#in the place of the mirror is a portrait of you
Arnolfini Portrait (Detail), Jan van Eyck / Bloody Mary, Supernatural
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a few of the random trait set examples I generated but didn’t end up using in my main post about the trait generators ghghgh... these are all such like... Distinct people.. just from reading this I already know everything about their personality and how they act lol
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—Lilllium, from In Place Of The Mirror is a Portrait of You
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all hands on deck
gif by @wodohwan.
rock the boat masterlist
my outer banks masterlist
add yourself to my taglist
summary: he was adamant it was a one time thing. she was adamant it was a one time thing. one tension-filled argument later and the bathroom mirror is clouding over with a steamy fog. what’s a little sexual frustration between best friends, anyway?
warnings: little bit of angst. swearing. alcohol consumption. sexual content. dirty talk. unprotected sex. rough sex. public sex. biting kink. hair pulling kink.
A stale and murky nebula of cigarette smoke lingered throughout the dingy bar. It was somewhat of a permanent fixture alongside the rusted, metal light shades that hung remarkably low from the old, wooden roof and emitted a dim, yellow glow, and the distinctively welcoming aroma of the lukewarm, home-brewed beer that was on draught. A collective array of distasteful, vintage portraits of naked and seductively posed Playboy Bunnies graced the hallowed walls of the esteemed establishment — staring down at you in all of their illicitly audacious and exposed glory — and were accompanied by the occasional, vividly luminous neon sign that denoted a series of explicit phrases, uncensored.
Despite its notably seedy initial impression, Ringo’s Bar had a surprisingly homely and welcoming atmosphere once you managed to see through the thick layer of noxious cigarette fumes. In fact, some would argue that the outlandishly obnoxious décor and the stale, watered down beer from the small, micro-brewery just several streets over were what gave the place it’s cosy, intimate atmosphere in the first place. It was, undoubtedly, marketed as a resident-only bar — turning away the saintly and virtuous eyes of the curious tourists that brazenly wandered beyond the resort boundaries with its uncouth appearance and inviting in the unphased locals who were at the heart of the picturesque, island community. Ringo’s was one of those places in which every face that you encountered was a friendly one, and one that you had known for the better part of your however many years on this godforsaken planet; it was a bar owned by the locals, supplied by the locals, and for the locals. Hence why it became the go-to hangout spot on Friday nights for JJ and his friends.
Wading through the dense cloud of smoke, he carefully carried the newly purchased round of drinks back to their small, wooden table that was tucked appropriately off to the side, just below the old, oak banister. Originally, due to the sheer popularity of the beloved bar, the six friends had only managed to pull a table with three chairs — but as the sweltering, mid-summer night had progressed, they had discreetly stolen mismatching chairs from the nearby, adjacent tables, and had eventually managed to retrieve enough seats for all of them. Of course, Sarah — in her slightly tipsy, lightweight state — had chosen to remain firmly seated atop John B’s jean-clad lap, her dainty arm thrown haphazardly around his neck in a lovingly drunken embrace.
He placed the drinks down on the table, careful to avoid the several, empty bottles from their previous round and the tepid puddles of spilled beer from Sarah’s intoxicated stumbling upon her return from the bathroom. They were all bottled, of course; he knew better than to order a pint of the stale, watered-down home brew that was on tap. JJ had only ever made that mistake once in his life, on his very first, naïve trip to the infamous bar, but never again. He was undoubtedly certain that his tastebuds would never forgive him if he consumed even so much as a sip of that foul, watery beer ever again. Needless to say, the house-brewed beer was only ever a hit with the few, Cut-born Pogues-turned-Kooks that ventured back into the run-down wasteland on occasion.
As she retrieved one of the ice-cool, condensation-laced beers from the very centre of the wooden table, Kenzie peered up at him with her mischievous, amber eyes — gently nudging his ankle with the very tip of her well-worn, off-white Converse, “don’t get too comfortable, Maybank, we’ve got a score to settle.” A playful smirk upturned the corners of her full, rosy lips as her languid gaze travelled slowly from the teal-eyed, shaggy-haired blonde, over her exposed shoulder, to the now unoccupied pool table that stood in the very centre of the slight platform beside them.
A low, throaty, but hearty chuckle rippled through his robust, t-shirt clad chest as he took a nonchalant sip of his cold, bitter-tasting beer, a similar, sprightly smirk quirking the corners of his thin, chapped lips upwards, “what score? I win every time.” His tone was light-heartedly incredulous as the broad flats of his toned, squared-off shoulders rose and fell with each soft but amused laugh. He felt the burning glare of her scolding, unimpressed expression pierce his skin, before giving a lackadaisical gesture towards the vacant pool table with one hand — the other, calloused palm coiled around the green-tinted glass of his beer bottle in a loose but secure hold. “Fine, I’ll play along, but don’t go all sulky on me when you lose for the millionth time.”
“I don’t sulk,” Kenzie rebutted his statement adamantly as she swiftly stood from the uncomfortably rigid, rickety chair — adjusting the slightly bunched-up denim of her enticingly short, black shorts, “I’m just not enthusiastic about your win.” Taking her freshly-opened bottle of Heineken with her, she made her way through the cramped, obstacle course of rogue tables and chairs — audaciously slinking her way through the bustling crowd of bar-goers as she did so. “But I’m going to win this time, I’m telling you. You’re going down, Jesse James Maybank. You’re gonna eat a big, ol’ slice of humble pie.”
His attentive, cerulean eyes fixated almost instantly on her voluptuous, perky ass — that was perfectly accentuated by the tight, but rigid, denim material of her shorts — as he obediently followed suit, observing intently as her hips swayed with a subtle seductiveness, “I know what I’d rather be eating instead.” His voice was deep and gravelly, and an air of flirtatiousness echoed throughout his suggestive words before dissipating into the mindless, drunken chattering that lingered within the background. He watched on, entertained, as her neck snapped backwards with a rapid motion — her dark, terracotta eyes boring deep into his with a fire-like glower, serving as an unspoken warning to honour their previous agreement. A second, imperious grin consumed his sun-drenched complexion as he stared back haughtily, “some shrimp and grits. Loser buys.”
“Get your wallet ready,” she uttered lowly, returning her focused vision back to the unoccupied pool table before her.
“For what? I’m not going to be the one buying dinner tonight, sweetcheeks,” he quipped a playfully sarcastic response as he casually discarded of his freshly-opened beer atop the high, wooden ledge littered in thin, cardboard beer mats that ran the length of the entire back wall. With the same brazenly dauntless smirk contorting his defined, stubble-lined features, he picked up one of the pink, well-used chalk cubes that sat absent-mindedly beside his beer, before coolly reaching for one of the longer, varnished pool cues and masterfully rubbing the indented chalk cube against the very tip of the pool cue, “I’d say ladies first, but the scratches and bite marks on my back say that you’re everything but so I think it’s fair game if I take the first shot.”
“Shark. Bait,” Kenzie spat lowly but meaningfully through a tightly clenched jaw and gritted teeth — her tongue abundantly laced with venom as she sent an evident warning shot at the tousle-haired blonde. A very subtle hint of rouge tinted the tips of both her ears and her dainty, button nose as her impassive eyes shot a dagger-like stare towards him; there had never really been questions about the nature of their friendship before — it was undoubtedly obvious from their teasing, joke-style banter that the pair didn’t extended beyond a good, long-lasting friendship, but that didn’t mean that she was prepared for those doubts to be thrown around now, especially after so long. She knew damned well that they were playing a dangerous and unforgiving game in blurring the lines of their friendship, and that their decision to do so was very much clouded by the all-consuming feeling of sexual frustration, but she downright refused to allow her personal business to be the juicy gossip of the town.
“Come on, Kenz, don’t be like that,” a gentle laugh slipped from between his thin, chapped lips as he positioned the chalked-up tip of the pool cue between his ring-cladded thumb and forefinger, “it’s all just a bit of fun.” Carefully, with a concentrated expression contorting his stubble-lined features with the soft creases of frown lines, he lined up his shot perfectly — tapping the white ball with the perfect amount of force to disperse the triangle formation. The solid, orange number five ball rolled effortlessly into the left, corner pocket with a victorious clattering, and another, smug, pleased-with-himself beam consumed his almost sun-burnt complexion. With a cool and nonchalant ease, he repositioned himself around the large, felt tabletop and lined up his shot with a masterful expertise once more. He observed with an attentive gaze as the white ball knocked gently against solid, green ball and pushed it ever closer to the right, corner pocket; the solid, number six ball stopped just short of the desired pocket, and left the neutral, white ball suspended between his ball, and one of Kenzie’s striped balls.
“You fucker,” a disgruntled, unimpressed groan echoed throughout the small platform area as she saw the current state of play — and the awkwardly close proximity the precious, white ball was to his solid, green ball. With a disapproving shake of her long, highlighted waves, she rolled her gleaming, amber orbs with a generous ounce of acrimony before attempting to line up her shot.
JJ merely shrugged his broad, muscular shoulders in a passive gesture as he returned to the comfort of the side lines, and out of any possible reach of a stray, but evidently targeted, pool cue. Out of sheer, conditioned habit, he retrieved his half-drunken beer from the wooden ledge and brought the rim up to his peach-toned lips. He took a casual and liberal sip of the bitter-tasting alcohol, and allowed his audacious, teal eyes to wander; his leisurely, brazen gaze followed the condensation-laced outline of the Heineken bottle, all the way along to her beautifully sculpted, hourglass silhouette. It was a glorious and magnificent sight to behold — the untainted view of her pert, voluptuous ass in those unforgivingly tight, denim shorts as she leant across the dark grass-coloured felt of the pool table and arched her back at an unholy angle.
With an uncalculated, forceful tap from the very tip of the varnished pool cue, she chipped the white ball against her striped, brown number fifteen ball. Unfortunately for the cinnamon-haired temptress, the brown, striped ball knocked against one of JJ’s solid colour balls — pushing it ever further towards the far, right, corner pocket, and lining up a perfectly angled, obstruction-free shot for him to take.
Dragging the very tip of his wet tongue along the faint ridges and grooves of his bottom lip, he took several, casual steps closer to the pool table. He surveyed the layout of the scattered balls along the table, before formulating the best strategy to play out. With his rough and grazed elbow propping his toned and muscular frame up against the soft, luxurious felt of the tabletop, he angled his shot precisely once more. He gave a gentle shove against the neutral, white ball, before watching with a proud smile upturning the corners of his thin lips as it hit against the solid, light blue ball and knocking it into the far, right, corner pocket.
He was now in a slight predicament; the remainder of the solid colour balls were scattered further up the table, and were obstructed by several striped balls, and the infamous black number eight ball. Feeling a slight pang of guilt pull on his old and rusted heart strings as he caught a glimpse of the sulking pout tugging on her full, rosy lips, he subtly threw his shot — tapping the white ball once again with the chalked-up tip of the pool cue ever so gently, so that it came to a halt in a fairly central position and lined up a potential pocket shot for Kenzie. Whilst he was shamelessly aiding his not-so-formidable opponent, he was content with his actions; the longer the game drew out, the happier she would feel with her performance against him.
It was the amber-eyed brunette’s turn once more as she nonchalantly stepped up to the varnished, wooden table. Her petite, curvaceous frame leant across the soft, green felt once again, as she positioned her short, light-weight cue between her thumb and forefinger — angling it downwards ever so slightly in anticipation of it meeting with the neutral, white ball. Languidly, she pulled the tapered cue backwards, ready to take her powerful shot when he felt the exhilarating warmth of JJ’s robust, burly body pressed against her own. His hips pressed against hers ever so slightly as his broad frame hovered above her, leaving just a miniscule fraction of a millimetre between their bodies.
His warm, bear-like palm encompassed hers around the thinning middle of the pool cue — stopping her in a domineering, yet tenderly calm manner from indignantly whacking the white ball with a furious force. His soft lips dragged sinfully close to her pierced earlobe, as the rough scruff of his fair, stubble-like beard brushed lightly against the soft skin of her cheek and his deep, rasping tone echoed between them, “don’t yeet it like you normally do. The ball will end up down at the other end of the table and you’ll have nowhere to go next. Hit it softly and line up your next play.” His other, tender palm rested comfortably atop the curvature of her hip in a steady, secure hold has he carefully guided her dainty hand in playing out the simple shot — giving the off-white, numberless ball a gentle tap, before watching it roll ever so steadily into the striped, yellow, number nine ball. The same ball fell effortlessly into the right-hand, middle pocket with a clamorous thud.
“See,” he spoke with a smooth tone — his hot, beer-laced breath fanning against the very nape of her neck, “sometimes all you need is a controlled touch.”
JJ allowed his gentle, paw-like hands to linger over her for a second longer before eventually, and reluctantly, retreating from their cosy embrace. His transfixed, sapphire eyes devoured her once more as she strategically repositioned her petite silhouette across the varnished wood of the outer rim, leaning seductively over the green felt to get within reach of the white ball; her back arched at a salacious, ungodly angle as her straightened, pearly teeth sunk deep into the soft flesh of her bottom lip — giving him a direct and unobstructed view straight down her low-cut tank top of her ample cleavage.
Shamelessly, his mind began to wander to a deeply sinful, carnal fantasy once more; her naked, sun-kissed silhouette lay bent across the soft felt of the pool table, her back arched at the infamously unholy angle as her exposed, rigid nipples grazed against the tabletop — hanging loose and free as the silver, metallic balls glistened under the vivid, magenta, neon lights. Her slender thighs were pried apart behind her, giving him unrestricted access to her glorious, sopping cunt as his domineering palms gripped tightly onto her voluptuous hips. He pounded his thick, hard erection inside of her welcoming warmth with a forceful, angled thrust, the very tip of his dick hitting against her most sensitive of intimate nerves and pulling sweet, dulcet moans from between her slightly parted lips in a harmonious melody.
As deep and throaty grunts and groans rippled through his robust, burly chest, he placed an authoritative palm at the very nape of her neck. Leisurely, he spread his stubby, ring-cladded fingers wide before nestling them between her highlighted, caramel tresses and running focused fingertips all the way up to the very crown of her head. He gave a rough tug on the roots of her slightly tangled, cinnamon wisps as he bunched the silk-like strands together into one matted mess and forcefully pulled her head backwards. Her exquisite, dainty frame contorted spectacularly as he continued to fervently thrust his rigid, pulsing cock in and out of her wet, dripping heat. A depraved, high-pitched shriek spilled from her mouth in a subconscious roar as she rocked her sinful hips backwards to meet with his own, matching his pace almost perfectly.
Everything about their movements were rough, and sloppy, and fast; his pace quickened as he thrust himself ever deeper within her sopping pussy — the ungodly angle giving him an unrestricted access to her sweet, juicy hole. His remaining, authoritative palm clamped down tightly on the soft, sun-drenched flesh of her waistline — the very tips of his unclipped nails digging deep and hard into her exposed skin. Rugged grunts and husky groans spewed from his mouth one after the other as he felt the invigorating sensation of his climax venturing ever nearer. A sudden surge of adrenaline coursed throughout his muscular body as an indulgent flood of serotonin washed over him — teetering on the very edge of his impending release inside of her tight, pulsing pussy walls.
“Your turn, pretty boy,” Kenzie’s low and sultry tone teased, abruptly bringing him back into the conscious state of reality before he could spill his thick, hot, pearly ropes of cum inside of her. Nonchalantly, she shoved the tapered pool cue against his brawny chest, sending a sudden and unexpected jolt throughout his sun-kissed body. A subtle, concerned frown knotted her naturally thick, dark eyebrows together and her luminous, amber eyes peered up at him from her diminutive height as he sucked in a surprised inhale of oxygen, swiftly gripping onto the wooden pool cue. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he answered just a little too quickly, “think the beer’s starting to hit. You might just win after all.” He took a few, hurried steps towards the grand pool table, and allowed his murky, cerulean eyes to quickly survey the current state of play; she had, somehow, managed to pot both the dark blue, striped ball and the orange, striped ball — meaning that she was now, surprisingly, in the lead with just four more balls and the solid, black, number eight ball to go. JJ could only picture the flagrant, imperious smirk that consumed her defined, golden features, and the mischievous twinkle that occupied the luminous speckles of her hazel eyes; the thought only produced a deep, roseate shade of rouge to paint the very high points of his chiselled, stubble-lined features.
Several alternating turns later and both JJ and Kenzie were left with only one ball to pot — the infamous, solid black, number eight ball. JJ was up with a questionable shot that required a tricky angle and a skilful deflection of the neutral, white ball off the felt-lined side. It was a masterful shot that he had made numerous times previously without so much as being even a millimetre off — however, his sensuously erotic daydream had left him flustered and a little hot under the collar. A thin layer of perspiration tickled the very back of his neck as his wet, clammy hands slid along the length of the varnished, wooden pool cue. His grip was awkwardly loose as he lined up the very tip of the chalk-lathered pool cue between his ring-cladded thumb and forefinger, and swiftly made the shot. He watched on — helpless and in disbelief — as the white ball collided with the felt of the side panel, ricocheting off at a rapid pace towards the solid, black ball, and eventually missing it by the thinnest of margins. He had just foolishly lined up the most perfect, unmissable shot for the brunette virago, right before the right-hand, middle pocket.
She strode up towards the pool table with an assured confidence, his previous advice ringing emphatically in her pierced ears like melodious church bells; sometimes all you need is a controlled touch. She leant her dainty frame across the length of the grand pool table and took her sweet time in lining up the shot — angling the very tip of the pool cue between her small, unmanicured fingertips with a gleeful patience. She gave a gentle tap against the white ball and watched with a hopeful glimmer as it lightly knocked against the black, number eight ball and pushed it into the welcoming embrace of the empty pocket.
An all-consuming, pleased-with-herself grin curled the corners of her full, rosy lips upwards widely as an excited squeal echoed throughout the platform area of the bar, “I won!” She gloated with an apparent indignity as repeated those words over and over as evidently amused giggles spilled from between her lips. JJ had, arguably, never seen her so damned ecstatic in his life.
Resting both calloused palms against the varnished, wooden side panelling of the pool table to support all of his hefty weight, he rolled his overcast, teal eyes with an incredulous attitude, “please, I let you win.” It mostly certainly was not the truth, and the raunchy, sensual daydream that plagued his filthy mind had almost definitely cost him the game, but he refused to admit that his stubborn and relentless best friend of over a decade. Besides, he had to maintain the taunting banter that border on vicious snipes that they so often held, and this was the perfect way in which to exercise their established routine.
“You did not.” Her amused, joyous expression dropped instantaneously to a serious frown with deeply etched creases lining her sun-kissed forehead as she stepped ever closer to him — her piercing umber eyes boring upwards into his with a fire-like glare from her petite height. “I won fair in square, Maybank, just admit it.”
“Oh, I did, I let you win, sweetcheeks,” he re-affirmed with a haughty raising of his fair, untamed eyebrows.
She took another, small step closer to him — the very tips of her well-worn, off-white Converse touching ever so slightly against the light sued of his chunky Timberland boots as a prominent, sulking pout pulled on her lips, “just like I faked my orgasm, huh?” She intended for her words to cut deep and sharp into her soul as they effortlessly rolled off her acid-laced tongue with a vengeance.
“I thought we weren’t talking about that, huh?” he countered swiftly with an almost instantaneous, quick-witted quip. A low, husky chuckled rippled through his toned, muscular chest as brought the rim of his now room temperature beer up to his stubble-lined lips and took a long, indulgent swig. “Wouldn’t want to have to use a pretty girl like you as shark bait, now, would we?”
“Cute,” she spat back immediately with an acerbic tone — a slight, smug smirk quirking one side of her plump lips upwards, “you think I’m pretty.”
The air was incredibly thick with a fervent tension between them as they stood just millimetres apart from one another. His burly, robust chest heaved up and down in a slightly exaggerated manner with each jagged breath that he took, the intensity of the moment holding him in somewhat of a paralysing choke hold as he continued to stare down into her searing, umber eyes. After an uncomfortably long, drawn-out moment of stillness, his focused gazed flickered down to her full, velvet-like lips. Instinctively, he languidly dragged the very tip of his wet tongue along the chapped flesh as the strong, ceaseless urge to place his lips against her own consumed him. He fought against it with all his might and suppressed it deep within, before returning his attentive gaze back to her fire-like eyes — not entirely trusting himself to offer an un-incriminating response.
She noticed the not-so-subtle way in which his clouded, indigo eyes slipped downwards to her plump, rose-tinted lips for a fleeting second as she felt his hot, beer-laced breath hitting against her sun-doused complexion. Everything in that very moment was zealous and intense, and she found herself shamelessly caving into the ardent pressures of their interaction. With a low and sultry voice, she uttered the infamous, fated words in a hushed tone, “bathroom. Now.”
Then, she abruptly turned on the heels of her dirty, worn-in Converse and swiftly made her way down the narrow, dingy hallway towards the women’s bathroom. JJ followed suit, like an obedient, lost puppy — his focused eyes fixated on the rounded curves of her perky, voluptuous ass. Kenzie came to a steady halt outside the women’s bathroom before carefully pressing down on the rusted, gold handle in which the metallic coating had slowly started to peel back and pushed open the door. She stepped inside with an evident confidence about her, hurriedly dragging the shaggy-haired blonde behind her, before abruptly closing and locking the dark, wooden door.
“Well, this is cosy with just the two of us,” JJ taunted with a devilishly teasing tone as he took several dauntless strides towards the petite, amber-eyed brunette — forcing her to back up ever so slightly.
“Very cosy,” she agreed, continuing to speak in a low and sultry voice as her darkened, hazel eyes bore directly into his. As she tentatively stepped backwards, her back hit against the very edge of the varnished, oak countertop, but he continued to step towards her. His light, suede Timberland boots touched the very tip of her dirty, off-white Converse as their hot, clammy bodies were pressed against one another and in one, swift motions the domineering palms of his hands audaciously hooked themselves on the very undersides of her slender, sun-kissed thighs. He then proceeded to lift her feather-light frame up and onto the slightly damp countertop and slipped himself between her welcoming thighs.
“Very cosy, indeed,” he repeated with a deep, gravelly tone, as he eased the cool, metal button of her black, denim shorts back through the hole. The rough and ready pads of his fingertips tugged eagerly on the stiff, metal zipper until it had freed the old, slightly rusted tracks and he could masterfully slip them into the heavenly depths of her skin-tight shorts. His ring-cladded fingertips found the patterned lace of her crimson thong, and casually slipped themselves beneath — his overcast, cerulean eyes boring deeply into hers as he gently toyed with her clit.
Slowly, but precisely, he caressed long and indulgent figure eight motions against her most delicate rose bud of nerves — an audacious, shit-eating grin spread far and wide across the chiselled foundations of his sun-burnt complexion as soft, reticent whines began to spill from between her slightly parted lips. Feeling her petite posture significantly relax under his sensual touch, he dragged the lengths of his stubby, ring-cladded fingertips down into the depths of her glorious warmth, running a leisurely sinful stripe along her sopping folds. He reached the dampened, sweltering depths of her entrance and ungraciously teased her — lathering his expert fingertips in her sweet, honey-like juices before retreating back to her delicate bud of nerves, and tracing sloppy, circular motions.
Her dainty, unclipped nails fumbled with the metallic, silver buckle of his belt as bliss-filled moans trickled out from the very depths of the back of her throat in a constant stream of pleasure. Haphazardly, Kenzie pushed the distressed, brown leather back through the fastener before moving on to the metal button of his light-wash, skinny-fit jeans. The embossed, metal button popped surprisingly easily, before she continued to quickly tug on the small handle of his zipper with a fierce force until she was free to salaciously slide her sinful fingertips into the darkened depths of his tight-fitting jeans. She delved unabashedly into his tight, black, boxer briefs and coiled her warm, dainty palm around the very base of his thick length; his dick was already semi-hard from, unbeknownst to her, the illicitly sensual daydream that incessantly haunted his memory.
As she pumped the length of his rigid erection with a valiant confidence, he roughly teased the sopping, wet entrance to her cunt once again. He yearningly caressed the tight, sensitive flesh with rough and rapid circular motions before eventually thrusting his stubby, ring-cladded fingers deep inside. A loud, throaty moan clawed its way out from the very depths of the back of her throat as he set a quick and vigorous pace with his masterful fingertips — the cool metal of his silver-plated rings an invigorating contrast as they bounded against the sweltering heat of her slick folds. Such a contrasting sensation sent quick, rapid bursts of exhilaration throughout her dainty body as she proceeded to roll her lascivious hips in synchronisation with his forceful thrusts.
Then, without so much as a single warning, he swiftly retreated from her sopping wetness — gladly lapping up every last droplet of her saccharine juices from his stubby, ring-cladded fingers with his tongue. He then roughly placed the authoritative palms of his paw-like hands on the underside of her slender, sun-drenched thighs once again, securing them in a tight hold before giving them a domineering tug. She sat, teetering comfortably, on the very edge of the damp, wooden countertop as he proceeded to remove her tight-fitting, black, denim shorts; he skilfully hooked his impatient fingertips underneath the both the string-like waistband of her lace-patterned thong and the rigid material of her shorts and yanked them down with an abruptly eager tug. They dropped to the dirty, ivory tiles of the bathroom floor with a gentle thud, allowing him complete, unrestricted access to her sopping cunt.
Longing to feel the heavenly, sinful sensation of her tight, contracting walls clamping round his rigid, thick erection once more, he lined himself up with her yearningly wet entrance. The very tip of his length stroked taunting, gentle circles against her sensitive entrance — extending the wicked caresses along her slick folds before leisurely plunging himself into the welcoming depths of her warmth. A low, indulgent moan slipped from between her plump, chewed-up lips as he gradually quickened his pace, his masterful strokes hitting deep against her most intimate and sensitive of nerves with each rigorous thrust of his hips. It was rough, and sloppy, and bursting with intensity as he continued to plough himself deep and hard into her glorious pussy — low grunt after carnal groan slipping from between his thin, chapped lips.
He gripped onto the smooth edge of the old, oak countertop in a secure, rigid hold as he audaciously reached down between her widely parted, sun-soaked thighs with his other, free hand and roughly flicked the calloused pad of his thumb over her swollen and sensitive rose bud of nerves. Kenzie suppressed a high-pitched, emphatic whine by sinking her straightened, pearly teeth deep into the rugged flesh of her bottom lip and tightly grasping onto the thin cotton of his black, logo-printed t-shirt — subconsciously clenching her petite fists into vice-like balls whilst taking sharp and jagged breaths. Her overwhelmed and pleasure-filled reaction only seemed to spur him on further as he rigorously pounded his salacious hips against hers in quick, powerful thrusts and roughly toying with her sensitive clit.
The long, sun-kissed lengths of her thighs coiled themselves firmly around his waistline — forcing him ever deeper inside of her gloriously wet pussy. She secured him in place with her vice-like hold and proceeded to rigorously rock her voluptuous hips in perfect synchronisation with his. She craved ever so desperately to spew the loud, lust-filled moans that she had ruthlessly captured within her throat — absent-mindedly sinking her gleaming teeth down into the soft cotton of his t-shirt that hung over his broad, muscular shoulder in a vicious bite, and instinctively digging her unclipped, clear-coated nails down into the soft, sun-burnt flesh of his shoulder blade. They needed to be quiet; even he faintest echoes of a sensual moan or a deep, erotic groan would see them shamefully caught — bare-assed and balls deep. Neither of them could afford to see their dirty, salacious secret outed to a bar filled-to-the-brim with loose-tongued locals, never mind their unsuspecting friends.
Several hard and targeted thrusts later saw her tight pussy walls clamping around his thick, rigid length and contracting ever so slightly into a looser hold as an intense, euphoria-filled orgasm rippled through her petite silhouette with a vengeance. Her slender, sun-soaked thighs shook with a fervent intensity as a pleasureful dose of oxytocin surged throughout her delicate body — her sharp, pearly teeth locked tightly around his brawn shoulder blade in a bid to muffle her desperate, emphatic shrieks of ecstasy. Her hot, raunchy bites pushed him over the edge, allowing him to spill his steaming, hot ropes of pearly cum inside of her — spurt by spurt and thrust by thrust. He took heavy, laboured breaths as gradually slowed his pace until he remained still and flaccid inside of her, his soft length spilling their sinful juices down the golden plains of her thighs as he carefully retreated from her heavenly warmth.
JJ couldn’t help himself — he had been undoubtedly cast underneath her wickedly sensual, addictive spell. Even though he had just felt the exhilarating sensation of her exquisitely beautiful body come undone beneath his ardent and zealous touch, he couldn’t refrain from hankering for more once again. His desperate hunger to feel her searing skin pounding against his own was inexplicably insatiable and his sinful thirst to taste her sweet, honey-like wetness was unquenchable. Yet another delectable inch of her curvaceous silhouette had been explored yet he still wasn’t satisfied, and that sent an undeniably uneasy rumbling within the very depths of the pit of his stomach. What did this mean? Was he merely just an unintended victim of Kenzie Adler’s obnoxiously sardonic charm and her exquisite, sun-kissed beauty, or was there something much deeper at play? He wasn’t sure, but he was certain his inability to keep his dauntless hands off her voluptuous body would lead him to find out.
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Summary: Sirius asks you to sing to him and he falls asleep
Pairings: Sirius x fem! Reader
Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of walburger’s grade A parenting, just fluff, and angst if you squint
A/N: let’s pretend that Killer Queen came out in 1973 and not 1974
sirius black masterlist
Sirius came into the common room exhausted, his day was mentally taxing for him. He had gotten another letter from his mother about being a blood traitor, being compared to Regulus, smearing the “most Noble and Ancient” Black family name, and being a disappointment to the family,
He would usually shrug it off when they would come, but the letters kept coming today and it would be a constant reminder that left him drained. As he was walking into the common room, he saw his darling girlfriend on the sofa that was in front of the fireplace and he smiles softly at the sofa you and he have sat on for years and where the 2 of you have met in first year and in 6th where he asked you to be his girlfriend.
[FLASHBACK TO FIRST YEAR]
You were in the common room sitting on the sofa near the fireplace reading since you just wanted peace and quiet from the 4 boys you’ve made friends with since you met them on the train. Yet that peace would be disturbed when you heard the boys, which they named themselves a silly name being “The Marauders” and they had barreled through the portrait hole.
Sirius spots you on the sofa and comes up and plops himself right next to you, almost on top of you. “Ugh, Sirius get off of me,” you push him off of you.
“Sorry y/n, I swear you were a pillow,” Sirius says clearly just trying to annoy you. You roll your eyes and go back to reading your book.
Sirius starts to poke you, “y/n, y/n, y/n,” he keeps repeating your name, vying for attention.
You try to ignore him until he keeps doing it until you break. “What do you want Sirius?” You asked him.
“Ah, I just wanted your attention and now that I have it, we should make this our spot.”
You look at him confused, “Our spot?” You questioned with a raised brow.
“Yeah! Our spot where we hang out and stuff.” Sirius says looking very excited at the idea of a “spot”.
You decide to humor Sirius “Fine this could be our spot if you really want it to be Sirius.” you smile at him and he mirrors your smile.
You were just reading until you heard someone place their stuff onto the coffee table in front of the sofa and someone plops right on top of you. You let out a big “Oomph” and you were wondering who literally fell on top of you but then Sirius’s tied-up hair came into your field of vision and you immediately knew what type of mood Sirius was in.
Sirius wraps his arms around your waist and buries his head into your chest, breathing in your calming scent. You take his hair down from its ponytail and start to run your hands in his hair, relaxing him further into your body.
“How was your day love?” you ask him softly as to not disturb the warm atmosphere the both of you were in.
Sirius thought for a bit before responding, “It wasn’t good, I got a lot of letters from mum.”
You knew exactly what those letters did to Sirius and you always hated the days he got them. You were the first person that Sirius told about his abuse even before James had found out, and so every time the letters came into the great hall and if you saw the familiar handwriting of Sirius’s mum, you would burn them before he even opened it.
Sirius didn’t want to talk about it, and you could tell he didn’t want to, but then he asked, “Can you to sing to me?”
[FLASHBACK TO THIRD YEAR]
You’ve been singing ever since you were little and so that hobby never stopped when you came to Hogwarts. No one knew that you could sing until one day, you had the dorm to yourself, and you decided to put on some music from one of your dormmate’s record player that everyone would borrow.
You decided to put on Killer Queen by QUEEN and started to sing.
“She keeps her Moet et Chandon
In her pretty cabinet
“Let them eat cake”, she says
Just like Marie Antoinette
A built-in remedy
For Khrushchev and Kennedy
At anytime an invitation
You can't decline
Caviar and cigarettes
Well versed in etiquette
She's a Killer Queen
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind
Recommended at the price
Insatiable an appetite
You were so wrapped up in your singing, you didn’t notice the door open and Sirius standing there completely enamored with your voice.
“To avoid complications
She never kept the same address
She spoke just like a baroness
Met a man from China
Went down to Geisha Minah
Then again incident- AHH! SIRIUS!”, you got scared by seeing Sirius standing in the doorway. You rush to turn off the music and Sirius breaks out of his trance by seeing you run across the room.
“How long have you been standing there?” “Umm, I heard someone singing Killer Queen so I went to see who it was,” Sirius tells you “How long have you been singing for?”
“I’ve been singing since I was little.” You tell him a bit bashfully at the fact you got caught singing.
“Well, are we going to finish the song?’ Sirius asks you playfully. You go to put back on the music and as soon the music started again, Sirius grabs your hand and starts to twirl you around and you both start to laugh at his antics.
Ever since then he told everyone that you could sing but of course they didn’t believe him so he had forced you to sing in front of the Marauders and your roommates. So every time he was feeling down, you would sing to him to calm him. Sirius would feel triumphant when he would hear you sing to yourself, whether you knew you were doing it or not, and he was glad he could have been the first one to hear you sing and break you out of your shell.
You smile at his question, remembering the time he caught you singing. “We’ll of course my prince,”you respond.
“What song do you want me to sing for you?”
“Can’t Help Falling In Love” he responds immediately.
You smile at his recommendation thinking that Sirius is secretly a romantic at heart.
“You’re such a sap you know that,” You tell him and start to sing.
“Wise men say
Only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you
Shall I stay?
Would it be a sin
If I can't help falling in love with you?”
You start to sing softly.
“Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling, so it goes
Some things are meant to be”
Sirius feels the rest of the tension leave from his body and he slowly starts to drift off.
“Take my hand,
Take my whole life, too
For I can't help falling in love with you
Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling, so it goes
Some things are meant to be
Take my hand,
Take my whole life, too
For I can't help falling in love with you
For I can't help falling in love with you.”
After you finished singing, you noticed that was Sirius snoring softly on your chest and you smiled softly at the sight of Sirius and you kissed his forehead lightly. Sirius smiles slightly in his sleep. You admire him for a little longer before you decide to take a nap with your boyfriend.
James and Remus knew that Sirius got a letter from his mum and they know how his mood gets when he reads them. They spent the better half of their afternoon looking for their friend frantically.
“Come on Moony, we’ve looked everywhere for him, there’s no way he’s in the common room!” James exclaims to Remus while they were walking through the entrance to the common room. Remus spots you and Sirius napping together on the sofa and slaps James’s arm and points at yours and Sirius’s intertwined bodies.
“I think Padfoot is in good hands,” Remus tells James. So as the two walk up to their shared dorm as quietly as they can, Remus finds a stray blanket and lays it on top of the two of you.
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Day off (Javier Peña x F!Reader)
Summary: Javier has had a couple of rough days at work; all he needs now, is some quality time with his daughter. (word count: 686)
Warning: mention of stress, age gap established relationship (~ 20 years), fluff, one use of Y/N at the very end
Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ❤️
A/N: this is for you @theorganasolo, I couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of Javier being the best dad ever and going around with a baby carrier 🥰. Not beta read, will do it asap!
“I need to take a day off,” he shook his head as he exhaled, the smoke from his cigarette hanging midair, “it’s been a hell of a few days.”
You nodded silently and placed your head on his shoulder, his free hand immediately coming to rest on the small of your back, warm and comforting.
Javier was stressed, tired. His brown eyes — usually so bright and attentive — were now dull, surrounded by deep, dark bags; sometimes, all you wanted to do was take him and your daughter and run away from everything and everyone, move to a deserted island and live a simple, happy life, free from all the stress and all the worries.
“And I would like to spend some time with my daughter,” he confessed, “I feel like I’m missing out, she’s growing up so fast…”
“I know,” you looked up to meet his gaze. “I wish she would never grow up...”
Javier put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table, then slumped on the couch, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you closer.
“I’ve decided,” he murmured after a while, “I’m going to stay home and spend some time with my little girl tomorrow.”
You smiled at his words and sat back on your heels, holding his hands in yours.
“You’re a great man and a great dad, you know that?” you whispered as your lips brushed against his; he smiled shyly and his face lit up, it almost looked like he was blushing.
“And you’re an amazing partner and mother, you know that?” he whispered softly as he took your chin between his fingers to kiss you softly.
His lips were so soft and warm, they moved slowly against yours, not wanting the moment to end, not wanting to let you go.
When you reluctantly parted, Javier left a kiss on your forehead and helped you to your feet as he yawned.
“Let’s go to sleep, baby. Tomorrow is another day.”
Coming home from work the next evening, the scene you found in front of you had immediately warmed your heart: Javier was dancing in front of the mirror with your little one curled up inside the gray baby carrier you had bought a couple of weeks earlier but hadn’t used yet; the straps fitted snugly around his chest and broad shoulders while he held your baby’s little hands and made her sway to the rhythm of the song he was humming.
When he noticed your reflection in the mirror, he turned around, looking at you with mock surprise as you approached them.
“Who’s here mi amorcito, mh? Who has arrived?” he asked her as he pointed at you.
The little one laughed and started pawing joyfully, making grabby hands as you reached over to stroke her tiny feet.
“Mommy is home,” you whispered as you took both of her feet in one hand and kissed them, “and you look so beautiful in this floral outfit.” you added, winking at Javier, who was in charge of dressing her up for the day.
“We had so much fun. Didn’t we little one?” Javier tilted his head down and your daughter looked up at him, almost hypnotized by her daddy.
“I had no doubt,” you smiled lovingly, “I find you much more relaxed.”
“I really needed this.” he sighed happily. “Oh, and I also took some pictures to remember this day.”
Heading over to the TV cabinet, Javier took a small stack of Polaroids and handed them to you, impatient to see your reaction.
You couldn’t contain the aw that came out of your mouth once you saw the first photo, a slightly blurry self-portrait of Javier kissing your daughter’s head while she was sleeping in her baby carrier; the background, one of Bogotá’s most famous parks.
The other photos were all equally adorable, but your favorite was the one that was most likely taken by a passerby, the one where Javier was posing in front of a fountain with your daughter in the grey baby carrier. Both of them were facing the camera, her cute smile and chubby cheeks on full display.
In the bottom edge of the photo, written with a black marker, was the following phrase: “We love you, Y/N.”
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i usually just reblog on here but i just figured something out and i needed to tell somebody
i'm almost 100% sure i know how the captain died
(it's a bit long because i included screenshots so prep yourself)
SO i was really bored tonight and because of that i ended up just staring at this bbc ghosts promo pic
and THEN i noticed everyone on the left side had a portrait background related to their character in some way
AND THEN THEN i realized the captain's was foggy for some reason and i connected it to his broken mirror in the intro and i ended up googling brain fog and cracking joints and GUESS what i found?
so in the website i linked i saw those symptoms and granted i don't know a lot of diseases or anything about physical health in general but it's the first time i've seen joint pain + brain fog combined and that's when it all started falling into place for me
the website also shows the possible causes and we obviously don't know enough about the captain to definitively say that's what happened to him but
these all stood out to me specifically because
almost everyone talks about the captain has no visible wounds or marks to show how he died
it was always weird to me in the first episode how upset he was that fanny was interrupting his sleep since. he's a ghost and it's probably more of a routine thing than a necessity. BUT IF HE DIED PARTLY DUE TO LACK OF SLEEP AND YOU STAY HOW YOU DIE....
again we don't know that much about the captain's story but i feel like it would be safe to assume his time living in button house probably wasn't the happiest era of his life
the captain most likely knew he had it, which is why he places so much emphasis on a good night's sleep and solid exercise (running) — the two things that are recommended to combat the symptoms.
honestly i'm not entirely sure about this specific part but i feel like the backwards medals might also be connected to his brain fog and the mirror? he might have been so out of it near the end that he just put them on wrong (the way he saw them in the mirror instead of using common sense to put them the correct unmirrored way)
fibromyalgia itself isn't a fatal illness, but it can lead to an increase in injuries (brain fog leading to loss of control over your body), which might be where the broken mirror comes in (slips and hits his head, dies instantaneously so no marks?)
and again this is just a really quick theory that came to me when procrastinating my spanish homework but this very surface-level history check on google kind of confirms it for me ⬇️
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General albedo cult hcs pls 👉👈
#dust from dust
general headcannons for cult!albedo
warnings: yandere content, yandere cult stuff, mentions of violence, drugging, torture
albedo is aloof, uninterested, for a majority of the time. most of mondstadt's citizens know that curiosity is the only thing than can put a gleam in his eyes, but when they see how he's too lost in thought, there is unenviable affection that pools within his teal irises for reasons unknown. however, it is truly a wonder when he is so taken with you?
he doesn't require rest like a normal human would, but on nights where he feels too complacent with the lack of activities to do, he sits himself down in front of his sketchpad and take a piece of charcoal into his hands. his fingers methodically strike line after line onto the pages, and in his mind's eye, he sees you.
the reason as to how he can see you is unknown to him, but he surely knows how to tap into it to work in his favor. sometimes, he doesn't see your face but the ceiling or a place completely unfamiliar to him; other times, he's blessed enough to catch your visage for a quick moment.
he's done it so many times that stacks upon stacks of drawings and paintings of you fill up the storage of his home, perhaps too much to the point that even klee's scared of the seemingly unsurmountable piles of paper.
before you had been transported to teyvat, he had the routine of picking cecilias and putting them in a vase by his windowsill. as childish as it may seem, albedo has always believed that with this humble offering, perhaps dragonspine would get just a little bit warmer for him to explore or for the day to be fruitful with new information and discoveries by yours truly.
he does the same still once in a while when he gets to visit you in your teapot. he takes with him a bouquet of the same flowers, treated to last longer than the usual cecilia. he gets permission from zhongli to be able to wake you and setting his gift in a vase in your room. the smile on your face from his simple gesture is enough to let him brace the cutting cold of the snowy mountain he resides in for the majority of his research.
albedo likes gifting you things he's made. the alchemist a sucker for handmade presents because he understands the care and effort put into them. he's an artist as well, and what better of a way to remind you how pretty you are than with a lovely portrait of you. he loves to see you get flustered since to him, it means you appreciate his efforts to please you.
he rarely gets into fights with other acolytes, particularly the extremely competitive ones like venti and baal. albedo gets aggressive in his assertion of being one of your favorites, and he gets particularly smug when you spend hours just talking and spending time with him. the blond might seem soft and innocent in your eyes, but there's a silent gloat in his stare when he locks eyes with the other knights of favonius when you come to visit him.
his fury is freezing, very unlike the raging anger of those like diluc or zhongli. if anyone tried disrespecting you, he has absolutely no remorse for them and na exact mirror to the kind if living conditions he's used to. in a daze of annoyance, he might accidentally end up doing something particularly violent, but he tries to keep his animosity with others away from you as much as possible. he doesn't want you getting scared of him, now would he?
instead, he waits for the proper opportunity to bring about divine punishment onto them. he either takes them himself with his alchemy skills, or he has another person that's part of the cult to get them for him-- that job would usually fall onto kaeya who's more than happy to do so. in the dead of night, he pumps them full of whatever chemical or concoction he has in hand, perhaps going as far as mixing them up for different effect. one thing is for certain is that they'll never see the light of day again.
albedo always carries a keepsake from you on his person at all times, and he keeps it even closer when he's close to a breakthrough in his research. at the brink of a discovery, he presses it to his heart and practically writes in a frenzy as he's possessed by the hunger of knowledge. if he has a hard time resting, he clutches it in his hands, close to his face. if it was a piece of cloth that you left with him such as a handkerchief or a shirt, he inhales your scent like a drug he can't get enough of.
he develops this dependency on it where he can't sleep unless he can smell your scent to the point he'd rather move completely in your teapot just to function.
"i can't sleep," he mumbles into your stomach. his hands are wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer in his hold as he tries his best to bury his nose into your clothing. "need you."
you hum. surely aware of his current conditions. you can't help but notice how tired albedo looks with bags under his eyes and yawns bubbling from his throat in intervals. not to mention the way his head bobs ever so quietly in your lap because as much as he needs rest, he wants to be in your presence for even a second longer. your finger card through his fluffy hair and smoothing down the tangles. you pick at the strands.
"sleep, 'bedo. i'll be here." you smile. he pauses, debating whether or not what he truly wanted was to close his eyes and drift off or to keep talking to you until his brain could no longer work. before he can say a word, you insist once more.
he whispers something as his warm breath tickles your skin from underneath the fabric, but it's way too slurred to be deciphered by your ears. you don't even have the time to ask him to repeat it before you feel slump against your figure.
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Some RE: Village Relationship Headcanons?
Saved you from a pack of lycans when you accidently strayed into the village.
Started off on the wrong foot.
Duke: Found yourself in a pinch, haven't you?
Y/N: Fuck off...
Duke: Now, now, if you would rather stay out here and continue to play with lycans and get yourself killed, be my guest... but, if you would rather survive... You'd best change your tone.
Duke: That's better.
He allowed you to stay in his cart until you healed, but started falling for you the moment he got to know you.
Duke: So you have just been wandering all over Europe in hopes of finding a cure?
Y/N: ...Yeah pretty much. I know, it's pretty stupid.
Duke: I wouldn't call it stupid, as much as adventurous. Is that why you found yourself in the village?
Y/N: Yeah... I wasn't planning on being greeted by lycans when I first set foot.... I never properly thanked you for saving me or apologized for how I reacted, I'm sorry about that.
Duke: It's all water under the bridge, love. I'm just glad I happened to be at the right place, at the right time.
Both came to conclusion after the heart to heart that you both were enamored with each other.
Duke: ....Would you be interested in being more then friends?
Y/N: I thought you would never ask.
Loves it when you slip under his arm, get comfortable at his side, and cuddle.
Loves it even more when you give him suprise hugs from the back when he's looking stressed or uncomfortable.
Finds it sweet, but ironic, how much you fret over him.
Y/N: "Are you sure you are not cold? The lycans do not bother you, do they? Are you feeling well? You are not hurt, are you?"
Duke: I'm perfectly fine, my dear. Now you, on the other hand, need to come inside. Your finger tips are turning blue.
Hates seeing you upset or scared, but loves how your first instinct is to grab and hold his hand.
Y/N: I am not scared! Your hands are just really warm...
Duke: Of course, love.
Secretly gets a little jealous when others flirt with you, but he'll never admit it to you.
Will also passive aggressively hike up the price of items for the individual who flirted.
Heisenberg: 900 Lei?! That's ridiculous!
Duke: These have been hard to come by lately.
He knows you believe that even the worst person can change, and he loves that about you, but it makes him sick with worry.
Y/N: Are you okay, love?
Duke: I'm fine, just a little tired. Could you do me a favour?
Duke: Please stay by my side? You are too important for me to lose, and this village is swimming with enemies you are not ready to take on.
Y/N: ... I don't want to be a burden.
Duke: You could never be a burden to me.
He will protect you from everything and anything.
Keeps a lot of books and hobby items on hand for you.
It melts his heart when you give him one of your rare smiles.
He hates how the Lord's like to call you his "pet", but allows it, if it keeps you safe from their wrath.
First time you met, he had trapped you under Mother Miranda's orders.
Karl: Long way from home, aren't we?
Y/N ... I like your glasses, can I try them on?
Karl: Uh.... No.
Mother Miranda allowed him to do what he wanted with you, as she assessed that you were no threat.
He decided to keep you around.
He became enthralled by how bold and eccentric you are.
Realized he had fallen for you when he came back from a meeting with the Lords, and caught you wearing his clothes in the mirror mimicking him.
Karl: I should be mad... But you do a damn good impression and they look good on you.
Y/N: *surprised shriek*
Loves how you only show your soft side to him.
Sometimes, he is taken aback by your agressive side.
Karl: Did you just threaten to choke out that lycans with the disemboweled intestine of its friend?
Karl: I don't think they understand our language-
Y/N: Fear is a universal, Karl.
He loves watching you tinker away with the scraps in his factory and will sometimes animate your creations
He will do anything to protect the childlike wonder you have somehow managed to retain, regardless of everything that has happened
Adores the way you seem to know when he needs a little bit of physical connection.
Karl: How do you always seem to know when to do that?
Y/N: Hmm... Who knows?
When you are sick, he will track the Duke down and pay him double to get medicine from outside the village.
He will often run his fingers through your hair, as you fall asleep.
He will stay until he is sure you are asleep, before slipping out to his lab.
Was given charge of you, after Mother Miranda's experiment on you was a success.
She started off as your mentor, but quickly became fond of you.
Your passionate nature was what drew her to you.
Loves to tailor clothing for you and spoil you with the finest of silks and fabrics.
She loves to invest in your hobbies, especially painting. She will place completed works around the castle.
Being much older and taller than you, she feels the need to protect you from the horrors outside the castle walls.
Y/N: Alcina, I must do my rounds of the village. Mother Miranda will be furious if anything slips by.
Alcina: Nonsense! That fool Heisenberg can do the perimeter check. You still have much to learn before you can go outside, even more so before you can go alone.
Y/N: That's not fair to Heisenberg, Alcina. How much longer before I can go outside alone, anyways?
Alcina: Until you reach my age.
Gets angry when Heisenberg or the Duke share too many sweet words with you. Heisenberg does it to annoy her and the Duke just enjoys pleasant and polite conversations, but it drives her mad.
Loves to steal kisses from you when you are working.
Y/N: Alcina, please, I'm almost done this portrait and then my attention is all yours.
Alcina: Hmmm, it is much more fun to pester you when you're working though.
Loves to use Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela to pry information from you.
Alcina: So... What did you learn girls?
Bela: Y/N feels a little ignored lately.
Daniela: Y/N is out of titanium white and cadmium red paint.
Cassandra: Y/N finds that the scenery is a bit bland and would love to grow some snowdrops.
Alcina: Ah, thank you girls.
Alcina is usually the first to engage intimate moments; hugs, kisses, touches, and more.
The rare moments you engage in intimacy are her favourites.
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how the warriors would handle your death
a/n: scouts version here! writing reiner’s and porco’s made me sad.
reiner: the moment the words left zeke’s mouth, reiner’s emotions would immediately come crashing down. he stared tearily wide-eyed, not knowing what to think or do. all he could do was cradle his head with shaking palms, knees falling roughly to the ground as he profusely pleads for it all to be a lie. he begs and begs, his sobs piercing the air around him as he mourns for the loss of his light. his throat felt tight and his lungs felt empty. as he sits there, the reality of you being gone sinks in further and he finds himself having to place a hand on his heart because the pain was too unbearable for him.
bertholdt: shock is the first thing bertholdt feels. did reiner say, you died? he falls into a stage of denial. but the ringing rhythm of his pounding heart and the quivering of his lips tell him that you truly are gone. he lets out quiet sobs into the sleeve of his sweater and the guilt begins to wash over him. why wasn’t he there to save you? why was it you? why not him? his sobs get louder and he so tragically remembers the comfort of your words when he would feel this way. who would give that to him now?
annie: her eyes go wide and her jaw clenches. tears brim her eyes as they slowly turn dull and lifeless. annie would isolate herself within the confines of her room- once shared with you. she’d often sit on her bed, sheets and pillows sprawled about as she tucks her knees into her chest, hiding herself in the small space that was once filled with your melodious laughter and cheer. she curses herself, and she curses this war-wretched war that took away the love of her life.
zeke: being the war chief, zeke had a mask that he had to put on in front of his colleagues and superiors. but the second he was alone in his room, he lets out a sorrowing exhale, back sliding down to the floor. tears blur his vision and he holds his head tightly. he rocks back and forth, feeling the cold atmosphere of his empty room nip at his sweaty skin. he murmurs soft “im sorry”’s and continuously finds the need to swipe away at the endless tears streaming down his face. zeke doesn’t move from that position all night, eventually falling asleep alone for the first time in years.
porco: pure anger. porco would act the most hostile and rash out of them all. he just can’t control his emotions or actions anymore. he constantly spaces out and appears more intimidating than usual. but the bags under his eyes are a tell tale sign that he is more than just angry. he’s tired, tired of the war, tired of himself and tired of you not being there by his side like you always were. he breaks down in the privacy of his room, finding his anger bubble up again. he trashes the place- flings the chairs, flips the table, breaks the mirror, all while cursing and screaming out grievingly. by the end of it, he hands are cut and bloodied but he tunes out the pain because the ache in his heart is far insufferable.
pieck: pieck goes quiet. she sits down in the nearest chair because she feels her lungs fill up with burning agony. with her face buried in her hands, she sobs. she couldn’t believe it, her heart wouldn’t allow her too. she’s locked herself in her room more often as the days go by, and she takes lonely naps without you to pass the time. she hasn’t felt this way before. she’s never experienced so much pain all at once that she feels she might explode.
colt: always asks himself ‘why wasn’t i there for them?’ he curses himself, ‘i’m a warrior’, so why couldn’t he save you? zeke’s noticed him being less enthusiatic about warrior duties; dazing off, often appearing late, or sometimes not appearing at all. colt’s hands tremble in misery as he clunches the portrait of him and you by his bedside table. he was too cooped up in the horrors of his mind, laying lifelessly on his now too-big bed.
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I've seen a lot of au and I want to do something like this. But knowing my resources, I understand that I will not pull something like this. Therefore,
Creative Yuu Au!
Based on that, there is an easel in the room of Grimm and Yuu. I think that Yuu draws amazing.
What could be better than sitting in peace and quiet, away from all the hustle and bustle of college and errands from Crowley. Mixing paints or choosing the right composition. Find some vintage vintage frames for your paintings. Or even equip an entire workshop for your creativity!!
Definitely a spacious room with large windows and light floors (Light is very important when painting pictures. Therefore, often the floor is light in such workshops) Definitely ghosts helped to choose the best room for this purpose. And they are watching the process itself with sincere curiosity.
When the weather is suitable, Yuu often goes out to planer on the college grounds. Usually, the Grimm always follows Yuu like a his tail. Because she can find such beautiful landscapes that not all students have even heard about it.
Grimm is a fan of warming up and taking a nap in the sun. Sometimes he has the mood to join the art!! But he often gets tired of holding the brushes, and he literally draws with his paws.
Yuu always looks with undisguised childish delight at how Grimm is diligently trying to make a straight line. In most cases, a huge number of prints of his paws remain on the canvas.
Grimm was upset at first that he did not come out as "neat" as Yuu. But he was quickly encouraged by the words that it was "his handwriting"
After explaining the principle of painting paintings in impressionism, Grimm no longer holds brushes and simply leaves his traces on the canvas until he has enough strength.
Yuu always makes small frames for each "masterpiece of the unsurpassed Great Master and artist Grimm"
Yuu asks him to make the signature shorter.
When the days are especially calm, Yuu approaches the ghosts-employees of the college. Asking them to be models for portraits. Because students will definitely ask for payment.
Considering that ghosts are not particularly noticeable in mirrors ( Forgive my ignorance, but I do not know if ghosts are reflected. If you consider that a photo with them can only turn out on Halloween )
They burst into tears at the thought that they could see themselves after several decades. And the fact that Yuu will not take payment from them. Very often, ghosts buy their own portraits from Yuu.
In college, there was almost a serious conflict among the ghosts because of whose turn it was to be a model for Yuu.
Now the prefect of Onboro has a record scheduled for two weeks in advance.
Yuu secretly makes a "manicure" on the portrait of Rosalyn next to the teacher's room. The girl depicted in the portrait was delighted with these small changes that diversified her leisure time.
Rosalyn is now very carefully choosing the design and color for this monthly tradition. A couple of times, Yuu drew her additional earrings or flower wreaths.
Teachers are still puzzling over where this came from.
Rosalyn tells at the "manicure" all the latest news or gossip that she has heard or knows. Sometimes she asks to paint her lips with a certain shade to give Yuu air kisses when saying goodbye.
Of course, Yuu drew all her friends or senpai. And even selected certain costumes for them. Only these albums or paintings Yuu has to hide so that no one sees it, otherwise she will have to pay off the "models", She is really afraid of how they will react.
But naturally, one single person found out about it...yes, the Rook. We're talking about you. He noticed a stack of albums in Yuu backpack while she was walking with an easel and looking for the right place under a tree near the botanical garden.
Yuu was ready to fight to the death just to get her albums out of the hands of a curious hunter.
This stalker showed several Vil...to her great horror..
Yuu had to explain for two hours why she took this or that concept or shade for a sketch or a full-fledged picture. Also with details or clothing.
Vil liked this fresh look, an inexperienced person. And also Yuu has a part-time job in creating decorations for his club.
It is difficult for Yuu to remember a lot of magical information, so she often makes "visual cards" - they were informative and clearly answered the necessary questions. That soon became popular throughout the class.
Ace and Deuce often took them to exams as spurs. It became easier for Grimm to remember.
When Deuce asked Yuu to help with a magic spell.
Wel...........Yuu, to put it mildly, was "perplexed"
She is the only non-magical student in the entire college. Her knowledge of magic was only enough to answer the tests, but not in practice. Help? with a spell? Deuce? Deuce Spade are you sure you're healthy ?
Deuce had to explain to her, seeing her confused face, that he had not hit his head, and this was not a prank from Ace.
The fact is that Yuu imagination is much better and he thought that this could help. The director said that magicians are either engaged in writing or drawing in order to more clearly represent magic in their head.
Plus, Yuu can safely ask for help from others and Deuce thought that this should not be something "bad" if you need advice or a look from the outside. Even despite all his pride and stubbornness.
And so Deuce secretly began to learn how to "visualize" his magic.
At first, he broke pencils an insane number of times. His pressed too hard or even made holes in the papper.
Yuu explained that first he trains his hand by drawing in the "air above the sheet", then he also tries on paper.
Deuce at first did not even understand how you can "draw in the air", but after seeing how Yuu trains to draw a Sigil circle (a magic circle if you want) then he quickly grabbed what was what and it became easier for him to handle the tools. There was also an explanation to make the lines more even, it is necessary to use not only the hand, but the forearm, and sometimes the entire arm.
To help and choose your own style for Deuce, Yuu suggested using simple forms to start with. Circles, squares, arrows or pointers. The simplest thing that could come up.
Deuce literally started drawing a graphic instruction for the spell. With a bunch of arrows and pointers. And so Yuu came to the conclusion that Deuce strong point is fast lines, with strong pressing and sharply outlined.
On the exam, Deuce scored a phenomenal 92 points, falling just a few short of 94, due to a couple of completely stupid mistakes with pointers. He was very nervous and made mistakes when directing magic.
He was so happy and proud of himself that he promised Yuu to do everything she asked. (Usually it was about helping to carry bags of food or small harmless errands) And also did not let her out of his arms for a good 6 minutes.
Of course, he told his mother about it. Good boy.
Ace literally stopped talking to him for two hours that day out of envy and hurt pride.
For Grimm, this is the style of "cat tracks" taking a certain shape at the end. And he also learned to control not to blow out a huge flame at once. And for example, to light small candles. Over time, his fire became much more manageable. But he still has a lot to learn.
Yuu was grateful that now all the firewood in the fireplaces in Onboro does not turn into ashes in just a second.
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Headcannons about the physique of the Sakamaki + Yui (or all the characters if it is not too jlwoqnqloq) i.e. body shape, eyes, lips, skin texture, peculiarities, their body aroma.I really like your account, I just love aesthetic images combined with my new favorite interest (Diabolik Lovers!) 😘🥀
physical headcanons of the sakamaki brothers:
- tall, broad shouldered, and classically handsome
- has the best facial proportions out of all his brothers, with a golden ratio of distance between all his features
- beatrix sure as hell pushed out one perfect looking baby
- killer point: his hair
- it goes ✨floof✨
- fluffs up whenever he washes it and takes a day or two to settle back into its natural curls
- smells of stale clothes, violin varnish and some strange blend of citrus and smoke
- doesn't feel comfortable fully covered or fully bare; always keeps a few shirt buttons open, picks loose but warm cardigans and hates the feeling of socks rolled all the way up his calves
- facial proportions aren't what would be considered perfect, but he's strikingly good looking either way
- the sort of face that gets more and more attractive when you keep looking at it
- has a certain alluring charm - silky dark hair, sharp brows and those blazing red eyes
- killer point: the nape of his neck
- it's baby soft and so smooth it's crazy, contrasts brilliantly with his hair
- he smells of herbal tea and light cologne with a cut of sharp chemicals
- major germaphobe, washes his hands compulsively after touching anyone/anything, his lab experiments involve him measuring one thing and zooming off the bathroom to rinse off any residue before he touches anything else
- looks like the kind of guy every girl would have a highschool crush on at least once
- really sharp features, jawline to die for and the evilest grin ever
- never brushes his damn hair, it's all over the place because he just rolls out of bed and bounds off to commence his morning routine
- which consists of a ten minute pep talk in the mirror that literally sounds like a 2NE1 song
- "I am the best. I am the best. I am. The best."
- smells like axe and idiocy most of the time but his natural scent is that smell that babies have...yeah
- killer point: his back
- it's very toned (god bless all that basketball practice) and has a bunch of little moles on it that he calls his little aya-family
- the Aya family has sixteen members, all of whom he's individually named (don't ask i've stopped trying to make sense of this guy a long time ago)
- listens to bigbang, nct 127 and all the other hype kpop boy groups while getting ready
- before and after school you can hear him screaming along to all the songs
- "CAUSE WHEN WE JUMPING AND POPPING WE JOPPING"
- cue headbanging
- has an autographed basketball from LeBron James that he had to buy using money he'd robbed from the household budget
- protects it with his life and gives it a quick rub every morning for good luck
- he's so lame but so weirdly attractive at the same time
- strange little thing
- he's frighteningly perfect, of course, but there's an air of oddity about his looks
- they're a strange physical mixture between hard and soft; squishy cheeks and big lilac eyes, but sharp, pointed shoulder blades and collarbones, rounded nails but bony fingers, rosebud mouth but razors for teeth
- if you look at him too long it starts to feel like an out of body experience
- killer point: arms and legs
- they're long and supermodel skinny, they remind you of 18th century gothic portraits and look like they'll snap if you lay a hand on them - as a result they're unusually captivating
- smells of all things sweet, with an undertone of something else
- you know that mildewy smell you get from places that haven't been lived in for a long time? like abandoned buildings and old antique shops? he smells like that too, and embalming fluid; if you sniff him too long you'll feel your throat begin to itch
- actually doesn't do much in terms of looking after himself? he'll dress up pretty and comb his hair but that's the extent of it
- weird fact: he's torn teddy open and sewn him shut so many times that he's memorised the stitching - so if anything were to happen to that stupid bear he has all the blueprints in his head to make an exact replica
- i know i clown this boy like it's a six figure paying job but i'll always admit that he's pretty
- like, really pretty
- slanted, cat like eyes in the most vivid shade of green, high cheekbones and silky hair that frames his face perfectly
- actually takes care of himself, has a skin/hair care routine even though vampires don't really need it
- VERY sensitive to smells, makes sure that he always smells fantastic and goes after girls who wear a nice blend of perfumes
- killer point: his lips
- they're thin but beautifully shaped, always supple and moisturized, and the tiny beauty mark right underneath them is just the cherry on top
- he has a way of pronouncing his words that draws all attention to his mouth (he knows this damn well and uses it to seduce girls)
- random headcanon: laito has anxiety (though undiagnosed) that made him constantly fidget as a child. to mask this as an adult, he incorporated this into his perverted routines by groping some part of his prey constantly. but if you pay attention, you'll realise that he doesn't stop after letting go, and his fingers are constantly skimming over walls and tables and the edges of bookshelves, picking at loose skin, fiddling with his shirt buttons - it's almost like he doesn't know what to do with himself if he's not touching something
- this doofus is super pretty too i mean aren't they all
- despite his powerful build, he resembles his mother alot more than he realizes
- as a child everyone used to compare him to karl, but as he grew and his face filled out his similarity to christa became more apparent
- delicate features, paper pale skin and eyes a charming flux between cherry and wine
- killer point: hands and forearms
- veins. all across his fingers and the backs of his hands it's like a wattpad fantasy
- voice deep enough to put corpsehusband to shame
- hair grows crazy in humidity, fluffs up in this angry white cloud and he camps in his room until the humid season passes and he can show his face in the civilized world again
- smells of the most virulent colognes and iron (weirdo)
- random headcanon: subaru had a massive linkin park obsession in the 2000s, his favourite song was catalyst and he had meteora posters completely plastering a wall in his room. when he heard about chester bennington's passing he secretly cried his eyes out and still chokes up a bit thinking about it
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now I’m all about you // s.b.
summary — in which sirius black mends the heart of the girl he’s in love with, y/n y/l/n, who ends up falling for him in the process.
word count — 4.2k
warnings — cursing, I think thats it.
a/n — this is for @ch0colatefr0gs 500 followers writing challenge!! <3 ily mel! This fic is for the song prompt Long Story Short by Taylor Swift // I’m a full fledged sirius girl now and this is officially one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written okay <3
Sirius Black nearly landed straight on his face as he stumbled forward after stepping on the back of James Potter’s shoe. Sirius wasn’t watching where he was going as he followed his friends out of the Great Hall, instead, his gaze was trained on the pair snogging across the corridor; Y/N Y/L/N and Bertram Aubrey.
“Oi! Watch it, Padfoot.” James turned back to Sirius as he yanked his foot forward, but his brows furrowed as he turned back to his friend, zoned in completely on something else entirely. James followed Sirius’ line of sight to the couple across the room and sighed.
Sirius hadn’t looked away since he saw Bertram snogging the girl he was in love with. Y/N Y/L/N, a bright young witch with a knack for helping the marauders out on potions and pranks as she had her own love for mischief. It was fourth year when Sirius fell for her, she stopped them from brewing an incorrectly made potion, inevitably saving their asses from a month's worth of detention.
“Come on, Pads.” James sighed, tossing his arm around his friend’s shoulder to try and guide him back to their common room.
Even now, seventh year and eighteen years old, Sirius Black still couldn’t get the witch off his mind. She was everywhere it seemed, not only did she help with their pranks, but she also became rather close to the group over the years and while Sirius was happy to spend any sliver of time with her, it almost made it worse seeing her everyday and knowing she wasn’t his.
Remus and Peter turned at the huff that left Sirius’ lips, having trailed far in front of the other two marauders. Remus noticed the girl across the corridor immediately and pursed his lips, feeling guilty for his lovesick friend.
“Let’s go, mate.” Remus sighed, coming to Sirius’ other side to usher him towards the gryffindor common room.
As the boys arrived, they all collapsed onto the couch and chairs surrounding the fireplace. Remus pulled out his quill to work on an essay with Peter, while James tossed his head back for a nap. But Sirius sat with his chin in his hands, eyes narrowing onto the glow of the fireplace as his mind raced with thoughts.
He hadn’t even realized his knee was bouncing irritably, it wasn’t until James spoke up that he stopped.
“Knock it off, Pads, ‘M trying to nap here.” James spoke out, not caring to open his eyes.
Sirius muttered an apology, consciously refraining his frustrated jitters from continuing. He rang out his hands next, unknowingly just transferring his nerves to another distracting behavior. Peter and Remus met each other’s annoyed gazes before glancing up at Sirius with furrowed brows. Once he finally stopped, they returned to their essay.
The three of them were sure their anxious friend had removed all his jitters after that, and they all returned to their original activities in silence.
“... Bertram Aubrey?”
James, Remus and Peter all huffed unanimously, releasing their frustrated sighs into the common room. Sirius shot up at their desperate huffs and rolled his eyes, before settling back against the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.
“He’s no good for her.” Sirius tossed his hands up, protesting their whines for him to drop the subject.
“I mean, you don’t know that.” Peter spoke up softly.
“What? And you do?” Sirius huffed, causing a snicker to escape James’ lips at his attitude.
“Relax,” Remus mediated, “All Peter’s saying is you don’t know Bertram.”
“I don’t need to. I know Y/N and she deserves someone better.” Sirius huffed.
“Someone like you?” James pressed.
Sirius shot James a glare, a dangerous side eye despite holding no actual threat. James leaned over to pat Sirius’ shoulder whilst Remus gave him a shy smile. The three boys knew of Sirius’ affections for Y/N, despite it being painfully obvious, it was barely a month after meeting her that Sirius was blabbing his affections towards the other boys. Remus joked that he was starting to sound like James, constantly thinking of the girl whose finger he was wrapped around, and while Sirius still teased James relentlessly, he knew the feeling.
“Hi, boys!” Her voice rang out as she entered the common room.
Despite the anxiety Sirius felt over seeing her with someone else, it was almost instinctive the way his stress seemed to fade away at the sound of her voice. He almost didn’t turn to look, but as his sleek black locks brushed behind his shoulder as he turned his head, he was grateful he did so.
She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She carried herself in a way that made all heads turn, she was confident and outspoken, and brave. She could fight if she needed to, always ready with a quip on her tongue, but it was the softness within her, the bright light that never seemed to go out even in the darkest and coldest nights, that had Sirius Black head over heels in love with her.
Lily and Marlene followed behind Y/N, Lily took a seat beside James, giggling softly when he tugged her towards him, Marlene joined Remus and Peter and Y/N, she took a seat right beside Sirius.
“How’s your day been, Pads?” She smiled warmly.
Sirius relaxed at her tone, there it was; the warm light he had grown so fond of. But a bitter taste rose to his tongue as he thought about answering her, if were to be brutally honest he would say ‘rather terrible, actually, I just watched some bloke snog the brains out of the girl I’m in love with.’ But instead he focused on the sincerity in her eyes and sighed, leaning back to rest against the couch.
“It's been good, love,” He pursed his lips, “You?”
His heart sank as he watched a shy smile rise to her lips, one she tried desperately to contain until Lily’s teasing drew it out of her.
“She’s had a wonderful day, haven’t you, babe?” Lily chuckled.
“Got yourself a boyfriend, have you, Y/L/N?” James snickered.
Marlene laughed from across the room, “She has, he’s a bloody good kisser too.”
“Shove off,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “It’s a new relationship, I don’t want to move too quickly. But… he is quite a good kisser.”
As Marlene squealed in delight, it took everything in Sirius not to leave as quickly as he could, run off to his dorm and splash cool water on his face until he no longer felt the sting behind his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to be near her and not be hers. And while Sirius would give up the chance to call her his if that only meant she would always be in his life, he would give it up in a heartbeat, but he never thought about having to call her somebody else’s.
It had been about one week since Y/N told the group of her new relationship. They had begun seeing Y/N and Bertram everywhere; holding hands in the corridor, eating together in the great hall, snogging in empty classrooms, it seemed like the entire universe was rubbing her new relationship right in Sirius’ face.
He stopped seeing her as much, within just a week he had already started avoiding her, taking new routes to class in order to avoid seeing Bertram’s fingers slotting with her and kissing her on the forehead before class. When he did see Y/N without Bertram she was usually with Lily and Marlene, and far too many times Sirius had passed by just to hear the bloke’s name coming from her lips. It was a tortuous cycle, and on Saturday when all his mates went to Hogsmeade, Sirius stayed back at the castle.
Sirius sat in silence in the common room, a book in hand although no matter how many times his eyes skimmed the words he wasn’t actually retaining any of the story. His mind was too busy thinking of how Bertram was probably sharing a butterbeer with Y/N at that very moment, it wasn’t until he heard a pair of boots stepping through the portrait hole that he looked up.
To say he was surprised to see the very girl he was just thinking about would be an understatement, and especially not with red eyes and tear stained cheeks.
“Y/N?” He rushed from his seat, tossing his book on the ground.
As he reached her he hesitated, would it be wrong for him to embrace her? To hold her like he wanted to when she so desperately needed someone? As she sniffled, trying to hide her tears, Sirius sighed and placed a comforting hand on her back. Missing the way she relaxed into his hold, he led her to the couch and took a seat beside her.
She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, coating the cotton material in salty tears. Sirius felt odd, like he wasn’t supposed to see her like this, for some reason the way she carried herself into the room made it seem like she didn’t want him to see her like this.
Sirius ignored the urge to hold her and clasped his hands, “... You weren’t expecting anyone to be in here, were you?”
She looked up at the sound of his voice, teary eyes meeting his in a fleeting moment before she looked back down. She mirrored him, clasping her hands together as well, and shook her head.
Sirius remained quiet for a moment, studying her, looking for some tell tale sign in to what she needed in that moment.
“I can leave if you want,” Sirius spoke cautiously, “But I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone like this.”
His comforting presence tore down the dam that held back her tears, and with a whimpering sigh she let out a cry and leaned into Sirius’ embrace. He inhaled sharply as she clung to his arm, her delicate hand clutching the sleeve over his bicep. His heart broke at the sound of the sobs leaving her lips, and his blood suddenly boiled thinking about whoever made her feel this way. But it wasn’t long before she shuffled closer to him, and he was brought back to her.
“I’m so sorry, love.” Sirius tugged her closer into his chest and rested his chin on her head. He didn’t know what had made her cry, but he was sorry to her, sorry that she had to shed any tears at all.
He held her for a while, sitting in silence as her crying ceased, and held her some more until he felt her shift in his side. He opened his arms, allowing her to sit back, and he waited with concern pooling in his grey eyes for her to tell him what was wrong so he could fix it.
“What happened, sweetheart?” His voice was low, comforting. He lifted his hand to hold her chin between his thumb and forefinger, raising her gaze to face him.
“I’m a bloody idiot, that’s what happened.” She huffed.
Sirius furrowed his brows, “Stubborn? Maybe, but an idiot? Definitely not.”
She exhaled a soft smile at his attempt to make her feel better, but her faux grin only pained his heart more. Sirius sighed, but he remained by her side, placing a comforting hand on her knee.
“You can tell me anything.” His voice was softer than before, as if not to disturb the peaceful silence in the room.
She inhaled a shaky breath and nodded towards Sirius, “It’s Bertram. He’s an ass and I didn’t see it.”
Within seconds the warmth Sirius felt being in her presence sharply shifted to a raging burn, a distasteful disgust that had him clenching his jaw and swallowing thickly.
“– I guess I was just so caught up in the romance of it all, you know?” She tossed her hands up, completely unaware of the fury behind Sirius’ eyes, “He was cute and sweet, and I completely missed all the red flags. The git only talks about his bloody self anyway.”
She chuckled as she finished, a sad laugh to mask the hurt she felt in that moment, the disappointment, the betrayal. It was all too familiar for the girl who couldn’t seem to find a decent match.
“I actually thought it’d be different with him,” She scoffed, “‘M such an idiot.”
“That’s enough.” Sirius cleared his throat. His deep voice earning him a concerned look from Y/N, she turned with furrowed brows to see Sirius clenching his fist.
“The only idiot is that bastard who clearly couldn’t see what he had right in front of him.”
Sirius softened at the sight of a genuine smile rising to Y/N’s lips, and at that moment he decided he would do quite literally anything if it would keep that smile on her face. However, while he thought of all the curse words he could think of to describe what a blasphemous idiot Bertram Aubrey was, his heart was with the girl in his arms.
He sighed, exhaling the anger he had built up before turning to Y/N and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
“‘M sorry your date was ruined,” He said, genuinely, “But there’s still some time before everyone has to get back, we could still make the best of a day at Hogsmeade?”
Where there was once heartbreaking tears was now a relieving glow on Y/N’s face. Sirius felt the tension release from his chest as she grinned up at him, happy with his suggestion. The thought of spending the afternoon alone with her had heat rushing to his cheeks, and he was suddenly very aware of how close they were.
“We can go now if you want?” He cleared his throat.
Y/N sat up, looking to Sirius with a soft grin and a gentle glow despite the puffiness of her eyes.
“Eager for a date with me, are you, Black?” She quipped.
Sirius felt the air drain from his lungs as he inhaled sharply, the words falling from her lips so easily, as if the two of them going on a date were something she’d thought about before.
“A date?” He hurried after her as she walked towards the portrait hole, “Is that what this is?”
Y/N giggled, the sound warming Sirius’ chest, “Don’t worry, Pads, I’m just joking. I don’t know what this is but I’m glad we’re doing it… thank you.”
She turned to face him then, stopping in her tracks and looking up at him with sincerity. Sirius sighed as he looked down at her, he raised his hand to gently take her chin between his thumb and forefinger, raising her head from dropping in melancholy.
“You don’t need to thank me, I’d do anything for you in a heartbeat.”
She inhaled a slow breath as he spoke, suddenly being swarmed with the familiar flutters in her stomach she got when she met the loud gryffindor in fourth year. She blinked, eyes flitted between his own and found him to be genuine, soft and incredible alluring. She had barely noticed he’d dropped his hand from her face and began walking down the stairs until he spoke up.
“Oh and,” He turned with a subtle smirk, “This can be whatever you want it to be.”
And if his words weren’t enough, the wink he threw her way was enough to confirm it; she was falling for her best friend.
That trip to Hogsmeade was the first of many. Weeks had passed since Y/N’s breakup with Bertram, and while Lily and Marlene were at Y/N’s side offering a shoulder to cry on, constant knowing looks were exchanged when she started seeking out Sirius’ company.
It had become a routine for them at this point, they sat together for breakfast and walked together to class. Even if they didn’t share a class, Sirius would walk her across the castle risking his own tardiness daily, Mcgonagall seeing through his beaming smile weekly.
James, Lily, and Marlene were constantly teasing the two behind the other’s back, dropping hints of affections or trying to stir up something to finally happen between the two, but to no avail. Sirius and Y/N seemed to be in their own little world, and it was exactly how they liked it.
“Alright, true or false, did you or did you not hex Bertram’s head into growing twice it’s size?”
The laughter ceased instantly from Sirius’ lips, as he desperately tried to keep it from bubbling up again. The answer? True, of course. He and James had hexed Bertram earlier that week without a second thought, but seeing the raised brow and the knowing smirk on Y/N’s lips before him had Sirius glowing with mischief.
“I can neither confirm, nor deny–” Sirius chuckled between his words.
Y/N quickly grabbed a red pillow from the couch and swung it at Sirius’s shoulder.
“Answer, you prat.” She playfully scoffed, struggling to contain her own laughter as Sirius wheezed so hard he almost fell off the couch as she swung at him, “You know the rules, Black, answer honestly or test your luck with an every flavor bean.”
She shook the box teasingly in her hand, her brows raised at Sirius. He shook his head humorously, letting it fall back and giving Y/N a perfect view of his jawline and the exposed skin of his neck. She felt the flutters in her stomach once again, they had been getting worse the more time she spent with him. She had fallen deep now, so deep she laid awake at night in her dorm tossing and turning with thoughts of him, thoughts she struggled to get rid of. And while they were all innocent, flashes of his smile and the way he said her name, each one pulled her in deeper.
“Well if I take one then you’ll know the answer.” Sirius chuckled, tossing his hands up in the air.
Y/N laughed triumphantly, “So you admit it, then?”
Sirius quickly sat up, his sudden movement bringing him face to face with Y/N and incredibly close. Neither of them had realized the lack of space between them until it was too late, their breath fanning each other’s lips and filling their individual thoughts with the same feeling.
“I’m not confirming anything, darling.” Sirius winked.
And while mischief still hung in the air, Y/N’s humorous smile faded to one of content as she looked at Sirius, lowering her hand that held the beans. She exhaled slowly, unknowingly her eyes wandered his face, admiring the grey in his eyes and tracing the shape of his nose and down to his lips.
“Y/N.” Sirius’ voice was low when he spoke up, slightly raspy yet soft, like her name was his favorite thing to say, and it was. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth as he felt the warmth grow in his chest as he noticed where her gaze laid.
Sirius noticed the shift in their friendship after that day at Hogsmeade. It kept him awake at night, in the best way possible. His chest ached every time he looked at her, like he could no longer contain the love and adoration he felt. She was so beautiful to him, he always thought she was, but he hadn’t been given the opportunity to see her like he had now – sincere, genuine, heart on her sleeve. It was more beautiful than he was prepared for and every moment he spent with her urged him closer to grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her senseless.
“I like it when you call me that.” She whispered, the words feeling foreign on her tongue as she admitted something aloud she had only thought in her head.
“Darling?” Sirius questioned. He was patient as he watched her unravel before him, her walls crumbling. He blindly searched for her hand in her lap, delicately slitting their fingertips together and feeling his chest ache at the inhale she took at his touch.
She nodded in response, biting her lip to contain a grin. It brought one to Sirius’ lips at the sight of her. He raised his hand that wasn’t tangled with hers and held her chin between his thumb and forefinger like he’d done so many times before, always loving the effect it had on her. His eyes were drawn to her lips, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip, lightly tugging it free from her teeth and watching, enticed as she exhaled slowly.
“Don’t do that.” She spoke softly, a playful tone in her voice.
She fully grasped his hand that held hers, fully connecting their fingers as she tugged him closer to her lightly. He tossed the pillows between them to the ground and shuffled closer to her, tightening the small space between their lips and moving his hand to cup her cheek.
“Do what?” He played along, surprised by the groundedness in his voice, a sharp contrast to the rapid beating of his heart.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, letting her body fully comprehend the effect he had on her. Her fingers felt warm, like bolts of fire shot up her veins straight to her heart just from holding his hand. And his breath that fanned her lips, his hand on her cheek, it was overwhelming in the best way.
“Act like you’re gonna kiss me and then don’t.” She raised a brow, silently testing him.
Sirius’s eyes raised from her lips and connected with hers, no teasing in his voice as he spoke, “I don’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” his eyes flitted between hers, “And, darling, if I start I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”
She grinned softly, in that moment the enlightening and electrifying effect he had on her shifted to one of comfort and safety. Her heart had secured itself in his hands, protected by his love for her it made a decision she was too afraid to.
Her voice, ever so quiet, spoke softly to him, “What if I don’t want you to stop?”
Sirius leaned forward and connected their lips then, pausing at the initial feeling of finally kissing the girl he’d been in love with for years. Her free hand raised to hold his wrist, keeping his hand in place cupping her cheek. She inhaled lightly, breathing in everything about him; the scent on the collar of his shirt, the smoothness of his lips on hers, the tenderness in which he cradled her face, and the confidence in which he held her hand.
Feeling comfortable, she pushed forward lightly, deepening their kiss. Sirius was slow with her, careful not to do anything she wouldn’t be comfortable with and while she admired his actions she wanted him and she was sure of it. She sucked his bottom lip between her teeth, drawing out a low groan from his lips that had her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Sirius slipped his tongue past hers then, and smiled against her lips when she moaned softly. His smile broke their kiss, he chuckled softly as she caught her breath, head spinning and heart pounding. She chased his lips, connecting them in another short lived kiss just to feel him again.
“Merlin,” He sighed against her lips, “I love you.”
She pulled back suddenly, a glow in her eyes as she rested her forehead against his. With adoration in her eyes she suddenly began giggling softly to herself, the sound warming Sirius’ chest while also confusing him tremendously.
“What are you laughing for?” He shook his head, a smile tugging on his lips as he watched her.
“Bloody hell, Sirius,” Her laughter died down as she planted a soft kiss to his lips once again, “I love you too, I just wish you would’ve told me that before I went out with Bertram fucking Aubrey.”
Sirius laughed then, planting a kiss on her forehead as she curled into his chest, “I was a bit busy watching you snogging in the corridors.”
Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, “At least now I know why none of those relationships worked out.”
“And why’s that?”
She leaned up to look at him, biting her lip as she thought of kissing him again, a cheerful thought as she recognized she’d now be able to do it whenever she wanted to.
“Because they weren’t you.”
Sirius stood with Y/N outside charms, savoring the time he had with her before they parted for their own classes. He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before she leaned up and kissed his cheek, turning on her heel to enter the classroom.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius caught sight of Bertram watching the pair of them a dozen feet away. As if a lightbulb went off in his head, Sirius remembered the first day he caught Bertram snogging Y/N and grinned.
Sirius quickly grabbed Y/N’s waist and spun her to face him, planting his lips firmly on hers as she reached him. She moaned lightly, surprised by his sudden affections but enjoyed them nonetheless. She stood on her toes, raising herself to deepen the kiss while her hands brushed through his hair. When she finally pulled back, Sirius chased her lips, his hands firm on her waist as he kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Easy, Black,” She teased, softly planting a final kiss to his lips, “No need to worry, I’m yours.”
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Idea: Because Yuu is poor af and has no items of her own
At first, it started as a small gift, like a pen from a brand Ace really liked and an extra ruler from deuce as they saw that Yuu only had a sparse amount of stationary
Then there was a bag pack from Cater who won it from a giveaway on MagiCam and promptly gave it to Yuu cause he had no use for it anyway
Trey got Yuu and Grim a toothbrush set with matching cups
Then, Yuu received a handkerchief with some embroidered roses from Riddle
“Do I have a sign on my back that writes ‘accepting gifts’ ?”
But it doesn’t stop there as the next gift she receives is an old coat from Jack who notices that Yuu doesn’t have any winter clothing
Ruggie, seeing this, goes along and adds in a scarf he made that was lying around
“Why are you looking at me like that, Leona-senpai?”
Leona seems to grumble something before throwing a fleece blanket onto Yuu’s face
Yuu is seriously considering the theory of an invisible sign on her back
Azul’s face of shock when she said she kept all her money on her was one she’ll never forget and that’s why she returned to her room with a brand new safe box
Receiving yet another gift being a pair of shoes from Floyd that looked really new and expensive as this was one of his older pair of shoes that he couldn’t wear anymore due to his growth spurt
It was also expected of Jade to give something as this point, seeing as everyone else chimed in with a gift and Yuu got a thermos flask that Jade uses often for his hiking trips
Even Grim’s noticing the weird uptick in gifts
Kalim was pretty adamant on giving Yuu a carpet to decorate the dorm and not being able to refuse him, Yuu just thanked him for it
Hearing that Yuu really liked his cooking, Jamil passed her a cookbook he used for the meals with some notes written on how he prepares it, Yuu looked as if she was going to cry right then and there
The ghosts were talking to Yuu about how much the ramshackle dorm has changed from the new additions of Yuu’s gifts
On one of the flying class, Vil came over to tidy up Yuu’s hair with some additional bobby pins he had as he couldn’t stand Yuu’s constant fidgeting as her hair keeps getting in her eyes
Yuu also had a sigh of relief after class as the train of gifts had finally stop, or not
Rook passed a really high class-looking bag to her with a message that it was a gift from Vil and him and Yuu’s wishes were just not going to happened
Looking inside the bag was a medium size accessory box with a purple hue that had a mirror built in and a small amount of accessories like hair ties and pins inside
Epel also passed along apple products from his hometown due to receiving a whole new box
Yuu is getting a reputation from being really friendly with the seniors and the dorm leaders
Knowing Idia’s habit of using an electronic device in place of himself for meetings, Yuu finds it strange that it was drenched in water so she picks it up and dries it before returning it back to Idia
“Hello? Idia-senpai are you there? . . Oh, oh okay. I’ll leave it at the door.”
Ortho shows up the next day in front of ramshackle dorm with what Yuu is dreading to be another gift
“I can’t possible accept this, it’s too much, . .I really don’t,”
So, Ortho just shoves the gift in Yuu’s hands and speeds away, leaving Yuu and Grim to stare into the empty space
Inside the box has a handwritten note along with a watch which Idia says to be one of his earlier models and a thank you
If the trend where to continue at least there was only one dorm left, right?
Sebek was seriously contemplating giving Yuu a portrait of Malleus as he didn’t want to lose against the other dorms in terms of gifts
Silver and Lilia had to talk him down from giving anything Malleus-related
“Who wouldn’t be happy to receive a portrait of Malleus-sama????”
In the end, Diasomnia held a meeting to decide what kind of gift to give Yuu
“I have a feeling someone is talking about me, weird.”
When Yuu sees Sebek approaching her with Silver and Lilia and a huge gift in tow, Yuu has never dreaded living that much
Before Yuu could close the door, Sebek’s loud voice has already called Yuu’s name
There were numerous students behind carrying what seems to be furniture and as Lilia begins to introduce each of them, Yuu feels like she is getting dizzy from thinking of the price of each of the items
There was a wardrobe, a dressing table with a matching stool and a study desk
All made of the finest wood originating from the Valley of Thorns
Yuu doesn’t remember how many times she thanked them and the other thing was that all of them seemed really proud for no reason?
Malleus only hears of their actions after a few days as no one bothered to invite Malleus to the meeting they held to discuss what to give Yuu
He thinks to himself that maybe he should gift something as well, and when he finally realizes it, Malleus was already standing at the door of Ramshackle dorm
“Tsunotarou? Why are you standing there, come in and have some tea.”
After a cup of tea and some treats, Malleus finally asks what Yuu would like as a gift
“It’s the first time someone asked me what I wanted, everyone else just gave me something they wanted me to have. Hmm, how about a small light that doesn’t go out? Like a nightlight? It’s really annoying getting up in the night when it’s so dark.”
Malleus immediately gets to work as he conjures a small metal lantern with a handle at the top, he places just a bit of his own flames within it
He hands it to Yuu who looked quite amazed with the lantern
“If it ever goes out, I’ll light it again for you.”
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A Long List of Trash Fire Lord Zuko Headcanons
...that i couldn't get out of my head:
(warning: SUPER LONG POST i havent figured out how to trim posts yet)
he's the one who unchains azula despite iroh's protests. she doesn't even try to fight him, just cries into his shoulder and keeps mumbling about how father's going to be so disappointed in her. he takes her to her rooms and has her drink a sleeping draught, then stations the best guards he has left outside her chambers.
his first council meeting takes place literally a day after sozin's comet. he hobbles into the council chamber shirtless with his entire torso covered in bandages and every council member just looks at him like '...what'
he does NOT sleep for like,,a week after sozin's comet and then another two weeks after his coronation. katara, aang and suki try to persuade him to sleep and he doesn't listen. eventually sokka, toph and mai team up to literally drag his ass to bed and tell him he's not allowed to get up until he sleeps (does mai pin him to the bed with her knives? yes. is it kinky or sexual in any way? definitely not.)
he drinks So. Much. Tea. at this point it's practically tasteless to him but he drinks it anyway because he just needs something to do and tea is something familiar. he keeps iroh on his toes because he's constantly asking for new tea blends, uncle, i think i actually tasted the last one,
he flat-out refuses to grow his hair for at least a year after ozai's defeat. the second it starts getting close to his chin he shears it off himself, with his knife, and his stylist has a heart attack every single time
when he's tired he'll occasionally jump up when one of his guards moves. it stops after a bit, but for the first month and a half or so he's really twitchy. when sokka asks, the only explanation he can come up with is that he's not used to having people stand behind him silently and not want to kill him, much less want to protect him (sokka immediately takes him out for a shopping trip and makes a point of walking behind him the entire time, but only on zuko's right side, where he can clearly see it if sokka moves towards him)
when the healer declares azula mentally unstable and in need of an institution, he shuts himself in his office for the rest of the night. no one's allowed in, not even iroh. he finally emerges in the morning, eyes red from crying and sleep deprivation, and tells the librarian that he'd like a list of the best mental institutions in the country, please, the best in the world if you can get them
he loves theatre (is this even a headcanon?). unfortunately it practically died out in the fire nation along with the rest of the creative arts, leaving nothing but small troupes like the ember island players. one of zuko's personal goals (meaning things he wants to accomplish that aren't as important as restoring his country) is to bring back theatre; he finally manages to do it after about eight months or so of being fire lord, along with other arts like dancing, music and sculpture
he establishes a national day of mourning, on the first day of autumn every year, to commemorate the genocide of the air nomads. from 100AG onwards, every calendar printed in the fire nation has it marked. at first it was called the day of repentance, but aang persuaded him to have it changed (by arguing that he didn't want guilt to be a literal staple of fire nation culture)
he introduces literally So Many educational reforms, plus a mandatory class that teaches students about the cultures of the other nations (air nomads included) and how some of their traditions overlap
he turns down the offer of having a statue put up of him in the capital. toph ignores him and does it anyway.
he visits azula regularly, makes sure she's (relatively) comfortable and well-fed, and sometimes just sits down outside her door and tells her about everything that's going on right now ('some of the far colonies have developed their own standardised writing, azula, you wouldn't believe it, and i've asked the fire sages to come visit more often—but you never liked them, did you? oh, well; i'll make sure none of them go into your chambers by mistake')
(he doesn't know it, but when he does this azula sits by the door and listens. she wonders what kind of writing the colonists have developed, and whether or not the fire sages have taken on some new recruits.)
he hates being above anyone else. never sits in the throne if he can help it, nor does he sit on the dais in the council room. when he talks to people shorter than him, he finds himself stooping a little bit to talk to them on their level (the exception to this rule is sokka, who he mocks for being shorter all the way up until sokka grows taller than him, the bastard)
the first time he visits the earth kingdom, the earth king's ministers call a toast. he ends up being the only one who has to sit out, because he's too young to drink by earth kingdom law
once his servants figure out he won't kill them for talking to him, they start becoming a lot more bold, telling him off when he doesn't take care of himself. at one point, they force him to let them take care of him so much that he literally just bolts into the gardens and hides there until the staff rope in mai and ty lee
when he needs to escape, he does one of two things: (a) he dresses up as the blue spirit and does some parkour until he calms down, or (b) he goes to work at the jasmine dragon. (b) happens less often bc the jasmine dragon's in ba sing se, but there's been a few memorable incidents when an earth kingdom diplomat walks in and yells, 'LEE?!' when they see the fire lord
the first court artist who draws him also happens to be the one who drew azulon and ozai. he draws zuko without his scar. zuko takes one look at it and tells him, very calmly, that he'd like him to leave, please.
zuko burns the portrait. he doesn't fire the court artist, but he never calls on him again unless he has to. a second court artist is called, and can't help but be a bit confused when the fire lord tells him to be sure to include the scar
he forgets the crown. a lot. sometimes he walks into council meetings in his sleepwear with his hair tied up in a messy ponytail and a bunch of scrolls tucked under his arm. none of his councilmen have the guts (or the heart) to tell him that this is not, in fact, formal council wear
he goes to feed the turtleducks when he's stressed. he thinks he's being subtle. he's not. the entire palace knows, and they consciously give him space when they see him in the turtleduck garden
most of his staff are older than him, so they look at him and see this teeny tiny fire lord who is So Small and who Must Be Protected. the day after zuko's coronation, the head chef holds a meeting where they commence Operation Do-Not-Let-That-Boy-Turn-Out-Like-His-Father (subsection He's-The-Only-Good-Thing-We-Have)
one night he wakes up to find suki sitting in his room, decked out in full kyoshi warrior garb and makeup, and just about screams blue murder. suki tells him there are suspicions of an assassin in the palace, and would you please stop yelling it's very distracting, we won't be able to hear anyone coming over that racket
zuko gets very, very paranoid of random spirits after that. yeah, suki looks like a possibly malevolent spirit when she's wearing her makeup, what about it? (when he tells sokka he's highkey terrified of spirit shenanigans, sokka just looks at him and says, 'man, the stories i could tell...', and THAT'S when zuko remembers sokka spent like six months more than he did travelling with the avatar)
on his first visit to the southern water tribe, he removes his boots and leg guards, rolls up his pants and kneels barefoot in the snow. even though chief hakoda immediately starts trying to pull him up, he's stubborn as hell and stays kneeling for the entirety of his very long, very sincere apology-on-behalf-of-the-fire-nation speech. he nearly loses his toes to frostbite after that, and both sokka and katara never stop giving him shit for it
the first time he grows a 'beard' is completely accidental. he's stressed over some trade miscommunications with chief hakoda, hasn't slept in a few days...and then when sokka arrives as water tribe ambassador to help smooth things over, he takes one look at zuko and says 'man, facial hair does not suit you'
zuko: facial what now
he checks a mirror to find that he's got stubble covering his chin, dark enough that it almost looks intentional, and holy gods how the fuck did he not notice this before
'UNCLE WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME' 'i assumed you were doing it on purpose' 'WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE ANYTHING ON PURPOSE'
he shaves it all off immediately, of course, which prompts a lot of teasing and rib-poking from sokka until zuko finally snaps that he's scared it'll make him look like his father. sokka stops after that.
(the day after sokka leaves, zuko finds that a mysterious someone has scribbled all over ozai's royal portrait, giving him a frankly ridiculous beard and moustache that literally CANNOT be grown in real life. oddly enough, he can't bring himself to care about the defamation of royal property. he's too busy laughing.)
his paths cross with toph and sokka more than any of the others, because sokka is ambassador and toph is technically still a beifong. most of the time, at formal functions, he ends up sequestered in the corner with toph and a hoard of snacks, and they talk and swear much more than they usually do (zuko's ministers once heard him when he was drunk with toph, and the servants swear the older ministers' ears started bleeding)
he restores fire nation cultural festivals, and in doing so subjects himself to learning a lot of complicated dances
during one memorable week, he wrote so many letters and drafted so much legislation that he ran out of paper. he had to go visit the nearest school and ask for some
he keeps up with his firebending and sword training even though it's hard to fit into his schedule. his ministers refrain from reminding him that he has guards to protect him now; it's still hard for zuko to trust his safety with anyone but himself (team avatar is the exception).
he started sleepwalking about two months into his reign. no one knew why. one time, he nearly sleepwalked right off the edge of a balcony, and one of his guards had to grab him by the back of his robes.
the sleepwalking stopped after around a month and never happened again. at this point it's practically palace legend.
after freeing the war prisoners, he went around collecting every single earthbender-proof wooden cell he could find in the capital and surrounding areas. when he'd gotten most of them, he gathered them into a huge pile in the city square and set fire to them with his own hands.
unfortunately he couldn't do that with the waterbender metal cells but he did get toph to come in and bend them all into pretty shapes (well, toph thought they were pretty shapes. everyone else thinks they're meaningless squiggles)
he learned how to write with both hands at the same time out of sheer necessity (he refused scribes until it became clear that he'd be putting some people out of a job; that was when he started letting scribes write very, very minor things, but all important documents/drafts/letters are still written by him)
he once put the wet end of an ink brush in his mouth instead of the wooden end by mistake. didn't even realise until he bit down to keep it in place and ink went oozing everywhere
when his guards rushed in to find him coughing and spluttering black liquid all over his desk they thought he'd been poisoned but no he's just stupid
on his 17th birthday, his first one after being crowned, he got tackled by team avatar in the middle of the ballroom and ended up at the bottom of a cuddlepile for like ten minutes
this cuddlepile happened at an event that was very much public and very much formal. it was a scandal for weeks
just. fire lord zuko, guys. so much potential
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By the Light of the Moon
Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Ghostly Stroll
Walking through a graveyard on Halloween, what a cliché. Happy Spooktober
Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection
Warning: Potential Crying, Mentions of Death
The moonlight shown through the cloudy sky, reflecting in the small puddles left on the paved, damp road.
Aelin liked stepping in those puddles.
She would huff a laugh every time her boot fell in the shallow water, creating rippling distortions to the light before it calmed and mirrored the moon once more. She liked the feeling of the stray droplets of water splashing against her foot.
Rowan didn’t comment, simply shook his head fondly and rolled his eyes with each passing puddle.
There was a chill in the air as a soft, crisp breeze blew through the trees. Aelin listened to the rustling of leaves—the ones that were left anyway, seeing as most had already turned shades of crimson, ochre, and toffee, before blanketing the ground.
As a particularly strong gust of wind lifted strands of Aelin’s blonde hair, now shimmering in the moonlight, Rowan reached across with the arm not entwined with hers and gently tucked it behind her ear.
She smiled at the gesture and leaned closer to her husband, savoring the feeling of her shoulder pressing into his and smiling again as he turned his head to kiss the top of her head.
“This is nice.” She said quietly, “don’t you think?”
“Which part?” he asked, facing her and meeting her blue and gold gaze.
Aelin didn’t answer him right away, instead enjoying their peaceful stroll along the empty road. She pushed a stray silver lock back from his face. “The breeze.” She smiled as sounds filtered from houses out towards the road. “The echoes of strangers telling stories. The smell of a fire and roasting marshmallows.” Aelin caught and held Rowan’s gaze. “Walking this beautiful night with you.”
They kept walking, not in a hurry to get anywhere but just enjoying each other’s company. “It is nice, Fireheart. It’s the best time of year.”
Aelin smiled again as she caught the faint sounds of children giggling as the last, straggling trick-or-treaters collected their candy before returning home. She squeezed Rowan’s arm, keeping pace with him as they strolled farther down the road, enjoying the fresh October air.
“My favorite.” She agreed.
They walked along the familiar road for a while more before the houses disappeared and gave way to a large plot of land housing graves, tombstones, and mausoleums.
Aelin turned to grin at Rowan, and he knew exactly what she was going to say.
“It’s Halloween.” She said as if that was question and answer enough. He supposed it was, but Rowan raised a brow, and she rolled her eyes before amending, “Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Samhain—the sentiment’s the same. But we’re here,” she looked toward the graveyard for a long moment before insisting, “we can’t not go in.”
“Walking through a graveyard on Halloween,” he muttered dryly, but followed her lead as they passed through the creaky metal gate. Its not like he would say no to this, or to her. “What a cliché.”
Aelin snorted and met his amused stare with her own. “You say that like we don’t do this every year.”
The front of the graveyard mostly held newer burials, all polished headstones and fresh flowers. The farther back they walked, the older the dates on the stone became. The organization also became more haphazard the further back they roamed. Near the gate the plaques and stones had been lined up in neat rows, but as asphalt turned into cobblestone turned into grass-covered paths, the headstones were placed at odd angles and spaced at random.
“Hmm” Aelin contemplated, halting in front of a new-looking stone and glancing at the dates.
“No, not again, Fireheart.” Rowan groaned, knowing his wife too well.
“I’m going to say that this woman died at the ripe old age of eighty-seven while posing for a tastefully nude portrait.”
Rowan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little vulgar to make up outrageous stories about the dead?” Then he snorted. “And how would that even kill her?”
Aelin raised a brow at him even as his lips quirked up. She steered them down another aisle. “Are you saying that because you actually think that?” Her tone made it obvious she didn’t believe it. “Or are you upset because you know you couldn’t come up with anything more interesting?”
He scoffed as they landed in front of a stone with slightly older dates. He glanced down at Aelin who was watching him expectantly as if to say show me what you’ve got. He glanced around, making sure one no one else was within earshot.
Occasionally, Aelin and Rowan would spot another person or sometimes a small group of people walking through the graves or staring solemnly at a particular headstone. They would nod in acknowledgment and share a brief, understanding look.
Not seeing anyone, he begrudgingly focused on the plaque and said, “Let’s say that this fellow lived his life in the circus and had an unfortunate fire-breathing accident.”
Aelin laughed, her eyes sparkling as they continued to make up stories.
They kept walking. Every now and then they would hear a bird flying across the grounds or the wind whistling through the trees.
“Ooh here’s an older one.” Aelin glanced at Rowan before nodding, “this one accidentally shot himself with a cannon.”
Rowan snorted, “how does one shoot themselves with a canon?”
“I don’t know,” she rolled her eyes, “maybe it failed to fire, and he went to check on it and suddenly boom.”
They meandered through the aisles and slowly watched as the stones became rougher and covered in moss, the words etched into them barely legible.
The clouds had cleared and now the sky was filled with the light of the fading moon.
This far back into the graveyard, neither Aelin nor Rowan could make out the entrance from which they came.
But that didn’t matter. Not as Aelin kept her arm hooked through her husband’s while they turned down another row of ancient, long-forgotten tombstones.
Rowan stopped walking and felt Aelin press herself closer towards him.
“What do you think about these?” he whispered; voice barely audible above the low wind.
Aelin squeezed his arm. “I think,” she whispered just as quietly, “they lived a long, happy life and forever thanked the stars that they found each other.”
The stones were old. Rounded corners from age and layers of moss were identical on the pair of faded headstones. And even though the letters had long since faded, the inscription was something neither of them would forget.
Go Rattle The Stars. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius & Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius. To Whatever End.
They stood quietly for a long moment. Their humor replaced with a calm serenity.
“How long has it been, Buzzard?” She whispered. “I lost count ages ago.”
A lie. Aelin knew exactly how many years had passed—how many anniversaries, how many holidays, how many celebrations; how many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; how many Halloween nights she and Rowan had made this same trek through the graveyard.
“Too long, Fireheart.” he murmured.
She held his hand even tighter. They didn’t speak again, relishing in their companionable silence and the comfort of simply being with one another, until the moon had almost fully dipped beneath the horizon.
Aelin faced him, a fond smile growing as she placed a hand on his cheek. He still looked as handsome and young as the day she’d met him, despite them having grown old together long, long, ago.
“Until next All Hallows Eve,” She promised.
It wasn’t a thing to feel sad about, nor angry or frustrated. It simply was.
She wasn’t sure how it happened or why, but she and Rowan found each other every year on this night, and she would thank the universe for letting it be so.
“Until next year.” He held her waist as she wound her arms around his neck. Rowan leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “To whatever end, Aelin.”
“To whatever end, Rowan” she raised herself on her toes to kiss him.
As the last glimmers of moonlight disappeared, Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn faded away once more in a ghostly whisper.
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— nsfw // f. reader + (silver fox) t. iida
— slow burn + fingering + oral sex + age gap + virginity loss + arguably self indulgent plot
— written for the corrupt-a-virgin collab | hosted by @seita
— 7.0k words
art galleries pose a threat to heavy hearts.
you are unchained here, standing among glossy prints and polished frames, unbound between shades of pigmented media and charcoal sketches; you are as light as a feather, floating from room to room, taking the time to linger in front of every innovative installation, as if each one might somehow belong to you.
in a way, they do.
you see pieces of yourself reflected all around, like the shards of a shattered mirror that glitter in the light of day.
the familiar, bittersweet scent of stretched canvas and acrylic paint crowds your senses, seeping out of the industrial vents and mingling with the cool air that wafts from the small, contemporary gallery’s open portico.
letting your eyelids flutter shut, you ground yourself, stilling your body and anchoring your mind as you stand between a local artist’s brazen self-portrait and a vividly abstract piece featuring various two-dimensional primary-colored triangles.
the bustling city street outside of the gallery is muffled by the soft-spoken chatter within, and the corners of your lips tug themselves into a loose, non-committal grin as you begin to pick up on the conversations around you.
you hear a single floorboard creak behind you, audibly protesting the weight of solid footsteps.
you hold your breath.
cautioned by the blunt, muted click of oxfords drawing closer with each passing moment, you retreat to listening once more, pushing your lips into a soft, determined pout.
one voice stands out amidst the chatter. it rumbles, smoother and richer than the others, and close - you feel the thrill of it buzz along the back of your hands and between your shoulder blades, squeezing them together while clutching your purse in front of you with a single, outstretched palm.
you can’t help looking, can’t help but turn on your heel and let your gaze flicker from face to face, attempting to place a mouth and a body to that voice as it echoes in your mind, newly familiar, saccharine and sticky, like toast crumbs and sweet bergamot marmalade that cling to your tongue and the corners of your lips each time you indulge at the tea shop a few blocks away.
no one looks quite right at first, and you fiddle with the strap of your sundress, sorting out your thoughts, searching for a stranger.
skimming past the eyes and mouths and smart tongues of women, of children, of men, too old and too young, too lanky and too limber, you begin to nip at the bridge of your lower lip.
surely, he hasn’t left.
how could he?
you look to the ceiling, and surreptitiously drop your gaze back to the gallery’s patrons.
no particular person seems to stand out more than the next, lost in the sea of blues and yellows, of reds and tangerines, of ivory and sage and saffron. you let yourself smile anyway.
that voice lies dormant, though softened eyes track you as you wander away, and you let it be, returning to listening once more, in the unsaid hope that you might hear its smoky timbre again.
an hour passes, or two, or three, and eventually you find yourself in the gallery’s gift shop, teetering on a small step ladder while you trail a curious fingertip along the beveled ridge of a tall display case, marveling at the trinkets caged behind glass.
you peer at the menagerie of small, crystal animals - a skunk, an elephant, a turtle, and a cat, among many others - and stifle a giggle, amused by your own imagination.
their bejeweled eyes hold a mischievous sort of sparkle, as if they might plot their escape and clatter out of the case when midnight comes, and shake the thought from your head, climbing down and meandering towards a stack of painted postcards.
idly fingering through them, you flip from card to card, drinking in lush watercolor landscapes and striking still-life models that embellish the front of each note. one calls to you - a postcard adorned by an oil painting of an aging man, hunched over a newspaper, held taut in his withering grasp.
you tuck it away to the side of the stack, hoping to return to it, and clamber back up the step ladder.
this time, a small, ceramic, navy-glazed bowl catches your eye. it shines, returning the golden glow of the sunlight that pours in through the gallery’s windows, and you imagine how it might feel in your palm; it would sit heavy, cradled by lithe fingers, and cool to the touch, rounded off by the tumbled finish around its rim.
simple, yet euphoric, you reason, and lean in closer. excitable fingertips press against the pane, and your feet shift, toeing at the edge as you stand taller.
you don’t notice that the step ladder is tipping until it’s too late.
“hey! watch out!”
quicker than lightning, a man’s body slams into yours, pitching with you.
on instinct, your arms coil around his neck, and your knees fold towards his hips, hugging your body to his chest as he pulls you away, catching you before you can tumble in mid-air. the ladder folds, clattering to the floor, and despite the noise, and the unsavory stare of everyone else in the gallery, you are unscathed.
instead, your mind whirs, blood rushing to your ears as you recognize the voice of your savior.
“you should be more careful.”
each syllable rumbles in his throat, reverberating in his chest as he speaks, and warmth flushes over your shoulders as you realize the sort of mess you’re in.
his heartbeat pounds in earnest, off-rhythm with the rise and fall of each huff of air, and you allow yourself to pull your face from the crook of his neck, breathing him in without shame.
your hands unfurl shyly, fists loosening from the bunches in his otherwise-pressed navy blue dress shirt. his hands stray a little lower, searching for something more substantial to hold onto as you slip from his grasp, squirming with your legs dangling off the ground.
his palms find purchase beneath your ribcage, broad and sturdy, easily tracking up your sides while thick fingers clutch your waist, still hoisting you up enough that the soles of your sandals hardly brush the floor.
sheepishly smoothing the shoulders of his shirt, you rear back with your palms pressed along the curve of his biceps, finally able to see his face, softened by the slight faraway look that hovers just above the place where the two of your bodies begin to intertwine.
he appears to be about twice your age, handsome, and gracefully worn rugged by time; long, salt-and-pepper hair falls stubbornly into his eyes, tripping over his ears and fading into a clean undercut, while black, half-rimmed monaco frames perch upon his nose.
dark, blood-red eyes return your gaze, stirring up an unfamiliar sensation in your belly, and you shy away for a moment, acutely aware of his hands, and the faint cologne that wafts between your bodies, pressed close despite the space around you.
giggling softly, you find your voice, peaking when the words begin to stumble off your tongue, rolling out like a peach pit on a sticky summer afternoon, while an easy smile draws itself on your lips.
“you can put me down now!”
despite your motion, your fingers linger, curled into his sleeves, unwilling to pull away, with your figure swaying gently in his arms. the cool, smooth finish of the silk sates your mind, and distracts you from the fireworks in your belly, alongside the ones prickling hotly over your shoulders, flaring when he matches your laugh with one of his own, albeit repentant.
“yes! right, down.”
looking back at him and rocking back on your heels while your feet hit the floor makes the loss of contact feel dizzying. your head spins, cloyed with the subtle hint of cologne that clings to your sundress, fluttering under your hands as you smooth your billowy skirt out.
he clears his throat quietly, pinching at his glasses as they begin to slip down the bridge of his nose. the glare of his lenses flares in the sun, obscuring the twinge of concern clouding his gaze as it trails down your body, following the roundness of your shoulders and the soft curve of your dress as the feather-light cotton drapes over your form.
“are you all right?”
his brow furrows, and he meets your eyes once more before you can chirp out a small “mhm!”
warmth flushes your face when you acknowledge him, sure you’re staring just as much as he is, if not more, and you swipe at your cheeks with trembling fingers, seeking some semblance of coolness from your own touch.
peering at him through lowered lashes, you offer a sweet smile, trailing your fingers down your neck to rub lightly along your clavicle.
“thanks for catching me, by the way!” you start. ”it sort of feels like i owe you for saving me from so much trouble.”
pressing your thumb into the divot of your collar bone, you tilt your head to your left, pursing your lips for a moment in thought.
you shift from heel to heel, and when the idea strikes, you reach for his hand, heavy and broad, and clasp it in yours it, impassioned.
“please, let me make it up to you!”
you don’t notice the slowing of his breath.
how could he deny you when your delicate hands were enveloping his, beaming so brightly in the middle of the gift shop, fitting in like a work of art that has yet to be pinned to the wall?
“you don’t have to,” he murmurs, glancing down at his watch sparingly, although he’s much more focused on the sight of your fingers threading through his.
“i want to,” you assure him, already moving, eagerly pulling him towards the gallery’s door. the swell in your heart does not feel like sympathy, or appreciation for a stranger - it’s more, deeper and stronger and warmer, and you wonder if he might feel the same.
a soft chuckle rumbles up from his throat, stumbling after you in earnest through the lobby, with a certain sort of wonder in his eyes, entertained by your youthful charm.
“i suppose i’ve got time.”
if the other patrons are staring, you certainly don’t pay them any mind - not with him there, agreeably falling into step behind you until the pavement hisses beneath the soles of your shoes, unaccustomed to the cool air from the gallery that clashes with the early summer heat.
in due time, he asks for your name, and offers his in return with a sharp wave of his free hand, reasoning that you ought to get to know each other while you have the opportunity.
he mentions his hero work while easing his free hand down the back of his neck, as if he meant to soothe away the light dusting of pink that encroached his cheeks, fizzling on the tops of his ears and crawling down around his throat.
“really, it was nothing.”
you laugh, insisting that he’s too modest, and he shakes his head, smiling good-naturedly.
“there are quite a few other big pro heroes out there. we’re all trying to make a difference, and be great in our own ways.”
the weight of tenya’s palm lingers in yours, and the clasp of roughed-up fingers intertwined with yours leaves you beaming, merrily squinting against the flare of his visage, so fittingly encircled by sunlight.
wandering towards home, you begin to tell him about yourself, humbly supplying small details and amusing anecdotes to fill the otherwise comfortable silence.
he’s quick to respond, intently meeting your exuberance with an encouraging nod or a subtle hum of agreement, careful not to interrupt your complex narrative aside from the occasional question.
even then, he does not pull away, nor does he when the golden, glowing warmth splashing off of the sidewalk sticks to his skin, pressing your hands impossibly closer together.
tenya allows you to cling to him, and you shepherd him along until the momentum begins to fade, idling like the slow drip of honey through a sieve.
an apprehensive hand slips from his reluctantly, and then, the light returns; you’re bounding up the steps of your flat’s small porch, nothing short of radiant while your sundress flutters in the wind, chasing the sweet kiss of the breeze as it brushes your calves and ghosts along your thighs.
your keys jingle, clicking gleefully when you manage to unlock the door, swinging it open. you present it with a playful flourish and a bowed head, nodding in invitation.
you introduce your comfortable flat as home, allowing the door to swing shut behind him before stepping out of your sandals and padding off down the small corridor, leaving only the faint sound of footsteps and a whiff of earthy, sweet perfume in your wake. mirroring your actions, he toes off a pair of dark leather oxfords by the door and steps through your foyer, shuffling along the same path.
passing the pictures that you keep framed upon your wall, tenya trails his fingers beneath them, swallowing his curiosity.
there’s still so much about each other left to learn.
you glance over your shoulder in his direction when he enters your kitchen, leaning nonchalantly against the countertop behind you, and peer at his form in the stark, fluorescent glow of the overhead lights.
tenya remains quiet while the kettle begins to whistle, absently kneading at one thick palm with his other hand, while dark, bristly lashes fall low, swooping down with heavy eyelids.
he watches you tend to the kettle’s shrill screams, humming pleasantly and murmuring, “oh, hush! i hear you,” before bringing it off of the heat.
you lift the top, holding it open to spoon loose leaves into the infuser from the tin canister on your countertop. the clatter of the silver utensil against the can sings your praise in a short-lived cacophony.
flicking the lid shut and leaving the tea to steep, you pop the top of the can back on, and start to rifle through your cupboard.
self-assured, you stand on your tip-toes, straining to reach for your ceramic tea cups and clutching the edge of the shelf with one hand for balance.
your fingertips hook into the cool ceramic edges, and the cups clink, protesting the absence of any distance between them and the lack of the solid shelf that ought to be at their feet.
stumbling backwards and rocking back on the balls of your heels when you return to the floor, you sway, and recollect what had transpired at the gallery, settling the cups on the smooth stone countertop. turning back to tenya, you reach for him, settling a soft hand on his bare forearm and holding your breath when his eyes meet yours.
refusing to shy away, you push further, and coil your arms around his neck, leaning into his body.
this time, you are chest-to-chest by choice.
warmth graces your cheeks again, setting them aflame, and your voice, low and sweet, penetrates the silence of your tongues, whispering just below his ear.
“thanks again for breaking my fall, tenya... you really are a hero.”
broad, tentative hands hover around the small of your back, closing around your waist in earnest as he draws you further against him, uttering, “you’re welcome… anytime.”
you feel close, dangerously so, wrapping up in his arms and breathing in the scent of his cologne that clings to the crook of his neck, like honey and hickory smoke and malt whiskey.
tenya’s fingertips tread lightly across the folds of your sundress, meeting to press softly into the dip of your spine when you murmur his name once more.
in spite of yourself, you draw a shaky breath, and back down.
both of your hands slink towards his shoulders, bunching into the navy silk near his collar.
you can feel the weight of his gaze trained on you, and you look up anyway.
the heat in his eyes simmers, dimming dark red irises to a cloudy crimson behind the lenses of his glasses, reflecting your face in a kaleidoscope view.
cupping his cheeks, you plant a delicate palm on either side of his face, growing warmer with each wavering second that settles between you.
you can’t help but tremble.
you know he’s watching you, reassured by the easy way he parts his lips, and the way his tongue darts out to wet them.
your heart hammers in your chest, pounding like mad as you thumb at faint salt-and-pepper stubble that adorns the curve of his chin and the plane of his jawline as it bristles beneath your skin, tracing his five o’clock shadow.
large, gentle hands climb just below your shoulder blades now, steadying the idle sway of your hips. his gaze drops to your thumbs, flickering between them and your face, peering back at you with heavily lidded eyes.
you take a breath, and push it out slowly.
he doesn’t hesitate.
“can i kiss you?”
your stomach throws itself around inside your belly, churning in anticipation; your throat is hoarse, but you manage, “please.”
then, his mouth is on yours, and the world begins to sound colorful.
the lips sealed atop yours open, ever so slightly, in invitation, and a hungry tongue, in search of a lover, finds yours.
tenya’s mouth reminds you of the experience you lack, sings it back to you and guides you through the refrain, pulling you into a dance that stirs your hips and waist.
his foreign tongue exhilarates you.
warm, heavy hands continue to wander, searing your skin while he kisses you. they seem to travel aimlessly, crisscrossing your back and inching higher, climbing your sides until his blunt nails ghost over your ribcage, dragging along your thin cotton sundress. goosebumps start to peak there, following his fingertips when they sink into your stomach, cupping just below your tits.
you breathe his name cautiously, as if saying it too loud might wake you from this daydream.
two calloused thumbs swipe along the curve of your breasts, just beneath the swell of them, and meet at your sternum, sinking into the flesh of it when he closes his mouth on yours again.
trembling arms slither back around his neck, holding on to him as you lift yourself off of the floor, arching your soles and straining to stand tip-toed while the kiss grows deeper.
you melt like putty in tenya’s weathered hands, easing further into his touch and allowing him to turn you around with the soft utterance of your name. atoning for his momentary absence, his mouth draws nearer to yours, strung together with sweet saliva that clings to your tongues like translucent strands of honey.
thick, worn palms find purchase alongside your face, gently cupping your jawline and thumbing lightly at your cheeks while he ushers you backwards, one step at a time, until the small of your back bumps into the dull, rounded edge of the counter.
he mumbles something against your lips with a smile as his hands drift away from your face, skirting over the thin fabric of your sundress and squeezing just beneath the curve of your ass, only to scoop you up and lift you onto the countertop with a grunt, leaving your mouth to its own devices.
your thighs, warm and trembling, splaying across the cool granite surface and instinctively parting to accommodate his size as he guides your legs into place. his fingertips hook into the soft spot behind your knees, bringing them to settle on either side of his waist as you wrap your legs around him.
arching further into him while your vision begins to blur, you whimper, feeling lightheaded as your body chases his form, squirming and wedged between the weight of his hips and the countertop.
you allow your head to tip back, baring your throat to him as you trail your fingers up the column of his neck. reverent nails card through the short, bristly hair that falls around the nape of his neck, lightly scratching his scalp and shuffling short tufts around soothingly before tangling into the longer, inky locks of silver-streaked hair on top of his head, following him as he dips to meet you, mouthing at your collarbone.
somewhere in the meager, suffocating space between you, tenya’s hands creep beneath your sundress, bunching the wispy material on top of his wrists while deft fingers creep into the space between your thighs.
his breath kisses the crook of your neck, warm and sticky, while a heavy, husky question rolls off of his tongue, tumbling onto the salty skin below his mouth.
“do you want me to stop?”
a wounded, unintelligible whimper claws its way out of your throat, raw and absolutely pitiful.
you can’t let him go.
rough fingertips trace feather-light circles onto smooth flesh, pinching at the soft fat that sits at the tops of your thighs with a mellow hum and a quiet, disapproving tsk-tsk.
“say it for me.”
warm breath ghosts over your skin, tickling your neck while tenya’s lips graze the tender skin that lies just beneath your earlobe. his teeth scrape that sensitive spot deliberately as his hands climb higher, stretching until his thumbs meet, hovering mere centimeters away from the heat between your legs.
“i need to hear you, sweetheart...”
you stammer indistinctly, pawing at the back of his neck while your eyes train towards the ceiling, scrounging for words that sit heavy, strung tight like a knotted rope in the pit of your stomach.
tenya’s teeth scrape your skin, staking a claim on your innocence as they sink into the curve of your throat. broad, practiced thumbs cross one another and press into your panties, stroking down the cloaked hood of your clit, rolling over the bud through thin, sticky cotton. your body jumps, chasing that feeling, and goosebumps rise on your skin as he begins to pull away.
“wait! i - i want it,” you plead, forcing yourself into his hands with a strained whine. “please, d-don’t stop!”
his lips curl against your neck, in a sly, subtle grin over the impression he has made, slick with his spit and marred by the circle of shallow, tooth-shaped indentations in your skin.
“i wouldn’t dare.”
true to his word, he stays close, lodged between your thighs while he gently urges you to lift your sundress higher, bunching it up around your hips - “we certainly don’t want to ruin such a pretty thing, do we?”
tenya crouches in front of the counter, thumbing at your swollen clit intently, inching his way down your body and littering insistent kisses there in his wake. he makes his way towards the floor, stooping until he is eye-level with your sheer, soaked panties, cupped so nicely in his large hands.
he’s barely touched you, and already, you’re seeing spots, arching against warm skin.
they fray the edges of your vision, speckling navy and vermilion in the dim light of your kitchen as your gaze flits around, scampering away from his face with every flutter of his dark lashes.
with your cheeks flaming, you clutch at the cold, stony countertop, kneading your lower lip between your teeth while your clipped nails clatter towards the edge, grasping for some sort of stability as your body chases him in vain.
broad, heavy shoulders rise and fall, pitching with each reverent breath stolen between your legs, and tenya takes two fingers to the puffy cleft of your mound, watching the flimsy cotton barrier cave under each swipe of his fingertips, smearing warmth along the damp material that clings to your folds.
you take what you are given, only risking a peek down at him when an indistinct groan rumbles up from his chest.
his tongue flickers past his teeth, flitting over his parted lips as he stares, fascinated by the responsive throb of your cunt, winking in time with each labored breath you take, visible through your sheer panties.
heat emanates from his body, pouring off of his face and his palms, and he noses closer, mere inches away from the wet, sticky cotton.
a lone digit snakes beneath the soaked, skimpy fabric, peeling it aside and exposing you with languid patience.
tenya takes his time to savor the experience, trailing a lone fingertip through the slick mess, collecting it on the pads of his fingers and pulling away, stretching glossy, translucent goo strung between his upper knuckles.
one beefy finger swipes up a fat, swollen lip, nudging it aside and marveling at the easy gush of your cunt when he runs a cruel thumb along your clit, blowing on it gently, if only to watch it throb again.
he lets that lip go, watches it recoil and stick to your folds again, and pushes a single digit into the shallow dip of your puffy little pussy. his fingertip traces slow circles around the puckered hole gingerly, just barely hooking into the outer lip as he presses into your wet skin.
“you don’t touch yourself often, do you?” he murmurs, hardly expecting an answer past the gravelly syllables that tumble from his tongue.
he hushes the whine that reverberates in your lungs, wholly attuned to the tremble of your thighs, the nervous knock of your knees, and the soft thud of your heels bouncing, hitting the cabinets that rub the underside of your calves with every gentle thud.
“it’s okay... tell me how it feels.”
the gleam of light on his lenses feels unbearable, and the thought of him watching your face, watching you unravel this easily under the pretense of a little more than petting is humiliating.
your grip on the counter speaks for you, straining knuckles beginning to ache while you hold onto the edge, desperately scrambling for the words that won’t wobble off of the tip of your tongue quite yet.
it’s all you can do to return his unwavering gaze with your mouth ajar, lip quivering, watching helplessly as he sinks a rough finger into your cunt, drenching it to the hilt in seconds - your face burns at the sight, having watched your pussy swallow a thick, unfamiliar digit so quickly.
tenya pushes you further, swiping away at your clit, edging a second finger in beside the first, and he bides his time, stretching your panties with a third.
he waits for you to whimper, waits until your breathing grows steady, and drags both digits out until they’re hanging on the cusp of your cunt, licking at the warmth and the trail they left behind.
you’re mortified by his eyes, the sheer tip of his face in your direction drowning you in an agonizing wave of consciousness, though he means you no genuine harm nor judgement by it. your cheeks burn while you move, wiggling your hips and rolling your eyes towards the ceiling, drawing a tight breath before trying to maneuver him back inside of your cunt in one light, feeble motion.
slick, greedy walls clench around nothing, hungrily grasping for that delicious, full feeling again, and he spreads his fingers, splitting and stretching the lips just to watch them peel apart, fluttering in time to the beat of your heart and the shudder of your thighs.
he clicks his tongue, making a show of shaking his head, languidly teasing his fingertips around the lip as they hang onto the edge of your weeping hole.
warm breath fans your inner thighs, ghosting hotly over bare skin, although you jolt as if its kiss feels ice-cold, while goosebumps begin to rise on your arms and legs.
your throat feels dry, and you swallow, searching for salvation in the saliva that pools beneath your tongue, and cave, sighing, “good, ‘s good...”
and then, his hands become fluid.
they pull away and land on your thighs with a gentle smack, kneading soft flesh and dragging you towards the edge of the counter, closer and closer, until his face is sandwiched between your legs. dark, mussed hair tickles your bare skin, falling uncharacteristically askew across his brow, and if your breath wasn’t so shaky, you might laugh.
in a moment of sheer weakness, you make the mistake of looking down, sealing your own fate in a single glance.
you can’t tear your eyes away.
you feel your fingers twitch, pulling at the cool countertop in vain while he pushes your thighs apart before hoisting them over his head, forcing you to accommodate broad shoulders as they settle into the soft curve of your calves, just below the back of your knee.
time slows down, second after second passing in slow motion and dragging by like a fingertip through molten molasses as tenya bows his head, reverently pressing a chaste, feather-light kiss to the head of your clit.
his breath comes out in measured puffs, sucked in and fleshed out in utter restraint, fogging up his glasses’ lenses.
you bring a shaky hand down to cup his jaw, prickly stubble brushing up your inner thigh when your hand rides higher, easing up when you curl your fingers around the glossy black frames.
he raises his eyebrows, peering up at you as if to ask, are you sure?
you swallow, and lift his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, sighing breathily and spread your legs a little further, wondering if he can see the way your cunt throbs when his gaze falls back to the soft, slick space between your thighs.
damp lashes cluster, shading his eyes as he drinks you in, rasping, “thank you.”
a beat passes, then two, and a hot, heavy tongue trails up the slippery slit in your cunt, pressing flat against your clit and dragging higher until its wet, rounded tip nudges the buzzing little bundle of nerves between your legs.
he doesn’t flinch when his glasses clatter to the floor, tripping out of your hands when they fly to the back of his neck, tangling into trimmed salt-and-pepper hair without resolve.
your nails track over his scalp, pulling him in and encouraging him while you writhe, hips hoisting off of the counter to chase his mouth as he sucks one fat, slippery lip past his teeth. his name is the only word on your lips, the broken-in remnant of the woman you had been a mere hour beforehand, and he revels in it.
his tongue dips between your folds, slurping at your cunt with sinking eyelids and a slow hum, pressing two deft fingers against the spit-laden cleft between your puffy pussy lips.
those fingers tease at your slit, coasting over every nook and cranny within an inch’s reach before letting go, tugging at the thin cotton, the shoved-away barrier between an experienced tongue and your sweet, corruptible, virgin cunt.
he snaps at the elastic, pulling it further and further while driving his tongue around the swollen bud of your clit, daring you to dig your nails into his scalp again.
you’re shaking, you know it, and wonder if he feels the bashful tremor in your thighs.
you’re so tense.
“let’s take these off,” he huffs against damp, warm skin, breathing in the scent of your arousal shamelessly. “they’re in the way.”
you brace yourself against the cabinet behind your back gently, lifting yourself a little higher than before while his fingers curl into the flimsy band pinning your panties to your hips.
tenya peels them off, agonizingly slow, dragging the skimpy, sodden article down your thighs and off of your feet, pausing to press gentle kisses along your damp skin. he takes his time, caressing your ankles, your calves, your thighs, and the snug curve of your hips, memorizing the shape of your body and savoring your scent before the warmth of his breath ghosts your pussy again.
this time, he plants a tender kiss on top of the soft mound between his hands, and breathes your name like a prayer.
the sight of your bare skin below his mouth is intoxicating, and you feel the tremor in your thighs grow stronger, consuming you. two thick thumbs ride up the shallow creases of your thighs while his palms lay flat, splayed over your skin to hold you fast. you buck against his hands anyway, writhing and vulnerable while his tongue marbles around your swollen, throbbing clit.
tenya sucks the slick folds of your pussy between his lips, lapping at the juices dripping down his stubbly chin, slick with his own drool as the tip of his tongue delves into soft, spongy flesh.
he’s hooked on the taste of your skin, drunk on it, eyes glazed over and lashes feathering his view as he peers up at you between your thighs.
the flat of his tongue trails your slit, dipping between puffy pussy lips and swirling inside you. every slurp is obscene, contributing to the flare of heat in your cheeks that flushes across your shoulders, thrilling down your spine and tumbling a wave of electricity in your stomach.
a wayward palm climbs the smooth expanse of your belly, sensitive skin crawling beneath his touch as he runs a hand up it. goosebumps rise in his wake, tickling your flesh until he reaches your tits, pawing at you, half-lidded, half-blind, twiddling with one nipple while he stretches you out, scissoring thick fingertips and curling them along your doughy walls, dragging against the spot that leaves your cunt drooling into his hand.
“tenya,” you gasp, “i want - want you inside me…”
the fingers squeezing your nipple falter, tweaking it, and he hums inquisitively.
you’re slurring a little, words jumbled, but you spit it out, “jus’ wanna get fucked -”
his tongue slips between his fingers, spreading the sticky walls of your cunt open, breathing, “yeah?”
it takes a single whine, a feeble “yeah” to hoist him off his knees, stumbling up to cup your jaw in one hand, palm pressed to your throat and teeth grazing your ear while his other hand plays with your clit, thumbing it while steady fingers plunge deeper into your cunt.
“need me to fuck you, huh?”
a whimper bubbles up from your throat, and your hands begin to tremble once more, reaching for his shirt’s collar and fisting the fabric, clutching him to you. the restrained force of his grip makes your heart pound and your clit throb hungrily.
“need me to make you feel good, ‘s that it?”
your lips part, trembling in a feeble attempt to reply, though the words fizzle off of your tongue and the fingers filling you up follow, lolling out slowly and pulling at your clit, soaked and slick.
the cool and empty feeling aches, but the threaded shhk of a zipper and the rustling of fabric makes your head rush, dizzy with anticipation. a buckle clinks, jingling as tenya shucks off his belt, popping the button of his fly and freeing his cock. you don’t dare to look, holding your breath as the swollen, silky head grazes your entrance. he guides it over your clit, rutting into the mess the two of you made gently, collecting spit and slick and precum on the tip of his cock.
it feels big, warm and round and thicker than his fingers - you don’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified, but you drag him in all the same, urging him on by winding your legs around his waist and pulling his hips closer.
“you’re sure,” he breathes, “sure you want this?”
one nod, and he’s gone, angling the fat head of his dick against your drooling cunt, nudging at puffy lips and spreading them apart.
your fingers curl under his collar, knuckles locking while you stifle a squeal, feeling the plum-shaped, foreign object sink into you.
“m’not gonna hurt you - don’t mean to - ”
his grip on your throat intensifies, and his voice sounds strained, though he manages, “tight, s’ tight... ”
tenya lets you set the pace, easing up and telling you to take it slow, grunting when your heels press into the soft spots on either side of his spine - you know he’s watching his cock disappear, watching your cunt gobble him up, watching your tits bounce while you reel him in.
in an act of faith, you let go of his collar, seizing his face and hauling his mouth towards yours. you kiss him, fiercely, desperate for the sweet distraction of teeth and tongue, lips colliding and stealing you away from the dull pain swelling in the pit of your stomach as his cock forces its way into your gummy, giving walls.
tenya slides it in painstakingly slow, catching your lower lip between his teeth and tugging it gently as his cockhead breaches another inch of your cunt, wracking your body with a feeble sob. his fingers had given you a taste of this sensation, but nothing could have prepared you for the burn you feel in your core as the fattened head throbs, warmth reaching depths that you had scarcely known about before today.
a soft groan rolls off of his tongue, dripping onto yours as he bottoms out, extending his middle finger to flick at your clit, swollen and soaked with saliva.
“good girl,” he breathes, mouth leaving yours, entwined by the threads of drool between your lips. “knew you could take it…”
his hands slip down your body, fingers grazing sensitive skin and curling around your thighs, lifting them higher on his waist and cooing out a soft reminder, “breathe.”
and then, his palms ride up your hips, leaving you to cross your ankles behind his back, searching for stability upon shaky legs, clinging to his body in earnest. a beat passes, then two; he whispers your name, and his hands climb towards your waist, fingertips dancing over your ribs idly as he peers down at the place where the two of you meet, watching your cunt swallow the hilt of his dick and push back on it.
you focus on the rise and fall of your chest for a moment, bare tits heaving as your eyes slip shut, allowing your body to adjust to this strange new fullness. tenya dips his head into the crook of your neck, whispering soothing words and kissing them into your skin, thumbing circles into your skin.
your voice trembles, and your fists curl as you mewl, “p-please, move.”
a subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, grazing your clavicle, and he nods, rocking his hips shallowly. his strokes are slow and measured, meticulously matching your breaths, setting a rhythm.
then, he breaks it - his hands drop to your thighs, cupping the backs of your knees and thrusting them towards your shoulders, pivoting his hips towards you, only to pull out, raking wet, milky ooze through your folds before easing back into your pussy. he bullies your clit with the head of his cock first, though, making a mess of it and playing over the gooey, puffy cleft of your pussy.
a light chuckle tumbles from his lips when your head falls back, hair brushing the wooden cabinets and mouth falling open in an unintelligible sob.
“ah,” he murmurs knowingly, sinking into your tight little hole and drinking in your vulnerable, disheveled state with a careful glance. “don’t let me hurt you too much, sweetheart…”
your cunt drools, stretching and squeezing, groping his cock greedily and gushing when he drags his cock out again, letting the crown of it sit just inside of your folds before splitting you open again and again.
hiccups wrack your body, lifting you off the counter with every thud of his cock against your battered walls and every swallowed prayer, numbing you to everything but the fire building in your belly.
it coils there, tight and white-hot, bubbling up in your throat as you peer at the ceiling, eyes glazing over as tenya’s hips collide with yours. his balls smack your ass, jiggling with each messy thrust, and you wail his name as he slams into the spot inside of you that sends you spiraling into nothingness and everything at once.
your toes curl, and you feel like you’re choking on air, smothered by hands that cannot reach your skin, coiling up your neck and snaking around your face, clasping over your mouth and plugging your nose as you drown in him, in his cologne, his sweat, and his rolling thunderous voice.
“that’s it, come for me, milk it out - ”
and you do, clenching around his cock and squeezing, back arching and hips rolling clumsily as you shove him impossibly deeper, trapping him with your calves and pulling him close.
drunk on his cock, mellowed by the haze of your orgasm, you manage to beg, “c-come inside, i want you to!”
cum floods your senses, seed seeping out of your cunt and dribbling onto his balls, slipping towards your asshole lewdly, and he pants, cock spurting sloppily between your quivering, sticky walls.
he clings to you, huffing, and presses an appreciative, wet kiss to the crook of your neck.
he thanks you.
your limp, tuckered-out arms wind around his neck lazily, pulling his face into your tits and tangling your fingers into silky salt-and-pepper hair, lightly scratching at his scalp.
you thank him quietly in return.
standing there, together, in the mess you made - cum dripping onto linoleum tile like wax from a frothy candle - you regain your senses, grinding your cunt feebly on his spent cock.
it twitches weakly, and you smile, kissing his hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. the smell of it lulls your mind into a lucid memory, taking you back to the moment he set foot in your kitchen, and to the scorched tea you abandoned.
he is the first to penetrate the comfortable silence between you.
“would you… perhaps, consider going to dinner with me?”
for the first time, his voice wavers.
“i’d like to get to know you better.”
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The Princess and The Pogue (pt. 10/10)
Pairing: JJ x Female!Reader / Topper x Female!Reader
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: swearing, drinking, angst, mild mentions of addiction
Part Summary: Six months have passed since the events of last summer. Y/N struggles to cope with the pressures of her fully Kook life.
A/N: THE GRAND FINALE!!!! If you cry lmk lol I almost did writing it!!! I hope I satisfy both Team JJ and Team Topper with this ending ;)
Six months later...
You, Rafe, Kelce, and Topper pregame your parent's vowel renewal in your bedroom. It's one of those "backyard wedding" situations. Your classic rock playlist blasts on your speaker. You don't care in the slightest if the dozens of guests downstairs hear it clashing with the instrumental melodies your parents paid the band to play. Rafe calls you over and hands you the bottle of Don Julio. You settle down on the arm of the armchair that Topper is positioned in. He drapes his arm around you, keeping you in place. The burning sensation traveling down your throat shoots electric chills over your skin.
“Okay, one more." You pour another shot of tequila.
“Aw come on, you can do at least three more, Princess,” Rafe urges from the loveseat with Kelce.
“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should…" You breathe heavily, still recovering from the shot. "My parents will have a field day if I show up off my ass to this thing.”
“Maybe it would add a little excitement to this vow renewal,” Toppers suggests, rubbing your back.
“What is the point of vow renewals anyway? To prove to people that though divorce is imminent that the couple is still holding on,” Rafe grumbles.
“Rafe!" Kelce nudges his friend in the shoulder. "Dude, seriously?”
“What? He’s not wrong,” you remark bitterly before downing another shot.
“Y/N! Guys!” Your dad shouts down the bottom of the stairs.
“Coming!” You scream loud enough from your room for him to hear.
“Showtime,” you huff, picking up the bottle of tequila. You take a large swig from it, enjoying the burning sensation. You exhale sharply in a hiss, pondering the pain. “Was that three, Rafe?” You struggle to say.
“Maybe a little over,” he chuckles.
“Perfect!” You rise from your seated position and sway a little.
“Woah," Topper stands up and grabs your waist. "You okay?”
“Emotionally or physically?” You mutter.
“Do you want to take a minute before we go down?” He checks.
“And drag this thing out? No thanks,” you scoff, heading toward your vanity.
Kelce and Rafe announce they'll meet us outside where the party is underway. You stand in front of your vanity, struggling to get your necklace hook through the hoop.
Topper appears behind you. "Ready to head over?"
"Yeah, I was just trying to get this necklace on," you scoff, struggling with the little hook.
"Here, let me," he offers, already taking the metal in his hands.
"Thanks," you mumble, letting your hands fall to your sides.
Once Topper gets it hooked, he places a gentle kiss on your neck and rests his hands on your shoulders. He admires you two together in the mirror as he wraps his arms around you. You tilt your head back, resting it on his chest.
"Imagine, ten years from now we'll have family portraits with us looking like this," he whispers in your ear with a smile.
"Topper! Y/N!" Rafe calls from downstairs. "Are you guys gonna come down or what?!"
Topper sighs, somewhat irritated that Rafe always manages to somehow ruin your moments together.
"I might take that minute if you don't mind," you request.
"Want me to stay?" He checks lovingly.
"It's okay, you go before Rafe loses his mind," you urge him along.
"I'll see you out there." He winks, placing a quick peck on your temple.
"Okay." You force a convincing smile.
You take a deep breath as your eyes fall closed. "Fuck," you swear under your breath. The same jittery, overwhelming, crippling, anxiety races through your veins as soon as you're able to experience it in Topper's absence. It's the same feeling you get when you drink too much coffee on an empty stomach, but you know it's because of your self-loathing and constant sense of impending doom. As you lift your head and open your eyes, you spot the bottle of tequila Rafe behind on the table. You pick it up, taking another swig. You gained a rather questionably healthy dependence on substances in the last few months. One may call it a growing habit, you call it coping with the stressor in your life.
Once you have the right mindset, a mild buzz going, you head downstairs to join everyone. When you cross the foyer, there's a series of knocks at your front door. Everyone should already be here considering the ceremony starts in ten minutes. Then again, it might be Sarah who texted you that she might be running late. You missed her at the pregame, there was a lot of testosterone. Normally, you'd leave the door opening to the servants your parents hired for today, but you'll let it slide since your judgment is clouded.
You swing open the door to be met with Sarah. "Finally!" You huff. Your eyes fall to her clothes and you frown. Sandy shorts and a bathing suit top, not exactly the "black-tie" the invitations called for. "What are you wearing?"
"Sorry! We were out on the boat all day," she explains, letting herself in. "I'm going to go change, can I use your room?"
"Sure thing, please hurry though. Topper and the guys have already had me do a few shots before the guest arrived and I'm not feeling too hot."
"Sarah!" John B runs up your driveway as Sarah disappears upstairs. You forgot you-" He skids stops when he sees you in the doorway.
"John B," you greet civilly.
"Y/N..." he presses his lips together and hands you Sarah's cellphone awkwardly.
You mumble a thank you which is followed by a prolonged pause. You haven't seen the Pogue in months, since... well... that night. "Thanks for dropping off Sarah." You conjure up.
"Sure thing... " He nods.
"How have-" you two begin unison. "You first!" You do it again.
"You look great," he compliments, gesturing to your rose gold satin gown.
"Oh! Thank you!" You giggle nervously, glancing down at the dress. "It was... uh... it was my mom's choice."
"Nice, nice..." The boy rocks on his heels.
"Would you like to come in for a little bit?" You offer.
"I would but uh..." He glances back down the driveway and you comprehend that he likely has everyone waiting in the Twinkie.
"I would say to tell them I said 'hi' but I doubt they're too fond of me." You comment with a faint snicker.
John B's features fall. "We don't hate you, Y/N..."
"I wouldn't blame you if you did," you mean genuinely. "It was good to see you."
"You too." He offers you a weak smile before turning to walk away.
You shut the front door and rest your forehead against the cool wood. Impulsively, you slam your fist against the door, kicking yourself that whole painful interaction.
After taking a few minutes to pull yourself out of the bottomless pit of self-aggression after that interaction with John B, you join the festivities under the large white tent in your backyard. Your parents are already acting like the poster-children for the idol warm and happy couple on stage. They hold their champagne glasses, arm-in-arm, as your dad begins his speech.
You sneak into the seat beside Topper at the family table in front of the stage, beyond the dance floor. You do your best to pretend not to see the glaring eyes of your mom.
“I got you a glass of wine,” Topper whispers to you.
You mumble a thank you, already going for the drink.
"Are you okay?" He worries, placing his arm across the back of your chair.
"Yeah sorry, my mind is kind of jumbled at the moment," you explain with hand gestures.
"Maybe drink some water for a while," he suggests.
"Yeah, yeah you're right," you nod, continuing to drink your wine.
"Hey, do you think after the dinner we could step inside for a minute?”
You glance at the boy with furrowed brows. Sounds ominous. “Sure, why?”
He turns his focus back up to your parents as your dad continues to make cheesy jokes. Topper smirks. “That massive hickey on your chest."
The tangy liquid in your mouth nearly flies out and you cough. Topper snickers, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You grip his free hand. "Maybe we should go right now." Before he can object, you're already dragging him off.
"Where are you two going?" Rhett questions.
"I accidentally spilled some wine on Topper," you lie.
Leading him by the hand, you escort Topper over by the trees, a few yards from the party. You can still your parents thanking and "entertaining" their guests before the ceremony ensues.
“How obvious is it?” You fuss.
“It’s not... your hair hides it,” Topper assures, brushing your hair forward just in case.
“How did you see it then?” You wonder aloud.
“I was looking,” he insinuates, stepping closer to you. Nervously, you step away and check around for any prying eyes. Topper sighs, “if anyone asks, just lie and say it was from your curling iron or something."
"Oh yeah because I have my curling iron near my chest," you scoff. "Let's feed into our parents' suspicion of us," you sass, crossing your arms over your chest. "We need this year of privacy without them budding in. Once they know about us... they'll want to control everything and-"
"It'll be okay, Honey!" He takes your face in his hands. "Promise. No one will suspect a thing." You nod your head slowly, calming yourself down. "I would kiss you right now, but wouldn't want to risk anyone seeing," he winks.
You giggle. "Save it for later."
You two return to your table just in time for one of your dad's many golfing stories. He tells them at nearly every dinner party and you bet twenty bucks everyone here has heard it at least once, but he still gets a chorus of laughter. You finish your first glass of wine in a matter of minutes and Topper waves a waiter over for another on your behalf. You start on that one too, already halfway through when a ruckus starts toward the back of the tent.
"Hey! Paws off the merchandise!" You hear someone shout.
You glance over your shoulder, along with everyone else. Through the heads of guests, you spot John B struggling with security as they bring him up to your parents on stage. Topper's arm around you tightens protectively, bringing you closer to his side. You two could share a chair at this point.
"We can walk, Sir!" JJ barks as he appears in your sight, just as the cluster passes your table onto the dance floor.
The large security men drag John B and JJ along by the arms aggressively.
"JJ..." His name falls from your lips from pure shock.
"Baby, just ignore them," Topper whispers in your ear, placing a hand on your forearm. “Think of your parents.”
You sit up in your chair, leaning forward eagerly. Your heart begins to race and you feel as though a gust of wind has just rocked you out of reality. A wave of emotions ranging from joy to painful mourning fight to be felt. Almost a year has passed since you’ve seen JJ. You figured you’d see him again one day, you’ve never guessed it’d be today. You also wondered how it would feel, if you’d have moved on and coped by then. Six months later, you haven’t.
You don't notice, but Sarah watches your reaction from her family's table just behind yours. Her focus flickers between you and JJ as she quietly begs for him to see you.
"Who are those boys?" Your grandpa grumbles from across the table.
"Just some kids from The Cut, Sir," Topper answers respectfully. "Probably trying to cause a ruckus of some sort."
"Well, they're succeeding," he grumbles.
"We caught them wandering around the grounds, Sir." You hear one of the suit-wearing security inform your worried parents. "This one was watching the party from the trees over there," he points to the spot where you and Topper were just speaking.
"Excuse me?!" Your mom fusses. "Watching us?"
"Don't worry, Ma'am, I wasn't looking at you," JJ answers confidently. Then, he turns over his shoulder and looks in your direction with a smirk.
"Y/N, how about we go inside a second?” Topper suggests, trying to remain calm.
"Yeah, okay..." you mumble absentmindedly as your attention remains on the scene before you.
Topper rises from his chair and offers you his hand to which you accept. He pulls in your chair, ready to escort you inside and get you far away from JJ. He presses his palm to your lower back as you weave through the tables toward the house.
"Hey!" JJ's voice travels through the tent.
Topper tries to keep you distracted, rushing along. “Maybe we should-"
"Hey, Princess!" JJ calls you by your nickname, a name he never used because he knew how much you secretly hated it, but now he's desperate.
You stop in your tracks in the middle of the tent and whip your head around to face the stage. JJ grins.
"Yeah, you! The one in that off-the-shoulder dress that blows everyone else here out of the water. No offense, everyone,"
Topper presses a hand to your arm, attempting to turn you around. "Y/N, I was thinking. Would you want to-"
JJ points at Topper warningly. "Touch my girl again Kook and I'll shove one of your precious golf clubs up to your ass!"
"Your girl!" Topper laughs. "Get over yourself!"
“You Pogue scum have no right to address my daughter!” Your dad insults.
“What about undressing her?” JJ jokes.
Your eyes grow wide. "JJ!"
Your parents' attention snaps up to you. “You know him?!” Your mom questions.
"How dare you speak to her that way!" Your dad barks at JJ.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Pope and Kiara running up. They land on the dance floor and more security appears from behind them, evidently chasing them. The men grab them by the arms, panting.
JJ hops up on the stage. "Actually, could I borrow that for a second? Thank you." He takes the mic from your dad before he shakes his hand. "Hi Mr. Whitfield, you don't know me but I know you. I'm JJ Maybank."
Kiara gasps, "Holy-"
"Who gave that boy a mic!" Pope shouts.
"We're dead," John B huffs under his breath.
"Come on, Baby," Topper tries to pull you away again.
"Good evening Kooks and Kookettes, welcome to the fanciest party I've ever been to! Is this an anniversary party or Christmas at the White House?" JJ begins with a laugh.
"JJ! Get off the stage!" John B urges between his teeth.
Unfazed, JJ searches the crowd for you. "Where is she? Where-" He spots you. "Oh, hello!"
"Dude!" Pope fusses.
"No! She needs to hear this!" JJ snaps.
"Y/N!" Topper tugs your arm.
"Wait!" You plead, yanking your arm free.
JJ keeps his eyes locked onto yours as his smiling, mischievous, features fall. He exhales deeply into the mic. "I figured if I could live before I knew you, be alive during you, that I was capable of living after you've gone! But dammit, Y/N Whitfield," he pauses. "I love you!"
Topper rolls his head back. "Jesus Chr-"
JJ shakes his head, accepting the reality of it all as he sees you face-to-face for the first time in half a year. "I love the way you can dress like Kook but you're a total Pogue! I love how you are with my friends! I love how nice you are to everyone, even strangers! I love how you try to see the best in each person you meet, even the shitty ones! I love how you look in my old t-shirts! I love the way I love how you try to see both sides of an argument, even when I so badly want you to just take my side! I love how enthusiastic you get over the smallest things! I love that hanging out at the Chateau isn't below you! I love that you're the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of when I go to bed! Still! After all this time! Last, I love that the only way I can sleep now is if you're next to me! Even if I may never share a bed with you again! I rather never sleep again than forget how it felt to wake up with you in my arms!”
He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair nervously. "And this isn't to cause a scene or embarrass you! I wasn't even planning on doing any of this! I never wanted to step foot on this side of the island ever again! Then, I realized I didn't want to come to drop off Sarah because I was afraid to see you because to see you is to love you! Now, I'm up here and I realize that I want to spend forever with you and when you want to spend forever with someone you want forever to start as soon as possible!"
Topper grabs your hand as you stare ahead at JJ, speechless. He whispers to you urgently. "Y/N, don't do this, think about how you're portraying your family. Okay, think of how hard they’ve worked to be where they are now.”
JJ hops off stage, handing the mic back to your dad. He jogs up to you, paying no mind to Topper beside you. "I'll give you the world, all you have to do is decide if this Kook life is enough for you."
"Get them out of here!" Your dad orders security before you have the chance to answer.
"No need to shove! I'm going!" JJ holds his hands up in surrender, walking off the dance floor.
"You guys are asshole!" Kiara yells as she's dragged off.
Much to her family’s dismay, Sarah runs after the group to check on everyone. You silently thank her for it.
Topper places a hand on your shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah no I'm fine..." You nod frantically. You watch the Pogues be escorted off the property. JJ keeps his eyes locked on you for as long as possible. "I just... I don't know..."
Your dad rushes up to you, furious and red in the face. "You know him, Y/N!"
"He's hardly an acquaintance, Sir." Topper covers for you in a gentle tone. "He likely did all of this as a prank."
"As long as we never see that group of misfits again!" He warns.
"Completely right, Sir." Topper nods.
Once your dad is satisfied and returns to the stage to apologize to the guests, Topper helps you inside to your bedroom. You request a moment alone in your bathroom and he understandingly waits for you outside, taking a seat on your bed. You take a look at yourself in the mirror as you hover over the sink. You breathe slowly through your mouth, doing your best to keep it together. Then, your mind wanders to JJ and though you try to refocus, you fail. You run the sink to drown the sound you crying. You grip the counter as you slide to your knees onto the tile floor. Hunched over in a ball, you wrap your arms around yourself as you hyperventilate. Your nails claw at your arms, you yearn to feel anything but the emotional pain attacking your very existence. Tears run down your cheeks as you quietly sob.
After a handful of minutes, you finish fixing your makeup and open the door as if nothing happened.
Topper rises from your bed with a worried expression. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just needed to take a breather and touch up my makeup.” You wave your hand, dismissing the subject. You force a convincing smile. Ready to head back down?”
He nods slowly, not fully convinced by your smile. You fix his tie before reaching up and placing a quick peck to his lips. You take his hand, continuing to put on a smile. Inside, piece by piece your heart crumbles and all you see is JJ’s face. You begin to realize that what you’re feeling is heartbreak. You love JJ... but you love Topper too. You can’t say goodbye to Topper quite yet. You need him though you love JJ too. You’re not ready to let go, though you must deal with the unparalleled pain of losing JJ because of it.
"The actual hell, JJ!" John B barks at his friend as soon as security kicks them off your property by the Twinkie.
"You've refused to talk about Y/N for last six months or even come remotely close to this neighborhood then you're here for a max of two seconds and suddenly you're recreating the last scene from When Harry Met Sally?!" Pope concludes in a shout.
"She needed to know!" JJ stands by his actions.
"Know what?! That you've officially lost it!"
"She's with Topper, JJ!" Kiara reminds him of that painful fact.
"Plus, you just performed a grand romantic gesture in front of a hundred people!" Pope adds.
JJ halts to face his friends. "I love her! Okay! I love her! I didn't tell her soon enough before and I lost her!" "I... I saw her and... it all just sorta took over. It all came flooding back. I couldn't talk about her because it hurt too much to relive it all."
The other Pogues stand there stunned, wide-eyed, and surprised.
"You love her?" John B asks what the Pogues are wondering. “Still...”
"Yeah and it sucks!" JJ combs his fingers through his hair. "If I could turn it off I would! She's all I can think about! I review every single moment again and again in my head constantly! She’s it for me, man! The way Sarah is for you! Y/N is it for me! She’s the one and... and I have to live with the fact that I’ll never have her!”
The Pogues stand in silence listening to their friend. Saddened as they watch their friend suffer his first real heartbreak.
Eight years later...
The gallery opening to raise funds for the Australian Marine Conservation Society is in full swing. Your company is a patron of the charity and you're attending as a representative. You're shaking a lot of hands and making even more small talk. Crystal, your assistant, follows you around with a notepad of everyone's names. Keeping in memory the names of over a hundred people you've met at a previous event or over email is harder than it sounds.
After spending a good hour just mingling, you inform Crystal that you'd like to actually look at the photographs and paintings being auctioned tonight. You've been surrounded by art, but haven't had a moment to even glance at the pieces.
"I can put aside ten minutes, but then you must meet Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence, they're fellow patrons of the organization and are on the board," Crystal informs as she reviews your very tight schedule.
"Fine," you sigh. A waiter passes with a tray of wine and you don't hesitate to take one. "Ten minutes tops. You go mingle or something," you wave her away.
Once Crystal leaves you, a deep exhale falls from your lips. Finally, a moment alone. It feels as though you haven't had a minute since you were reassigned to Australia from New York City almost a year ago. You sip on your wine, strolling about the crowded gallery, taking in each enlarged photograph and painting. The theme of the gallery, Enchantment Under the Sea, for obvious reasons. You stop in front of a marvelous shot of a sea turtle swimming with its arms open wide. Out of your peripheral vision, you see someone stand beside you in front of the image. You wonder how someone could get that shot from underneath the sea turtle like that. Do they wear scuba gear? They'd have to you assume.
The music playing throughout the party changes from an instrumental tune you're not familiar with to a guitar melody you know all too well, "Mrs. Robinson."
"Oh, good song," you say to yourself. "Great song," the man beside you comments at the same time.
You giggle at the coincidence. The gentleman laughs and turns to face you. When you glance to the side, your heart nearly stops as your breathing ceases.
"Oh. My. God." You whisper, lips parted in shock. The wine glass in your hand nearly falls to the floor.
A pleasantly surprised smile appears across JJ's lips. "Y/N..." Your name falls under his breath in disbelief.
He looks the same.
"It's really you..." you mumble before you have the chance to filter. For a moment, you're lost in the memories of those summer days so long ago. You comprehend you're starring and fix yourself. "Oh... uh... Hi, I mean," you stammer nervously. "How are you?"
"I'm good! I've been good, and you?" He smiles charmingly and you're reminded of every moment you've ever shared all those years ago.
"I'm well," you nod, trying to keep your composure. "What brings you to Sydney?"
"I'm a freelance photographer now. I'm currently working on a piece for National Geographic," he describes. "I...um... I actually took this photo," he gestures to the sea turtle enlargement you've been admiring.
You raise your brows. "Impressive! That's excellent, congratulations!"
"What about you?" His hand brushes down your arm in a swift glide. "What are you doing in Australia?"
"I live here," you giggle, capturing JJ by even more surprise. "Yeah, for almost a year now, but I’m moving pretty frequently. I'm here on assignment for my company," you explain with a wave of your hand. “I’m an international sales rep.”
"Wow! So, you did what you wanted to do and left the OBX," JJ grins.
"Yeah, I suppose I did..." you comprehend the importance of it as he reminds you. "Same with you!"
"How funny, I guess I stayed true to my word and followed you halfway around the world and didn't even realize it."
"You did, huh," you snicker, remembering your shared promise from when you were just teenagers.
He changes the subject as the thought pops into his mind. "How's Topper?"
"Oh... uh..." you hesitate. "We kind of broke up right after college..."
JJ frowns. "Aw, I'm sorry to hear that."
"Eh, it's okay." You shrug. "We wanted different things, you know? He got a job in Charlotte and I was needed in New York. There wasn't much wiggle room. We remained friends, thankfully! We still talk almost every day. He’s actually engaged to his assistant now, so it was al meant to be." There’s a pause and to avoid any awkwardness you redirect the question to him. "What about you? Anyone special?"
"Here and there over the years. Came close to proposing once, but nothing settled," he describes.
"I'm sorry, that's a real shame," you mean genuinely.
"It's for the best," JJ assures calmly. "Never felt right anyway."
"Miss Whitfield!" Christy calls for you. "Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence have arrived and are over at the bar."
"Yes, one moment," you tell the girl. She nods, glancing between you and JJ before heading over to the bar. You back to JJ with a solemn look. "I'm sorry, it appears I have to go." You reach into your purse and pull out one of your cards. "Here's my number and email. Let me know your availability and I'll have my assistant, Christy, set something up." JJ takes the business card with a slight chuckle. "It was lovely seeing you again," you give his hand a slight squeeze.
"You too, Y/N." He smiles softly.
You part from JJ, focused on completing your rounds at this event so you can be home before midnight. You meet Crystal at the far end of the bar, just a few yards from Lawrence.
"Who was that?" Your assistant wonders aloud.
"An old friend," you answer rather direct as you dig through your purse for your cellphone.
"He's cute," Crystal purrs. "Did you guys ever date?"
"It was complicated...We were just kids then," you huff, finally finding your phone. "I gave him my card so we could set up another time to meet. Preferably when I'm not working."
Crystal wiggles her brows suggestively. "Sounds like a date to me."
Give her a warning look, not feeding into her fantasies. "Just catching up."
"Maybe now... could lead to something," she winks. "Would you be opposed to that?"
"Not necessarily, but who knows, he could be a completely different person than he was ten years ago! I know I am," you chuckle, remembering how entitled and chaotic you were back then.
"Well, as they say, timing is everything and it just so happens you are very single," she insinuates.
"Maybe..." You sigh. "Nevertheless, I have a business to take care of. Now, if you don't mind, I have to go charm the Lawrence's."
"Workaholic," Crystal grumbles to poke fun.
You smirk at her comment and dismiss yourself to begin toward the wealthy couple just a few steps away.
The distantly familiar nickname echoes through the gallery. You haven't heard it since you were in high school. You turn over your shoulder and you spot within the crowd JJ approaching you urgently. You've earned some wandering eyes of party-goers close by.
The boy stands before you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I'm not making the same mistakes twice. Are you free right now? Would you like to have dinner with me?"
"I...uh..." you struggle to form a proper sentence.
Crystal pops up next to you. "She's free!" She states mischievously.
You try to argue the Lawrences, "But the-"
Crystal cuts you off, whispering in your ear. "I'll reschedule."
"I'm free," you tell JJ.
Hours go by as you and JJ sit across from each other on the restaurant's patio. The once-filled restaurant nears its closing time as couples depart. A small candle illuminating your faces as you two talk about everything under the sun. Glasses of wine flow like a fountain as you and JJ cover every detail of your lives from the last ten years. You're seeing another him and he's getting to know the new you. You're not the girl he met that summer before your senior year. You were different people, people who wouldn't have worked out. You felt trapped by your parents and their expectations, believing their opinions were everything. JJ was still struggling to cope with his traumas and couldn’t give the trust you deserved.
You smile down at your wine glass. “We really loved each other back then, didn’t we? Just a couple kids.”
“Yeah... Yeah I suppose we did,” JJ agrees, remembering those days you two spent together during that summer all those years ago.
“Everything was just so complicated... out of our control...” You recall softly as your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You were so sure of us too...”
JJ simply smiles as he meets your gaze, nodding his head gently.
Neither of you could’ve known then, but you and JJ were traveling down different paths that would lead you to this shared place. You needed the time to grow as an independent person, see and experience the world on your own. He had to be granted freedom and means to dictate his own life. Timing is everything.
A year later after your reunion, you and JJ are traveling the world... Together...Happy... More in love each passing day... It only took ten years...
Tags: @starkeythinker @bethii1 @thegunnerkelly@cc13723things@hockeybabe87 @jolomez @plutooryector
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How Much She Loves Him
☆Part: 2 of How Much He Loves Her
☆ Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!reader
☆ Word Count: 4271
☆ Summary: The story of how y/n y/l/n comes to fall in love with her best friend, Draco Malfoy
☆ Warnings: more spice because i know you all wanted it. plus some more possessive Draco and Blaise makes another occurrence :)
Soft rays of sunlight are seeping through the cracks of Draco’s curtains, streaking the walls and painting the air in honey coloured beams. His sheets are ruffled, and the usual aroma of his room is mixed slightly with the delicate scent of sweet perfume.
There’s a breathy moan, a murmur of “I love you,” trickling from his lips as his best friend— his girlfriend, now, he presumes— is sitting prettily across his lap, smooth legs straddling his own as he leans against his headboard, white-blond head tilted back as she presses saccharine kisses to his mouth.
He’s got his right hand on her waist, thumb caressing the exposed skin above her hip and long fingers squeezing the supple flesh. His left is at the back of her head, towards the nape of her neck, and tangled in her unruly morning locks.
Y/n doesn’t reply, but Draco can feel the smile growing upon her kiss-swollen lips as she pauses for a brief moment, letting the words sink in before she is leaning down again, bumping his nose clumsily and reconnecting their lips.
He made it his mission, his priority, to repeat those three words, over and over all throughout the previous night as he ravished her completely. She never said them back, but Draco doesn’t mind. He knows she’s still hurting, still scared to open up and love someone else after Ron Weasley broke her heart. But that’s exactly why he’s here. He’ll ease her into it, show her what a glorious thing it is to be loved by Draco Malfoy. He’ll take the pieces of her heart and put them back together for her, build her up again and make her stronger, the perfect example of what a Slytherin is supposed to be.
She asked to stay with him in the early hours of the morning when they woke, wishing to soak up every second of privacy they had before it was time for her to face the cruel reality that was waiting for her, laying just beyond the confines of his bedroom walls. She asked for intimacy, a continuation of their rendezvous from the night before whilst they still had the time.
And really, how could Draco ever deny her such a request?
In this moment, breakfast is nothing more than a long-forgotten thought in the midst of Draco’s mind, replaced by the hunger that he feels for her instead. He’s addicted now, after having his first taste of her he’s faced with the inevitable realization that he’ll never be able to get enough.
The thought doesn’t even scare him.
Minutes are ticking by faster than either of the two are able to fathom and soon y/n will have to let Draco go. She’s not quite ready to leave him just yet though, she wants to touch him a little more, kiss him a little longer, a little softer than before.
They’re interrupted by a knock, three wraps on the door before it’s opening and Draco acts quicker than a seeker chasing after the snitch as he summons a blanket to wrap around y/n’s body, shielding whatever skin his quidditch jersey adorning her frame didn’t cover— which wasn’t a lot per se, but she was his now and he would be damned if he let anyone else catch a glimpse of what belonged to him.
Both Draco and y/n are looking over her shoulder, the former of the two preparing to hex whoever dare walk into his room unannounced, and is unsurprised, albeit equally enraged, to find Blaise Zabini stood in his doorway, eyes shifting over the scene, and jaw dropping to the floor in realization. He still has his hand wrapped around the doorknob when Draco throws the first thing his hand makes contact with in his direction—which just so happens to be y/n’s bra, mortifying the poor witch ever further.
Blaise ducks out of the way, catching a glimpse of the article of clothing as it lands on the floor and blushing profusely as he looks up at the pair again, unable to form a response.
Draco groans out loud, letting his head fall back against the wall, and curses Salazar Slytherin up above for allowing this to happen right now. He shoots back up, tugging y/n closer to his chest before he’s locking eyes with Blaise again, already fed up with the bloke despite the fact that he’s yet to say a word.
“Merlin’s beard, Zabini! What? What could you possibly need from me right now?”
The boy in question just stands there, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion and his mouth opening and closing, searching for something to say in the midst of his shock. As the seconds go by and the tension in the room is growing increasingly palpable, he manages to shoot his left thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind him as he answers, “I was just coming to ask if you’ve seen y/n...” his dark eyes switch focus from Draco and move to look at her face, “Weasley’s waiting outside the portrait hole, he’s asking for you...” The words are dying on his tongue, fading out and casting an uneasy silence throughout the room.
Draco tilts his head to look up at his witch, his eyes trailing across the love bites he had so graciously gifted to her the night before, accentuating the side of her neck. He observes the way the tender skin of her throat bounces slightly as she swallows, the way her jaw clenches at the mention of the Gryffindor’s name. He takes note of the pout developing on her pretty little lips, still puffy from his previous kisses. Draco could have spent hours just studying her, every move she made or breath that she took, but nothing could have prepared him for what she was about to do next.
Y/n shifts in his lap, straightening her back and twisting her torso so that she is now facing Blaise. Her eyebrows are raised and the tip of her nose is pointed to the ceiling as she finally responds, “You can tell that filthy blood traitor that I’m busy and I’ll talk to him only when I see fit.” There’s a menacing bite in her tone and an expectant look on her face as she orders Blaise on her behalf, yet she does it so elegantly, complete with proper pureblood poise and Draco thinks she looks absolutely heavenly.
She always has been smart. And look at her now, she’s already learning her place. He’s completely infatuated with her, even Blaise can see the pride shining in his eyes and his mouth parting in awe as he looks up at her.
He takes that as his queue to exit, dropping his arm and awkwardly shuffling out of the room as he mutters an undecipherable “right, yeah, of course, I’ll just—“ and then he’s gone, shutting the door hastily in the middle of his sentence in an attempt to escape whatever situation he had just stumbled upon.
When the door clicks into place, y/n turns to face Draco again, and her reaction is instantaneous. She bites her lip cheekily, her y/e/c eyes dancing over his face, taking all of him in before her grin grows too wide to contain the joyous laugh bubbling up her throat and spilling out into the open. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her head is tilted back exposing more of her neck, and Draco takes advantage of the fact as he leans up eagerly to show a little more love to the purple clusters of clouds situated on her soft skin.
As her laughter dies down, she cups the sides of his face and pulls him away gently so she can look down at him again. He’s got a smirk on his face, but it’s gentle in the way that it’s reserved just for her. Y/n presses a final, chaste kiss to his lips before she pulls away and rolls off of his lap.
Draco watches her as she hops off the bed and makes her way on wobbly legs around the room in search of her scattered clothes. Once she collects them all she spins around to face him, an assortment of her fabrics bundled up in her arms, and a timid look on her face.
“I have to get dressed now,” she says to him, and Draco only raises an eyebrow as he stares back at her.
“Then get dressed,” he replies, confusion laced in his voice as he observes her drastic change in demeanour. Y/n stands her ground, clutching her clothes tighter and widening her eyes, the look dawning her face is very insistent, yet Draco can’t figure out whatever for. He challenges her, running a hand through his messy blond hair and giving her a face of indifference. She lasts only a handful of seconds more before she snaps.
“Look away! You can’t watch me get dressed, it’s inappropriate,” she explains, her voice squeaking and face looking so adorably innocent Draco can’t even believe she’s the same witch he spent the night with only a few hours ago.
“Inappropriate?” He questions, choking on a laugh, completely befuddled. “Y/n, we just spent the better half of the night doing the most unholy of—“
“I know what we did, I was there! But that was then and this is now, and now I’m asking you to please, for the love of merlin, turn around so I can get dressed.” Her eyes are pleading, and Draco finally realizes that she isn’t joking. Reluctantly, he drags his eyes away from her body, so deliciously covered by his quidditch jersey, and gets off his bed, facing the other direction so that he, too, can get ready for the day. He hears her behind him, clothes rustling as she puts them on and he fights the urge to take a peek at her through the mirror on his side of the room.
He was raised as a gentleman, after all.
Finally, once all buttons are done-up and zippers are zipped, y/n gives Draco the okay to turn around, and once he does, he sees her folding his green jersey delicately before she places it on the foot of his bed. He smiles softly to himself at the thought of her keeping it nice so that she can wear it again later that night. When she looks back up, she gives him a sheepish smile and he can’t help but give her one in return.
He walks over to her and begins to fix her tie and the collar of her shirt. He purposely positions it lower than normal so that the evidence of their late-night activities are on full display for anyone who dares to look at his girl. “I can’t believe you made me do that,” he chuckles, still playing with the material around her neck.
She grins slyly in response, as if she’s hiding a secret, “It’s only what you deserve after you assaulted Blaise with my brazier.” And the giggle that leaves her is positively devilish. At the sound, Draco snaps his head up to look at her, and is shocked to see her mouth the word ‘Slytherin’ before she pulls herself out of his grasp and dashes out of the room, her giggles being heard all the way down the hall.
That witch will most certainly be the death of him.
They’re headed towards their first class of the day, Draco is holding her hand as well as her bag as they walk through the dungeons.
Draco grimaces at the thought, but is sure to internalize it so y/n doesn’t see. She’s acting awfully calm, glancing around and keeping quiet as she tugs him through the corridors. He’s not quite sure how though, the Slytherins share potions with the Gryffindors, and judging by Granger’s considerable brain and Weasley’s lack of one, he expects both will be present at today’s lesson.
Y/n always struggled with potions, and Draco suspects it’s because she usually sat next to Ron, always partnering up with him and never paying attention. Obviously, Draco was never pleased with the thought of her cozying up to the ginger in class, but she always came to Draco when she needed help, and he was never one to say no to her. In fact, the more time she spent ogling the Weasley, the more confused she got, meaning Draco got to spend even more time with her in the library, explaining all the concepts and techniques she missed during the lectures. The way she would snake her arms around his waist and squeeze him tightly as her way of saying ‘thank you’ when they finished, was almost enough to make it bearable.
Now, however, he doesn’t have to worry about her attention straying too far from the lesson, because he’ll make sure she sits next to him now. He’ll keep her focused, and if he’s lucky, he can maybe even sneak in a few snogs without anyone noticing.
His mind briefly wanders to think about how Blaise will take the news, but he can’t really bring himself to care.
Zabini will just have to find himself a new partner.
Before Draco knows it, y/n is pulling him through the arch as they enter the classroom, most students already occupying their seats. She stops abruptly, however, when her eyes fall on her now ex-boyfriend, sitting in his usual seat, slumped over his desk and gazing at the board at the front of the room. The seat next to him is still empty, as if he actually expects her to be the one to fill it, even as Hermione Granger, in all her bushy-haired glory, is sitting in the row in front of him, scribbling down what she presumes to be completely perfect notes on her parchment.
As the sound of her footsteps halt, Ron turns to look at her, his eyes softening immediately upon landing on her frame. He looks at her pleadingly, guilt evident in the form of lavender rings beneath red-rimmed eyes, until his gaze falls on wrinkled robes, blushing cheeks, and bloody hickeys on her neck. His brows furrow, and y/n isn’t sure if it’s from anger or confusion, but it makes her feel better all the same.
Ron doesn’t even notice Draco standing behind her until he nudges her forward gently, pulling her out of her thoughts before she begins making her way to a pair of empty seats on the left side of the room, tugging him with her by their intertwined fingers.
When Draco is confident she has no intention of looking back at the ginger, he casts a glance over his shoulder, grinning smugly at the Weasel, and shoots him a cheeky wink. He turns back around immediately, not looking long enough to see his reaction, but Draco can already picture his eyes narrowed into slits and the scowl on his face, similar to the one he received in the courtyard just the day before.
Once they sit down, y/n takes her bag from him and begins arranging all of her materials on the desk in front of her. Draco is watching her fondly, chin in the palm of his hand as he admires her and all that she is. He hears harsh whispers coming from the row next to him, and so he turns his head to the right, eyes locking on a visibly shocked Hermione Granger. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is parted open slightly, but she looks back down at her notes as soon as she realizes she’s been caught. Ron and Harry, however, don’t appear to have the same courtesy as they stare unashamedly, leaning towards each other and speaking quietly, trying to figure out what the bloody hell is going on.
Their actions do nothing more than bring a smirk to Draco’s face.
By now, Slughorn has already started the lesson, drawing on about advanced potions, and liquid luck. Draco doesn’t even need to pay attention, he’s not daft. He can brew a bloody perfect potion with his eyes closed, giving even that swot Granger a run for her money.
Y/n, however, is writing down her notes as fast as she can, fresh ink smudging all over the page as well as her hand. Draco catches the anxious look spreading across her features as she tries so hard to understand everything their Professor is teaching. He feels a tug at his heart when she looks at him and he sees the tears in her eyes.
Doesn’t she know that he’ll help her?
When Slughorn is finished babbling, all the students stand, preparing to brew their potion. Most have gone to fetch their ingredients, and Draco takes the opportunity to pull y/n into his arms, cupping her face and wiping away her fallen tears with soft strokes of his thumbs. Even when she was crying she looked so beautiful. Weasley really was an idiot.
He leans down slightly, bringing his face closer to hers as he whispers, gently, “Why are you crying, pretty girl?”
She only shakes her head, refusing to meet his eyes, and instead keeps her gaze fixed on the ceiling in an attempt to stop more tears from cascading. “I’m not cut out for this, Draco, I can’t do it! I bet that’s why he picked Hermione over me, she’s brilliant and I’m so stupid. I make too many mistakes and I—“
“The only mistake you’ve ever made was falling for that stupid git in the first place,” Draco reassures her. “You’re not bad at potions, you’ve just always had an imbecile of a partner. Now you have me and I’m going to make it all better. When we get a perfect score on this assignment you can even rub it in Granger’s face.” She laughs at that, looking up at him in adoration. “I’m so in love with you,” he says softly, still holding her face. “I want to help, I just need you to trust me.”
His words have her unravelling, melting completely into his touch and looking at him as though he had put the stars in her sky. She nods her head, a silent devotion that she will indeed trust him completely, and flashes him a small, but content smile.
He’s happy with her response and, before he leaves her to collect their own ingredients, he presses a petal-soft kiss to her cheek, parting from her with a promise that he’ll be right back.
As y/n waits for Draco to return, a charmed piece of parchment, folded and concealing the ink pressed between its creases, floats across the room, over her head, and lands delicately on her desk. She doesn’t even have to look to know who’s sent it to her, she can practically feel herself drowning in the stare of his ocean blue eyes. She reaches for it, hesitantly of course, and unfolds it slowly, revealing a short message that has her burning up, strung together with large and loopy letters.
Please talk to me, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you, I promise. I love you so much, please.
She swallows bitterly, folding the paper back up and turns to look at Ron. Just as she predicted, he’s already looking at her, a hopeful expression lighting up his features. Her own, however, remain stoic, and she raises her hand holding the parchment higher so he can see.
And then she sets it on fire, burning it to ash in the palm of her hand as she watches the flames in his eyes die out, taking any hope he had at a second chance with it.
Her eyes sparkle with malicious gratification.
Weasley down, Granger to go.
True to his word, when Draco comes back, he shows her everything she needs to know. He stands behind her, chin resting on her shoulder as his arms wrap around her, guiding her movements as he helps her prepare each of the ingredients. He shows her what to cut, what to crush, and the art of stirring counterclockwise. When she looks around, she sees other witches and wizards at their stations, struggling immensely, and brewing catastrophes. The only other person who seems to know what they’re doing is Harry Potter himself, eyes glued to his worn and tattered textbook.
Ron appears to have already given up, looking solemnly at his bubbling solution. Even Hermione can’t seem to get the potion right, her already bushy mane frizzing out entirely from the stress and gnawing on her bottom lip as she stirs excessively as a means to try and save it.
Potions never has been so fun.
Y/n finishes first with Draco, a perfect draught boiling in their cauldron. Professor Slughorn shuffles over, observing their work, and just like Draco said, grants them a perfect mark before he calls out the end of the class.
When all ingredients are put away, y/n spots Hermione at her own desk, packing up her things and putting them in her bag, a distraught look on her face.
And really, she could have waited to deliver the strike. The witch is probably already emotional over her fail, she didn’t need to make her day any worse. But then she thinks it over again and she decides that yes.
She most certainly does.
And so, y/n parts from Draco, only for a moment as she struts over to Hermione. She places a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it empathetically and startling the Gryffindor as she nearly jumps out of her shoes. Hermione snaps her head up, chocolate coloured eyes peering into y/n’s own, a wild storm of apologies swirling beneath her irises as she waits, nervously, for the Slytherin princess to say something to her.
Y/n gives her half of a smile, one side of her lips curving up enough to look convincing. “It’s okay Hermione, you don’t need to be upset,” she pauses for a moment, letting the anticipation soak in, and then “None of us expected anything more from you, you are muggle-born, after all.”
Hermione’s features darken, pulling her shoulder out of y/n’s grasp, her eyebrows drawing in. “And what is that supposed to mean?” She challenges, an unrefined edge in her tone.
“Oh, nothing,” y/n muses playfully before continuing, “Only exactly what I said.” And the grin on her face is dripping venom in a way that would make Umbridge proud. She spins around swiftly, skipping over to Draco, taking his hand and leading him out of the class as she laughs gloriously down the corridors.
This was going to be fun.
One month later, Draco has y/n tucked into his side, supplying her with warmth as they recover from the December chill after making their way through Hogsmede. They’re sitting in the Three Broomsticks after Draco managed to snag them a booth in the corner of the shoppe, hidden away from any other students enjoying their last nights before winter break.
Her cheeks and her nose are frosted a rosy red, snowflakes are sprinkled in her hair. She’s wearing his green and silver striped scarf, wrapped around her neck and a matching set of mittens cover her hands. She’s bundled up entirely, and even as a fire roars close by, she still needs her boyfriend’s cuddles to keep her warm.
His lips are pressed to hers, and she tastes like the butterbeer he bought for her only minutes before. She had foam on her upper lip when she pulled away from the glass, and she looked up at him, stars in her eyes and gratefulness written in her smile.
Sweet Merlin, she looked absolutely perfect.
When he kisses her, the foam dissolves and he smiles against her lips. She whimpers for him, gloved fingers sneaking their way into his hair and tugging him back down to her. Draco moans against her, his hand coming up to caress her jaw, applying the slightest amount of pressure against her neck.
She smells as sweet as she tastes, and the feeling of her lips on his has Draco nearly ascending, even after snogging the life out of her every day for the past month.
Loving her is like a drug, he’s infatuated, addicted, intoxicated by her and all that she is. He’s holding her tight, he’ll never let her go, he’s completely smitten with her.
It’s the same thing every time he kisses her, the same thought running over and over on a loop inside his head.
He loves her, he loves her, he loves her, he—
“I love you,” y/n says, hands now gripping the lapels of his tailored suit jacket and breathing heavily as she stares into his dilating grey eyes. Her hands are shaking and she’s biting her lip nervously. It’s the first time she’s said it, and even though Draco has been prepping himself for this very moment for literal years, the fact that it’s finally happening has him frozen in his seat.
He takes a moment, chest heaving just as much as hers, and then he’s leaning down, grasping the sides of her face with both of his hands and pressing his forehead to hers. “Say it again,” he begs, voice quiet and desperate.
“I love you,” she says again, leaving her mouth as a breathy sigh.
Y/n laughs loudly, nudging her nose against his and pecking his lips softly. “I love you, Draco.”
And he was right that morning as they laid in his bed, sun shining in his room, indulging in each other and forgetting the rest of the world.
He’ll never be able to get enough.
Tags: @pillowjj @goddessofgames @loverainyclouds @xoxohollands @explxsion @dracosdarling @witchy-ana @zug-zwangg @fandomvibez @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @kaitlyn2907 @lestrangeswife @slytherinsunrise @youknowiloveyou-so @babydol @sincerelydraco @hopingforrainierdays @wandcrazy @voidmalfoy @orderofmalfoy @ohissandhalasta @megan08160 @xviminds @nao-cchi @dreamingofdraco @mikacouffaine @butgilinsky @libellule2001 @ruethemazerunner
Author’s Note: I just tagged everyone that commented on part one so I’m sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged! Also for those that commented on part one asking to be part of my tag list, I wasn’t sure if that meant just for part two or all of my works, so if you want to be on my permanent tag list for Draco, please specify by a comment or an ask, thank you!!
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true lies - s. r. (12/?)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.
Chapter Summary: A collection of letters Spencer and you share while you're gone - and then you're gone forever. At least, that what he thinks.
Warnings: some fluff, angst, angst, angst, smoking, slight ptsd, grief and loss
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: I'm sososososo sorry. please don't hate me. I love you. gif not mine.
Dearest little bear,
two months have passed since you had to leave, and not a day goes by that I don't think of you and wish you were here with me.
We are trying to do everything in our power to be able to bring you back home. But unfortunately, it seems to be taking longer than I would like.
I was told you were working on it as well. You are strong and smart and even though you can't be with me, I'm sure we can do it together.
Take care of yourself.
I was very happy to receive your message. I always carry it with me, although I would rather be in your arms, but I can't.
I can't tell you where I am right now, but still I wish you were with me. It is warm and beautiful and I am sure you would like it here very much.
Except for these letters, I'm not allowed to talk to any of you, but I like talking to you best anyway. We've come this far. And we'll make it.
Thinking of you.
Dearest little bear,
It's been four months and with each passing second it becomes more unbearable. But a light is appearing at the end of the dark tunnel. We think we know who she is.
It won't be long before we can see each other again. And I can't wait to be able to hug you again. To be able to touch you. Or kiss you.
Not much longer. And then nothing can separate us.
Take care of yourself.
It would have been too good to be with you again at last. But it still takes time.
I have found something that can help us, but for now, just know that I will do everything I can so that I can return home. Back to you. No matter what it costs.
Keep your eyes open. We're closer than you think.
I'm thinking of you.
Dearest little bear,
I was given time off to take a break. I was with my mother and she told me that a kind young lady had been here. She doesn't remember you, but she knows you are familiar and that she can trust you. As I do.
I am infinitely grateful. And I'm tired of waiting, but for you I do. For you, I do it all.
Take care of yourself.
I can no longer grasp a clear thought, because whenever I close my eyes I see everything I have done in review. I can hardly sleep and the nightmares plague me.
I just hope that everything will end soon. It has already been a year since we saw each other. I can't promise you anything, but I hope you know that everything I had to do was for you. For us.
Thinking of you.
Dearest little bear,
it's been a few weeks since I've heard from you. I hope you are doing well.
We have found a trail that will take us further.And brings me a little closer to you. And that will bring you back home. I can't wait.
Take care of yourself.
Dearest little bear,
It's been two months since you wrote to me.
Get back to me as soon as you can.
Take care of yourself.
Dearest little bear,
Words cannot describe how much I miss you. Or how great the pain in my chest is.
I can't eat, I can't sleep. I can hardly breathe without you.
Thinking of you.
Dearest little bear,
they hung your picture today. In the portrait you are smiling, proud to finally be part of the team. I can't look at it.
I was sent home, but everything there reminds me of you.
Thinking of you.
Dearest little bear,
I keep your letters in a small box next to my bed. They are a part of you that I don't want to lose, even though I have already lost you. They are a part of you, just as you are a part of me.
Thinking of you.
Dearest little bear,
I went to our bookstore and found a book of poems that you would like. I'll put it with your letters.
No book in the world could have prepared me for the grief I feel. The pain is too engaging for me to talk about it with anyone but you.
Thinking of you.
Dear little bear,
it's been almost two years since we last saw each other. I don't remember what you sound like, or what you smell like. Why can't I remember that? Is it wrong of me not to think it's bad? It takes away my pain a little.
Thinking of you.
Dear little bear,
A lot has happened in the two years we've been apart. Too much to ever be able to write down all the things. I just want you to know that this time was not easy for me. Not for any of us.
I put your letters away safely because you will always be important to me. But I have to let you go. And with this, I release you.
I love you. Forever.
You pinch your leg to wake up. Your neck is wet with cold sweat and you have to blink several times to realize that you are in a cab. You run your hand through your hair as the driver looks at you curiously through the rearview mirror. He says nothing, which is why you glance out the window.
The drive from the airport to Quantico only takes an hour, but you still take the opportunity to close your eyes for a moment and doze a little. You haven't had a decent night's sleep in ages, you don't even know what a healthy portion of sleep feels like anymore, because you haven't had that luxury in the last two years.
As the car comes to a stop in front of the FBI building, you pay the driver and get out with your small bag. The building seems much bigger than you remember. You used to spend every day here, it had once been your home. But now you're not even sure you have a home anymore.
You take a deep breath and enter through the large doors, but are directly approached by a security guard.
"Miss? Are you visiting?", he asks suspiciously, extending his arm to keep you at a distance - something that wouldn't do him much good if you were actually trying to get past him.He eyes you up and down, which you can't blame him for. In your ripped jeans, dirty sneakers, and loose sweater, you don't look like someone who belongs here. By now, you don't either.
You look at him. "I'm here to see Unit Chief Prentiss", you reply coolly. You know he's just doing his job, but you're too impatient to let all this wash over you. You know Emily is already in the office. You know her too well not to. Why doesn't he just go get her? You just want to see your friend.
"Chief Prentiss?" He raises an eyebrow. "And what is your request?"
Your gaze is rock hard and your tone cold as ice. "Tell her Y/N Y/L/N is here to see her."
You wait outside the building, letting the morning sun warm your skin and the cigarette burn between your fingers before you put it to your lips and take a drag. Afterwards, you stub it out on a trash can. As you exhale the last bit of smoke, you turn around. And there she is.
Emily is standing at the door, and when you see her, you drop your bag and wrap her in your arms so tightly that you can't breathe. You cling to her, afraid that maybe this whole thing isn't as real as it feels, but you imperceptibly pinch your arm. And she is still with you.
"I thought - they said", she stammers, and it's the first time in your friendship that she's speechless. You hug her even tighter.
"I know", you answer softly, blinking away the tears that have formed in your eyes. The moment is too beautiful to cry. As you break away from each other, Emily wipes her own tears from her cheeks, but some have already landed on her blouse. There are dark stains now.
"I don't even know what to say", she says, smiling at you as you enter the building together. The guard gives you a look, but doesn't ask any questions as you walk past him toward the elevator. Inside, she pushes a button that takes you to the BAU floor. "I can hardly believe you're really here."
Neither can you.
The office is completely silent because no one is here yet except for you. Although nothing has changed, everything has changed because you are now someone else. It's been a long time since you've been here. Two years, but everything in this room is all too familiar to you. The coffee machine, the law books, the files. It feels like you've never been away. It's déjà vu all over again.
While Emily gets you both coffee, you sit down at the round table and wait for her. Your friend sets the cups down on the table before sitting down next to you. She smiles faintly. "How are you?"
You pucker your mouth. How are you? You haven't been asked that question in ages, and to be honest, you don't know how to answer it either. How could you possibly be?
When you don't answer Emily, she phrases her question differently. "What are you feeling right now?"
Your lips become a thin line. "I don't know. It feels like all of this," you point to the room, "isn't a part of me anymore. Nothing has changed, but it still feels foreign."
Emily nods. "You've been through a lot, I guess." She takes a sip of her coffee. "You're right, Y/N. Nothing has really changed here. But you're a different one now, aren't you?"
You open your mouth to answer her, but you don't know what either. Part of you feels at home here, but a bigger part of you knows your place is somewhere else. You just don't know where exactly.
"Do you want to see the others?", Emily asks. "I'm asking you because it's been a long time since you've seen them. And they think you're...you know. Are you ready for that?"
Are you ready for that? You haven't seen either of them in a long time, and it would probably be better not to see them for now, but to let Emily sort it out first. But the team is your family - the closest thing you have to a family. And you've missed them all terribly.
You nod and take a sip of your coffee as JJ and Rossi enter the room. When they see you, they glance uncertainly at Emily, as if they're not sure if it's just imagination, but she nods at them. And that's when all the dams break for JJ.
She pulls you from your chair and hugs you like the salvation of the world depends on it, and David has to pry her cramped arms from you so he can put his around you as well. They affirm to you how much they missed you and ask how you are, wanting to know what happened, but Tara and Penelope join them and that's when it gets too loud for you.
Penelope cries with joy and Tara also can't believe that you are standing in front of her. They besiege you and ask you questions to which you have no answers, so you just smile weakly at them. They definitely don't mean any harm, after all, you've just risen from the dead for them, but you've spent the last while in silence and are no longer used to this volume. So you turn away from them. They look anxiously after you as you sort of flee from them. You hope that this will make the headache go away.
Without paying much attention to where you're going, you find yourself facing the wall where the pictures of the deceased agents hang. And yours is hanging there, too. You don't know how long you've been standing in front of it - minutes? hours? -until a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
You turn around and there stands Spencer. His hair is a little shorter and he looks like he's seen a ghost. Well, he sort of has.
You want to throw yourself into his arms, kiss him, and never let him go. Seeing him knocks the air out of your lungs, which is why you can barely breathe. The two years without him had been hell on earth, but you got through them. For him.
For Spencer, who doesn't take his eyes off you as the blonde woman next to him, whose fingers are intertwined with his, looks at him and asks, "Honey, who's that?"
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