"What if I-" he said through broken sobs, unable to finish his sentence. "Mom's dementia-" He pulled away, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "God, I probably sound so stupid."

You grabbed his wrists, dragging his palms away from his face. He'd pressed so hard, you could already see indentations, and you weren't so sure the plum-colored circles under his eyes wouldn't be three times as purple the next morning. "You don't sound stupid," you reassured him. "I can't imagine how scary that is."

"But what's even scarier is that you think I won't be there for you through it."

Spencer shook with silent sobs, his chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. He was a snotty, crying mess of man, and you wished there was some way you could take his pain as your own. He tried to get words out, but all he could manage was his throat getting caught on every syllable.

You leaned your forehead against his, and for a second, you felt like the world wasn't imploding. Like maybe things would turn out okay. But as soon as you met those golden brown eyes again, your heart shattered all over again.

"Spencer, I'm not gonna let that happen," you said, your voice thick with the tears you were on the verge of shedding. "Okay? We'll get through this."

"She's gonna be gone in a couple years, Y/N. What if I'm next?" By this point, he couldn't even hold his eyes open anymore.

"Then I will enjoy every moment I have with you, down to the last millisecond."

"I don't want this to ever be all I have of us. I want memories. I want inside jokes. I want you."

The two of you held each other until you'd both cried out every last tear in your body, your cheeks soaked and shirts dampened in the aftermath.

You felt weak, but he felt weaker, and somehow, that was the reminder you needed—two broken souls, meant to be broken together. But in your brokenness, you fit like panes of a stained glass window. You were pieces of a puzzle, who were nothing on their own, but came together and made a complete picture. It was where you both belonged: together.

"Spencer?" your broken voice shattered the layer of silence that had taken over the room.

He angled his head, heavy eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of hope. "Yeah?" he said, his voice wobbly, his bottom lip trembling.

"As long as my lungs are pumping oxygen, I will never leave you behind."

Your eyes fell back to the box, and you managed a teary smile as you spotted a sliver of slate-gray string you hadn't thought about in years. You tugged the box closer, happy tears mixing with sad ones as you pulled out the friendship bracelet you'd made for Spencer probably a half decade ago. "I can't believe you still have this."

"You remember what you said about being left behind?" he asked, taking the bracelet from you and slipping it onto his wrist. "I used to wear this every day to remind me that I had someone who thought so highly of me that they wouldn't leave me behind."

You curled into his side, your hand ghosting over his stomach as you pulled him impossibly closer. Maybe you couldn't prevent dementia, maybe you couldn't stop him from losing his memories, but you had this box, and you had each other. And somehow, that was okay. Because it meant you'd always have someone to pull you along beside them, not leave you in life's rearview mirror.

Welcome one and all to the first fourth day of DoMAYstic2023!!

ok so maybe i'm a few days late... i will be catching up on the prompts i missed at a later date, just not today. this was supposed to be posted yesterday but tumblr ate the post and i'm just now getting a chance to post it 🥲

so, just like with whumptober, my schedule is gonna be a little different! so, every odd number prompt will be a Steve Harrington fic that will be posted over on @honeysuckleharringtons! and every even number prompt will be a Spencer Reid fic posted on here!

i hope you all enjoyed my first doMAYstic2023 post! i look forward to posting more!

-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @wwwonzeee @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch

#imagine #imagines #blurb #blurbs #one shot #one shots #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid one shots #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds one shots #criminal minds angst #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #domaystic #domaystic2023 #reidsaurora #reidsaurora domaystic2023

[the-gt-fairy]

More ISAT g/t! This time tiny size shifter Siffrin semi-inspired by that ask I got. I wrote this all in one sitting last night and am deciding fuck it and posting it

Context: Family is at a fancy party cuz they saved the country and get invited to fancy parties now. Siffrin is Not Having a Good Time with all the people

--

“You clearing the snack table, Sif?”

‘Snack table’ was a bit of an understatement. The set of platters nearly stretched across the whole wall, and each were filled with fancy dishes Isabeau couldn’t even begin to name. Sif had been hanging out there for most of the party, so he expected them to be stuffing their face.

But they only nibbled absently on a desert, shrugging at Isabeau’s question.

He frowned. “Hey, are you ok?”

They shrugged again, eyes flicking back towards the crowd. Someone nearby laughed loudly, and Sif flinched, shrinking in on themself.

Literally. They were actually shrinking, dropping in centimeters by the second.

Oh.

“How about we go somewhere else?” Isabeau suggested.

Siffrin nodded and let himself be guided out of the main room and into the hall. Isabeau shadowed them, making sure no one was watching too closely, until they reached one of the copious amounts of sitting rooms.

It was empty, and that seemed to be good enough for Siffrin to let go of the rest of their height.

They stumbled, catching themself on their palms. Isabeau dropped to his own knees, hovering his hands around them.

Siffrin took the half-aborted offer for what it was supposed to be, using his little finger (god, their hand didn’t even cover his pinkie) to hoist themself up. Even once he was stable, he kept his hand on Isabeau’s.

Siffrin looked up at him. “...Hi,” he said, for lack of anything better.

“Hi,” Isabeau returned, just as clueless.

They looked down at their hand on Isabeau’s, then quickly tucked it back to their side.

(Isabeau stamped down his disappointment.)

“You can go back to the party,” Siffrin spoke up, “I'll be fine to camp out here till I can turn back.”

“Do you want to be alone?” Isabeau asked (stamping down his immense disappointment.)

He glanced away. “You shouldn’t have to look after me.”

“Ok, but do you want to be alone?”

“...No.”

Isabeau shifted from a kneel to a cross-legged seat. “Then I’m staying right here.”

They snapped their head up. “But, but you were so excited! For getting dressed up and stuff…”

“Eh, I already got to do the dressing up part,” he waved off, “I’m fine with missing out on the people.”

“You’ll miss out on the food, too,” Siffrin argued.

“I’m sure what Bonnie makes is a million times better.”

Sif snorted, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. And he stopped trying to convince Isabeau to leave, so it was a win.

Siffrin eventually sat down, staring off silently. But, as usual, Isabeau couldn’t keep his eyes off them.

This was…This was his first time seeing them small, wasn’t it? The few times he had actually witnessed them sizeshifting, they had been giant. Fierce, protective, larger than life.

But now they were small and quiet, more so than Isabeau was used to. Was this how Siffrin had felt when he looked down on the four of them? That they were all so tiny and fragile, and that he would do anything he could to shield them?

Isabeau didn’t feel like he was being a very good shield. He was trained to be a Defender, but he didn’t have a clue what more he could do than sit there uselessly, not knowing if his shadow was more ominous than comforting.

Siffrin shifted, curling in on themself further. “It’s so blinding cold,” he muttered.

“You miss your cloak?” Isabeau asked. Siffrin hadn’t been very happy about giving it up in exchange for fancier clothes. (They looked even smaller without it.)

They nodded. “You said once–” A phrase that meant he was talking about the loops. “--that it was Crafted to regulate temperature. So I’d never get too hot or too cold.”

“Huh, I’d never heard of that before! I wonder if we can figure out how it works…” That would be amazing to implement when he actually started designing clothes.

Siffrin shivered again, cutting off the thought with another one. Right, smaller things didn’t regulate body heat so well, did they? He didn’t want Sif to suffer until he grew back, but what could he do…

An idea came to mind, followed by immediate doubt. Siffrin told them he actually liked touch, it was one of the first things he admitted after leaving Dormont. But Isabeau couldn’t help but feel he was overstepping every time he even tried.

Still, he slowly slid his hand over to Siffrin. “Hey, um. I’m probably warm (really warm) if you want to…”

He trailed off, but Siffrin got the message anyway. They lightly leaned against his hand, then practically melted into it.

Oh god. Oh Change. This was…man. Look at them, even smaller than his palm, snuggling closer just to get all the warmth. Haha, if they really wanted to be warm, all Isabeau would have to do is put them to his face and NO WAIT THAT WAS EMBARRASSING AND HIS FACE WAS EVEN HOTTER NOW CRAB–

“I can feel your pulse from here, ya know,” Sif teased.

AAAAAAAHHH

They pressed a little closer, probably just to goad him. “Thanks.”

“No problem!” he replied higher than he would like.

They looked up at him with their big , bright eye. “Sorry for being–” He got That Smirk on his face as he gestured to his spot. “--such a handful.”

“Pffft, Sif!”

They snickered, but the smile faded, and they looked away again. “Really, though. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this.”

“Hey, we already agreed I’m not missing out on anything,” Isabeau assured, “I like spending time with you, Sif.”

“We spend time together all the time.”

“And I enjoy every second of it!”

They huffed, but their mouth ticked up again. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

“Nope! I’m going to care about you whether you like it or not! Well, I mean, I’d hope you would like it, but–but if I’m ever overstepping just say the word and I’ll back off–”

“Isa,” Siffrin cut off, “You’re fine. I really don’t mind.”

Isabeau softened. “I don’t mind either. This is only a small price to pay.”

Sif barked a laugh, doubling over as he cackled. Isabeau glowed at the reaction.

The two fell back into silence, but Isabeau felt like he was doing a much better job.

#ISABEAU I LOVE YOU #I WANT TO HUG HIM SO BAD #g/t #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #isat g/t #my writing #g/t writing #isafrin #isabeau/siffrin #sizeshifter #sizeshifter!siffrin