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creative-caramel-coffee · 10 months

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Pesky Period Pains

Prompt: Cramping Pain

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: you had managed to stave off periods but you could only do that for so long. But its very hard to hide things in the compound especially from your girlfriends.

TW: pain medicine, blood, period, cramps, bleeding on the bed (idk if that a warning or not lol), non-sexual nudity, Reader has their clothes removed (not in a bad way though don’t worry … you’ll see), hiding injuries / sickness, slight angst,

A/n whats this? A fic without vomiting for once? Crazy.

Curled up in bed the day had been going well until you realised you took to long to get more of your birth control. Your doctor had put you on birth control in your early teens before you became and avenger, your cramps being too painful for you to function and resulting in you missing a-lot of school. But you ran out last week and your ADHD had been kicking your ass lately so you forgot about the much needed trip to the chemist. Thinking you could just go tomorrow as its not like your period would appear over night. wrong.

Nat and Wanda were training in the gym like they did every Tuesday while you slept in. But when you realised with the first pang of pain in your midsection that it was a little too late for the birth control to stave off the period pains, you groaned. stuffing your face back into your pillow, before swallowing the urge to scream in frustration. you got up and threw on a pad before getting dressed quickly. you were craving chocolate. you could survive the cramps until after breakfast, and you couldn’t take painkillers on an empty stomach.

you had just finished drowning your pancakes in chocolate syrup and were not throwing back the tablets and some water when your girlfriends arrived. Nat smiled widely and came over to kiss you and hug you. “Detka,” you groaned, “your all gross and sweaty.” nat squeezed you in the hug chuckling before planting a kiss on your forehead. Wanda didn’t seem as happy. she sensed your discomfort before she even made it into the door. to be honest she sensed it from the gym, feigning exhaustion in favour of ending training early to check on you.

“what were you doing before we got here?” Wanda asked, hands crossed over her chest.

“making pancakes.” you shrugged, hiding a grimace as it jostled your midsection.

“i saw you put something in your mouth, Y/n don’t lie to me.” she was more concerned than angry but it did come across that way to you.

“i. was. eating. my. pancakes. Wanda.” you grit out, glad it seemed more like annoyance than the fact another cramp had hir rather hard.

“whatever.” Wanda dismissed angrily walking to get herself some pancakes. Nat frowned, normally Wanda was really sweet with you, only ever stern if you were being stubborn. she shrugged at you and followed Wanda to get some breakfast, only having had her pre workout shake so far. you didn’t wait for them, quickly finishing your pancakes and going to take a shower.

the girls frowned at your empty place when they returned and Wanda sighed. “somethings up with her nat i can sense it.”

meanwhile you stepped under the warm water, watching the red circle the drain and letting the heat relax your muscles. when another cramp hit you rested your head on your arm which steadied you against the wall. you didn’t want to risk leaving blood in your shared bathroom knowing nat was see it with her spy training, she noticed everything. Wanda would just freakout if she knew you were bleeding but didn’t know where from. And most importantly you didn’t want to bother them with your problems, feeling you were being a bit too needy lately having been sick the week before last.

you had come back to your old room, the one you stayed in before moving it with your girls. it was still your space. your gaming computer was still here, your switch and all your drawing stuff and tablet. your posters of Percy Jackson and your girlfriends still adorned the walls and the rainbow lights still worked above your desk. the bed had black sheets and you even still had some of your clothes in here. your many sketchbooks sat on the floating shelf by the desk and your blue couch and fluffy red blanket were still in the corner. the 84inch tv, courtesy of tony was mounted on the wall opposite the bed and you had painted a mural of the city scape on the far wall. it was as much your home as the room across the hall. your girls often found you in here during the day either drawing or gaming.

but you hadnt showered in here since moving to sleep over the hall. nat heard the running water as she went past, assuming you had done it so she could shower after her training this morning, she shrugged it off. unusual but not insane.

once you turned the water off you carefully towel dried yourself trying to avoid getting blood on the fluffy towel. getting dressed in fluffy pants and your oversized red hoodie nat had bought you at Disneyland, the one with the big picture of Mickey mouse on the front, you went and laid on the bed. after mindlessly scrolling through Netflix and putting on a random movie you snuggled up. after a few minutes the exhaustion of your body rebuilding an organ wiped you out and you fell asleep.

Wanda carefully opened the door to your room. frowning at yhe sight of you curled up asleep in the middle of the day. this was unlike you. the tv had an action movie playing and the sound of gunfire should have woken you up, but you slept on. Wanda turned out the lights and muted the tv before going to talk to nat.

“I’m telling you nat something’s off, shes been acting weird all day.”

“I’m sure shes fine, shes a big girl wands.” nat sighed drying her hair with a towel.

“i don’t know, you know how it is when shes hurt, she wont tell us even if shes bleeding out on the floor.” Wanda huffed pacing and running her hands through her hair.

“why don’t we go cuddle up to her in bed and we’ll talk to her when shes up again?”

“ok” Wanda sighed in defeat.

after carefully lifting the sheets and sliding in either-side of you nat took the tv remote frowning at the cheesy action movie.

“you cant even shoot arrows like that in real life.” she grumbled putting on something that Wanda would like. a sit com.

still asleep you curled up around Wanda’s leg as she lent against the headboard and ran her hands through your hair.

“she looks so fragile when she sleeps natty.” Wanda cooed

“thats because its hard to be a cocky asshole when your sleeping.” nat teased. but it wasn’t fun without your sharp come backs to quip against her.

“naaattt leave her alone shes cute when she sleeps.” looking down at you she noticed a grimace on your face when you held onto her leg tighter. thinking you were having a nightmare she went to wake you. unbeknownst to her it was just the medicine having worn off and the painfully cramps coming back full force. before Wanda could gently wake you, you shot up, blinking rapidly before feeling the wetness of the bed and shooting off the bathroom to change clothes. Wanda and nat frowned at each-other, you hadn’t even noticed them. nat hopped up and knocked on the door.

“y/n/n? can i come in?” she asked. you froze. what were they doing here.

“Y/n/n?” nat asked again.

“natty… um you should come here.” Wanda quietly said from the bed. she had pulled back the sheets to find a wet bloodstain on the sheets. Nat’s eyes widened almost comically.

“y/n let us in right now.” she banged her fists on the door. just as she swung to knock the door down you opened it, her foot stopping mid air as she tried not to kick you or fall over. at the sight of your bloody clothes she jumped into action. extending your arms with her hands she searched your body before stopping and looking you dead in the eyes.

“strip.” she said. you balked.

“what?”

“you heard me. strip. or i’ll have Wanda use her wiggly woos to do it for me.”

“natty-“

“No.”

“wands-“

“I’m with nat on this one sweetheart. we need to know your ok.” Wanda cooed softly having walked in behind nat.

“I’m fi-“

“if you were going to say your fine we found your blood on the sheets. so we know your not.”

before you were able to reply you were hit with a rather painful cramp that made you double over in an attempt to stop the pain. you groaned loudly and both your girls sprung into action. they knew you didn’t get periods so that couldn’t be it. but the last mission was weeks ago and you hadn’t left the compound without them since. so how did you get hurt? Nat was at your side in an instance. “y/n/n baby where does it hurt?” she ran a hand down your back up and down your spine. you merely groaned in response still hunched over.

“wands I’m gonna need you to-“

“don’t worry it got it.” she replied. before you could think you felt the cold air hit as you were suddenly without clothes. Nat’s eyes grew wide as she saw the red between your legs. you felt tears slide down your cheeks as the girls understood. they had seen you naked before so it didn’t bother you plus you knew you were safe with your girlfriends.

“oh sweetheart.” Wanda cooed, picking you up. “did you get your period love?”

more tears fell as she carried you bridal style to the bath. with a wave of her wrist there was warm water in the tub and her clothes were also gone. gently she hopped in placing you curled up in her lap. nat removed her clothes to show toned muscle and slipped in beside her. it was a big tub, tony was not one to spare expenses much to peppers dismay when she first brought home Morgan to find a car already with custom plates with Morgan’s name on it in the garage.

“tony what the hell is this?” she had asked pointing to the car, Morgan’s carseat in her hand.

“well its called planning my dear wife.”

“planning is writing it out on paper not buying it 16 years early.”

Wanda chuckled at the memory before focusing back on your. she carded a hand though your hair and you whined softly.

“gonna made the water dirty.” you whined “and i ruined my hoodie.” you sniffled “the one you and natty bought me from disneyland.” you cried. nat rubbed a circle on your back knowing this was the work of pesky hormones but doing nothing to invalidate your feelings. Wanda smiled down at you.

“why are you smiling.” you sobbed.

“oh sweetheart do you forget i have magic sometimes.” Wanda cooed

“oh.” you hiccuped.

“its already clean and folded on the bed which has fresh sheets.” she started kissing you all over your face, tasting the salty tears. “and natty and I will buy you ten more if we need to. anything for our sweet girl.”

“even the goofy one?” you smiled looking up with teary eyes.

nat chuckled. they were so whipped for you. “anything you can ever dream of of my love.” nat cooed. “and whatever we can buy with the new black master-card i have from tony.”

“how-“ you were going to ask how but another cramp hit and tears flooded your eyes as blood swirled in the bathwater.

“oh sweetheart don’t cry.” Wanda cooed seeing the water was making you upset she waved her hand and the blood disappeared from the water.

“honey i wouldn’t care if the bath was 100% blood as long as your ok. i would do anything for you.”

“we.” nat corrected “we would do anything for you.” Wanda rubbed circles over your stomach and her fingers glowed a soft red hue in the bath water as she took away some of the pain for you. you sighed in relief at her magic touch.

“and to answer your question, all it took was a little blackmail.” you laughed at her smirk.

“come one love lets get you washed up.”

when Wanda had finished scrubbing your body clean for you, you were too tired to do it yourself. nat dried you with a towel and slipped you back into your comfy and now, thanks to Wanda, clean clothes.

curling up in bed with nat, Wanda returned with food for all of you and a mountain of all different kinds of chocolate and popcorn.

“I vote we have a movie day today.” Wanda proposed. nat smiled at you and brushed the hair from your face, “id love that” she agreed “ what about you Y/n/n?”

“only if i get lots of hugs.” you mumbled in an embarrassed way that made the redheads hearts skip a beat.

“alright then.” wand climbed in beside you and put down the tray of food. “you get first pick Y/n/n” Wanda grinned and nat passed you the remote.

“here you go” you took it and placed a chocolate in your mouth. going to reach for another Wanda lightly slapped your hand away.

“food first.” she chided softly. you pouted and picked a movie. after the first 20 minutes or so you hd finished lunch and were happily curled in the arms of your girls munching chocolate. maybe you should get your period more often you thought. then another cramp hit making you keen softly. never-mind you thought. Wanda ran her magic fingers over you lower back and the pain stopped. you knew then and there your girls would always be there. you were never going to be alone again.

MASTERLIST

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ft-platonicweek · 16 days

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Platonic Week 2024

Thank you to everyone who showed interest in the debut of the platonic week event! The event will be June 24-30, and all forms of submissions are welcome: art, fanfic, video edits, mood boards, etc. Please see the rules for more information.

Prompts

Each day features multiple prompts, but only one prompt is necessary to fulfill the day. Or choose multiple! Combining days and prompts is welcome as well. Participate as much or little as you like.

Rules / Event Information

—Submissions: Platonic week is to celebrate all types of platonic relationships, so as such, the focus of the work must be platonic in nature, be it friends, family, queerplatonic relationships, found family, etc. Any romantic relationships must be relegated to the background only and not be integral to the work. Other than that, anything goes! Submissions may be any media type you can fathom, so long as the entry is original and not previously posted in any manner. Late submissions are welcome too! While it is a dated event, there is no time limit.

—Posting: Please mention ( @ft-platonicweek ) the blog to help ensure the post is visible and it will be reblogged. Include the tag #ft platonic week 2024 within the first five tags as well. If there are any necessary content warnings or mature content, please tag those accordingly.

—AO3 Collection: Fairy Tail Platonic Week 2024

—Generic Rules: Please, keep it friendly between submitters, and no blatant character bashing. No ships should be the focus, and no ships involving incest or adult/child romances should be included at all.

If there are any questions, please feel free to send an ask!

banner art by @pencilofawesomeness

@ftguildevents

#fairy tail #fairy tail events #fairy tail platonic week #ft platonic week 2024 #event prompts #fandom event

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thebestofoneshots · 17 days

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Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.8 K Warnings: ANGST! Prompt: Meanwhile, on the other side of the line... This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 45: Hold the Line

Love isn’t always on time

Tuesday, December 24th

Christmas at the Potters was always a blast. Sirius had learned that when he turned 12 and got invited to their house to celebrate Christmas after he got a dreadful howler about being a disgrace for the Noble House of Black and getting detention for the prank they had done to the Slytherins.

James had overheard Sirius cry at night over the fact that he’d have to spend Christmas alone in the school and decided he had to do something about it. He wrote a letter to his Mum and Sirius got officially invited to their home for the break. Now, the Potters sent the invitation to Sirius and Sirius only, and he got on the train as if he were going home without telling anyone about it. He got another howler when Walburga found out, but it had been worth it.

He hadn’t been allowed to the Potters for Christmas next year, and he made sure to make a show out of it, wearing muggle clothes to the family dinner and acting so irreverent that Orion locked him up in his room, after giving him a scold, slashing him with diffindo, and making him write “I will behave,” over and over again with a black quill. It didn’t work, Sirius made sure to behave even worse on the New Year’s event and he got officially banned from December celebrations by Walburga.

Next year, he was back at the Potters and happier than ever before. The scars he’d gotten (already long gone) had been worth it. Since then, he’d spent Christmas with them, and every year had been better than the last. Effie was always nice to him, and even with how much she was like James, she was still motherly, especially in comparison to Walburga.

And she had treated Sirius like her own boy since they met. In fact, there was never a difference in the way neither Monty nor Effie treated the two boys, they were their kids, and they treated them as such. Sirius appreciated it deeply, he’d found love, care, and appreciation there and he considered Effie more his mom than Walburga ever was. BIood be damned, family isn’t about what’s running through your veins but about the way you care and treat each other, and if anyone was family to him, it was his brother James, and his parents Effie and Monty.

This year had been no different, from the moment they arrived at the house, the smell of Christmas filled the air. Effie had prepared cookie dough for their yearly making of gingerbread houses. It was a small competition –Effie loved competitions– but they all had to build elaborate creations (with a magical twist) and then they’d set them all on the counter and have the house elves judge and pick the best. Whoever won the contest got an extra gift on Christmas.

Sirius had won once, but Monty was always adding clever new magical things onto the houses, like last year when he made a snow globe house, with magical snow –actually sugar– that would swirl around in the air sending positive Christmas words like “Joy” and “Mirth” and even “Happy Hannukah!”, which according to him, was a muggle tradition from a different religion than the one Christmas had spawned from.

This year though, Effie’s recreation of the Big Ben, alongside the magic stars she had made float all around it had gotten the best of both Mellie and Picksie, the Potter’s house elves. And they had unanimously voted her the winner. She had been really pleased about the results, so pleased she had made a little victory dance, showing off her creation and making it the centre of the table.

Sirius saw the adoring look Monty had given her as she danced around, boasting her triumph, and he thought he’d never met a couple more loving than the two of them, but he wanted to match it, he wanted to make you feel the same way Monty made Effie felt all the time, but then he remembered Remus, and felt a pang on his chest, since he too wished he could make him as happy, which was obviously a contradicting thought to the first one.

“Darling, are you all right?” Effie asked when he noticed his frown. Sirius had relatively subtle expressions when he wanted to hide his feelings, something he had learned to do at home, the Stony Black look, but Effie knew that look well enough, and she instantly knew something was up with her boy.

Sirius turned to her with a short “Hm?” as he got driven away from his own thoughts. “Yeah, I was just thinking if she’ll like the gift I made her.”

Effie smiled softly at that, she’d been one of the people to encourage him to draw something for you, especially since she knew you’d been one of the first people he’d shown his art to. James had been very offended when he found out Remus had seen his art before he had and complained to his mother about it while they were making the gingerbread houses, which is how she’d found out.

“I know I’d love it if Monty made me a drawing, and he’s terrible at it, so I’m certain she will,” she reassured him, “If you want we can go out later and you can get her something else, though.”

Sirius shook his head, he didn’t want them to spend even more money on him than they already had, “No, don’t worry about it, I’m probably just self-conscious.”

Effie smiled, there was something heartwarming at seeing Sirius like this, he had never been nervous about a girl, in fact, she wasn’t sure he’d even bothered to get a gift for one before, he looked like a love-sick puppy, it reminded him an awful lot of James, except you liked him back, unlike that Evans girl. Talking about that Evans girl. “So, James is dating Lily now?”

“He somehow convinced her to go on a date,” Sirius said with a shrug, “they went to the Slug Party together.”

“Really?” Effie asked with raised eyebrows.

Sirius nodded in return, “But I cannot give you any more details.”

“It’s all right,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “I can pry them off of him later.” She then turned back to Sirius, “You’d think she’d come if we invited her over for dinner with everyone or something? Maybe on New Year’s?”

Effie knew Lily, she had seen pictures of her and she had crossed a few words with her on those occasions she visited the school for a quidditch match. She thought she was a nice enough girl, but she had never had an actual conversation with her and she certainly wanted to do it now. Although, with how much James talked about her, she felt like she knew a good deal and she considered her a delightful young lady, except for the fact that she kept rejecting James.

“I’m not sure, she might if Vix comes,” Sirius responded with a shrug, “they’re really good friends.”

Effie smiled in a sort of devilish way, the same smile Prongs had when he had a good idea for a prank, and gave a short pat in the head to Sirius (which she had gotten a habit of doing back when he was much shorter than her) and walked towards the kitchen.

Sirius decided to go for a broom ride to clear his mind, James and Peter tagged along with him and they ended up racing around the house at insanely fast speeds, fast enough for Sirius’ hair tie to loosen up and leave his hair flowing wildly behind him, and somehow also fast enough to have his mind be cleared of those thoughts he kept having of both you and Remus. Peter left early since his parents called for him, while the other boys decided to play a game of Magic Chess back in the living room.

By dinner, both of them had already eaten half of the gingerbread houses they had made, and some other fancy treats Monty liked to cook for the smaller Christmas Eve dinner they always had. Sirius thought it was fantastic since they almost had two parties instead of one. The first time he stayed at the Potter’s he had been so thrilled that he had accidentally blown up some of the decorations. Effie taught him an advanced version of reparo, and the two of them fixed the place together after that.

This time, Monty had asked for their help with the cooking, since Effie had gone out with the elves to buy more stuff for tomorrow’s dinner. It would be rather small, very few people had been invited due to the war and the fact that not many wizards knew which side the other was on, but Effie was set on having the place be as nice as ever.

Monty loved cooking, he had at some point mentioned that it was like making potions and that there was something oddly satisfying with how a bit of heat and a few spices could make even the most boring of dishes get filled with flavour, and he was set on teaching James, and by extension Sirius, how to cook.

“Perhaps you could make a cake for Lily,” he said as he passed James the measured flour for him to add, “your mother loved it when I sent her homemade cupcakes.”

“You did that?” Sirius asked with raised eyebrows.

“Mhm,” Monty nodded, “beat that a bit faster,” –he said politely as he pointed at the egg whites Sirius had been tasked with fluffing up– “She said she liked men with cooking skills and I asked my mum to help me with it, she sent me a bunch of cooking books and here we are now. James, have you added the cinnamon?”

“Eh…” James thought about it for a second and looked around the counter. The cinnamon was pretty far from where he stood, “don’t think so,” he admitted.

“That’s all right, I’ll add it for you,” he said and waved his wand, in an instant the cinnamon container was lifted up and after shaking softly three times and after dropping some cinnamon over James’ dry ingredient mix, it went back to its place on the table. Then Fleamont went back to cutting the apples into small pieces. “When you’re done with that James, please add some butter to the pans.”

“Okay,” James said with a nod and got busy with his task. The three of them were surprisingly efficient in the kitchen. They hadn’t been like that the first time around, but Monty decided they had to know how to –at least– make soup if they were ever going to live alone one day and had them take an intensive course a couple of summers ago. Both James and Sirius had gotten much better grades at potions after that, especially because Monty, being such an expert potioneer, had taught them to cook with potion-making techniques.

He hadn’t done it intentionally, but he was pretty satisfied with the result, especially when Effie praised him for being so clever and entertaining the kids with cooking while also teaching them something. He took the credit for being slick with a smile.

By the time they were done with the cake preparations, the food was ready to pull out of the oven. Monty and Sirius took the stuff out and passed it to James who took it to the table that Effie and Picksie were setting up while they focused on revising the temperature and placing the cakes in the oven. They had made three cakes, a chocolate cake that was James’ favourite, a carrot cake that Monty loved and an apple crumble one that both Sirius and Effie were mad about.

Effie had gotten some extra treats for the boys, and she had even gotten some Shepherd's Pie from a muggle place called “The Wingmore” that Monty loved. They had a delicious family dinner together, with cookies, pie and baked potatoes. They caught up with each other, and both Monty and Effie teased James about Lily mercilessly. Then Monty mentioned something about having “The Talk” with James and Sirius had to cough it in order to hide a cackle.

Prongs had kicked him under the table while Effie had appeared a glass of water for him so he could take a drink, and Sirius had thanked her with the soft charming smile of his that made all the girls swoon, James glared at him for it, and the other boy winked at him brazenly. If it went something like the talk Monty had given him 2 years ago when he started dating around, James might not survive it.

Sirius walked back to James’ room and decided to wait there for him to tease him once his talk with Monty was over, but Sirius was pretty tired from a day filled with fun, and he fell asleep pretty much the second he hit James’ bed.

He woke up a few minutes later when he felt a heavy leg over his own. He opened his eyes confused, thinking it was warm, but also that it smelled weird. Or perhaps not weird, just… not the way it should smell. It smelled of cedar, firewood, mint and summer breeze, not like books, parchment, chocolate and you. He blinked his eyes open and spotted James’ arm draped over his chest and his leg on top of both of his own. He was cuddling Sirius like he cuddled his pillows.

“Prongs,” he said softly, but the boy just snuggled deeper into him. “Prongs!” he repeated. “Prongs, what the fuck!”

James frowned and looked at Sirius as if he had been wronged, “What do you want?”

“Why are you cuddling me?”

“You’re in my bed,” the boy responded with a shrug.

“So what? Don’t you know about personal space?”

Bold fucking words for Sirius Black, James thought.

“Just shut up, I’m tired.”

“No, get off me!” Sirius said as he tried to pry James’ legs off of him, but James was heavier, and at this point, he was determined to piss Sirius off after being so wrongly accused.

“Pads!” James complained. “Just let me sleep, mate.”

“Not until you get off.”

“You never tell Remus to get off,” James huffed and tightened his grip.

What?

You never tell Remus to get off.

YOU NEVER TELL REMUS TO GET OFF!

Sirius opened his eyes wide as he looked at the ceiling, completely in shock as he let the words sink in. He looked to the side, trying to hide the panic, “That’s different,” he managed to muster.

“How is it different? I’m your best mate anyway, if you’re giving hugging concessions around, it should be to me.”

How is it different? Yes Sirius, HOW IS IT FUCKING DIFFERENT?!? He wondered to himself. “It’s because of the smell of the pack?”

“Is it? Really?” James asked, he was annoyed, and sleepy, and not quite thinking what he said, let alone how much it was affecting Sirius.

“Of course,” Sirius said defensively and pushed James off of him, turning his back to the boy as James rolled his eyes and did the same.

Prongs knew Sirius would be fine in the morning, but it would be a lie if he said he hadn’t been a little offended by the way he got pushed off, he had seen how close he was to Remus lately, and it wasn’t that he was jealous, but since when was Sirius closer to Moony than to him? Vixen he understood, he was head over heels for you, but Remus?!?

Since when was Pads so close to him?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the bed, Sirius had started to PANIC. There was something so raw about the words half-asleep James had said. Is it really about the smell of the pack? Was he using you as an excuse to cuddle Remus? Was he using his girlfriend… to cuddle his crush?

Perhaps he was a Black after all, it ran in his bIood, all wicked and malicious, cunning and devious. How could he shamelessly cuddle into Remus while you were right next to him? As if he didn’t have a crush on his friend? As if he hadn’t already admitted to himself that Remus was bIoody handsome? With his big broad shoulders and his intoxicating smell of books and chocolate, and a hint of you. With his messy brown hair and his kind smile, it was unfair really, for him to be so pretty and for Sirius to only have realised it now, now that he was happy, now that he had found someone.

When Sirius woke up, there was a pile of gifts on his side of the bed. James had decided to let him sleep in since he had been kind of annoyed at night and he didn’t want to deal with cranky Sirius on Christmas, which is why he was quietly opening his gifts on the other side of the floor.

Sirius leaned over and threw him a look while peeking his head over the bed. When he noticed he smiled. “Look at this” – he pointed at a box of muggle Christmas-themed chocolates– “Lily sent it, they even came with a small note, look,” he said as he passed the note to Sirius.

Sirius eyed him incredulously and took the small card in his hands before turning around on the bed to get himself comfortable, he cleared his throat, “Dear James, I was walking along this Christmas market and they had these chocolates, the adorable elf on the side that looks way too excited to be in a box kind of reminded me off you. Hope you have an amazing Christmas. Love, Lily.”

“You read that? She said ‘Love’.”

“Mhm,” Sirius said with a smirk and turned around again to pick the box from the floor, “Oh god is this the over-excited elf?” he said as he spotted a green-dressed short man on the side, he was wearing a very muggle Christmas outfit and had funny features, although his smile and eye colour did kind of match James’, it was like a bootleg version of him. Sirius couldn’t help but cackle.

“Oi! Don’t make fun of it! She sent it with love.”

“Not laughing at the gift, I’m laughing at the resemblance,” Sirius added while he tried to catch his breath, James had snatched the box from him and carefully placed it next to his leg.

Sirius was still laughing when he saw some light coming from a small hand-held mirror he had placed on his nightstand. It was reflecting a small beam on the ceiling. It was an enchanted mirror he had stolen from his parents back when he still lived with them. He had used it to communicate with James on the longer summers, even if he couldn’t actually talk through it.

Sirius frowned, “You have the sister mirror to someone?”

“Remus,” James said as he stood up and leaned across the bed, “since he was going to be alone this Christmas,” he added. Sirius rolled to the side and then on the bed to reach the same belly-down position James was using and looked inside.

Remus, looking as handsome as ever, was on the other side, shirtless –to Sirius’ dismay– and with his hair slightly messier than usual. Even his smile was so wide it looked like it would burst out of his face.

He waved at the boys and then pointed at a card he had in his hand. It said, “Merry Christmas”.

Sirius looked around and pulled James’ box from the floor, showing him the exact spot where it said “Merry Christmas” as well.

Remus then picked up a small pen and wrote “Thank you for the gifts” on the side of his Christmas letters. Sirius winked in response, he knew Rem would like the book he got him. But he knew he’d especially love the drawing he made for him as well: it was a Wolf, a dog and a fox playing in the forest.

“You made him a drawing too?” James asked with a gasp.

“You’re telling me Mum got a drawing, Vix got a drawing, and Moony got a drawing, but I didn’t?”

“Didn’t have enough time,” Sirius responded with a shrug. Remus, who was trying to read the boys’ lips and kind of got that he was among the few to get a drawing, couldn’t help being filled with joy at the fact that Sirius had done something especially for him.

He then showed the boys all the music you had sent over and spent a while trying to sign something to James that neither he nor Sirius got properly, but he gathered something about you getting him a bunch of books.

“What did she get you?” James asked, turning to Sirius who frowned. He had been so busy looking at his friend’s gifts, that he had forgotten he had also received a few himself.

James placed the mirror at the end of the bed so Remus could see and they all finished unboxing their gifts. Sirius had gotten a CB radio from Remus. There were rather specific instructions on what to do with it, it had even been charmed so that it worked, even in Hogwarts.

“Hello?” he asked as he pressed the button.

“Hey!” Remus replied from the other side, he had a wide smile on his face, thrilled that it actually worked.

“Oh, that’s horrifying,” James said as he looked through Remus in the mirror and Sirius playing with the radio back in his room. “Like dark magic.”

“Just science,” Remus said.

“Didn’t you have to press a button so he can hear?” James asked as he took the radio from Sirius’ hand.

“I can read your lips, you dumbass,” Remus responded, and Sirius started to laugh.

James frowned and covered his mouth with his hands and turned to Sirius “Pretend I said something awful about him.”

“He said you’re a smartass,” Sirius said as he pressed the button, Remus gave James a look, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t–” he started and took back the radio, snatching it from Sirius with a lot more purpose, “I didn’t say that! He made that up.”

“Why would I make that up?” Sirius said innocently.

“To fuck with me.”

Remus started to laugh from the other side, and then pressed the button, “What else did you get?”

Sirius pulled another box while James started to play with the different buttons of the radio, “Read this first,” the longer-haired boy said as he passed the instructions to James who groaned but did as told.

Sirius had gotten a good deal of stuff. It wasn’t weird that he got a bunch of gifts since he stayed at the Potters, his mother used to reject most of the gifts, but he had gotten tons of chocolate from girls every time he stayed over with James. Most of them would end up with Remus’ stash later on. This year he didn’t get as many chocolates, but he still got a good deal of stuff, some from people he didn’t even know.

“I swear every year he gets more stuff,” James said as he shook his head in disbelief. He had been partly to blame since he had gotten him a massive quidditch gear kit for morning practices. Peter had gotten him a magic puzzle that changed every few minutes. Andromeda had sent him some other cool muggle things she’d found, and he was absolutely fascinated by the 8 ball she’d gotten him. It was a ball that you could ask things to and when you turned it around it responded, like a divination device, except with no magic involved. The best part was the ridiculous things it said: “Outlook not so good, try asking your cat”, “Ask again later, I'm napping”, “Signs point to tacos. Always tacos” and his personal favourite, and the main reason Dromeda had gotten it “Are you serious? (No, seriously, are you?)”.

She had also gotten both James, him, Remus and Peter, pet rocks. Now neither of them had a clue what that was, but Dromeda said all the cool kids had one of those with the muggles. The rock came in a box and had a rather detailed manual on how to take care of it, and even a back story claiming that it had been “trained” in Mexico by a pet handler named Pedro.

“You also got a rock?” Remus asked as he pulled one from the side and showed it to the boys through the mirror. Remus’ rock had his eyes slightly further apart than Sirius’. “I named mine Cornelius.”

“Cornelius?” Sirius asked with a frown as he stared at his friend’s rock through the mirror, “Now that you mention it, it does kind of look like a Cornelius.”

“Mine will be Lily,” James said as he took him out of the box. It was a red-ish rock.

“You can’t name your pet Lily!”

“It’s a rock,” James said with a shrug, “I can name it however I want.”

“What’s yours?” he asked as he pointed at Sirius’ rock.

“It’s… Bowie.”

“Hm… love it,” James nodded as he stared at his friend’s rock. The two of them carefully placed them on the side table, as if they were actual, delicate pets and not just, rocks.

They continued opening their gifts, Sirius was absolutely fascinated with yours. He loved the drawing books and pens and markers, the mixtape that you’d gotten him and the watercolours, but he was pretty much obsessed with the penknife. He loved that it had his name on it and he used it to open the rest of his gifts, then he pocketed it and kept it with him the rest of the day.

He was helping Monty peel some potatoes –with his penknife instead of a spell– when James decided to tease him about it.

“You’ve been carrying that around all day,” he said as if it were a throwaway comment while he tried to make a pile of oranges.

“It’s super useful.”

“Oh, so it has nothing to do with the fact that it was a gift from Vixen?”

Monty eyed Sirius with a knowing smile and went back to his cooking.

“That’s just a bonus,” Sirius responded and placed the finished potato in the bowl. “It’s got my name on it, mate,” he said as he moved the knife to the side. “Also, she mentioned she charmed it, but she said I had to figure out what the charm is.”

“Maybe she just said that to have you think about it for ages, and it’s not actually charmed.”

Sirius stopped moving for a second, looking at nowhere in particular as he considered the possibility before letting a short breath out and shaking his head, “Nah, it’s got some kind of magic, I can feel it.”

James, just to tease his friend, further shrugged with an unconvinced air, “If you say so.”

Sirius just took another potato and started peeling it with a small frown. He was about 80% sure he could feel magic on the knife. But he was surrounded by magic, in an extremely magical household, literally every single person around him could wield magic, so it was possible the knife was just reflecting the energies from his environment.

By dinner time, there were some more people in the house. Andromeda, Ted and their daughter Dora had been invited by the Potters since they knew how much Sirius loved seeing his cousin, but she had to skip the dinner since Dora had gotten a fever from playing all day in the snow. The Weasleys had also been invited, Dumbledore had introduced them to Monty a few years back and they were rather fond of each other, even if Arthur was much younger. He had arrived with Molly and their 3 sons: Bill, Charlie and the newborn Percy.

Bill had followed James around the moment he spotted him, and James had shown him some of his old toys, and they all played a game of Exploding Snap with Sirius. There were other Wizards there too, Alastor Moody, who had a very animated conversation with Arabella Fig, Elphias Dodge and both Seraphina Nightshade and her boyfriend Roan Elmore, whom James had met at the party shortly after you and Remus did.

“That’s Roan, Seraphina’s boyfriend.”

“She’s dating someone?” Sirius asked, amused. Seraphina was beautiful, the entire school knew that, but he had no idea she had been dating someone.

“Yeah, he was at Slughorn’s party,” James said and snapped his fingers and took a pair of identical cards, the cards shuffled themselves back onto the table.

“Who’s Slughorn?” asked Billy as he snapped his fingers, Charlie just behind him, was attempting to do the same as his brother, but not quite managing to make a sound.

“The Potions teacher,” Sirius responded as he placed his wand on top of one of the cards and snapped his fingers as well. The rest of the cards on the table started to explode and then they shuffled themselves back together. “You probably won’t like him.”

“I won’t?” Bill asked, his red eyebrows furrowing just a little bit, Sirius thought he looked cute, and he didn’t like little kids all that much.

“He might,” James said with a shrug.

“He won’t if he’s one of the good ones,” Sirius retorted and then snapped his fingers and took a pair of cards.

“I don’t like him at all then,” Bill said with determination, he definitely wanted to fit in with the cool crowd, that obviously being the older boys: Sirius and James. He didn’t need to do much, both boys already liked Bill, if he were their age, he’d probably be part of their gang.

“Me neither,” Charlie added, “Unless he has a dragon.”

“Charlie, people don’t have dragons,” Bill said in a rather exasperated tone, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that and then snapped his fingers, taking a pair of cards.

Charlie tried to do the same and snapped his fingers, only for them to make no sound again. “But they could,” he insisted, sighed as if he too was tired of having that same argument with Bill and then walked towards Mrs. Weasley, she was talking to Effie about something in a rather hushed tone while Mr. Weasley struggled to get Percy to stop crying a few feet from them.

Sirius was about to snap his fingers again when he felt a sharp pain in his hand, “ah fuck,” he said as he pulled his hand from the table.

“You all right?” James asked, as he snapped his fingers and took the cards Sirius was going to take.

Sirius was staring at his palm confused, the scar from the scary witchcraft store had hurt almost in the same way it had when the necklace burned it on his hand. It was a lot less visible now, but the pain had been the same.

It wasn’t the first time it happened. It had sometimes bothered him back in the day, but it had never been as sharp as today. And it had kind of stopped since you came to Hogwarts. He assumed it must have been some kind of protean charm, but he had no idea how, and if he could use it at all. All he knew was that it hurt sometimes, and it reminded him of you, which he really didn’t like thinking back when you weren’t around.

“Yeah, I think I bit myself or something,” he lied and turned back to the game, snapping his fingers and taking another pair of cards.

James eyed him suspiciously and then the cards shuffled on the table again, completely stealing his train of thought, especially when Bill snapped his fingers and took the pair of cards he was about to take.

In the end, Bill won the game. He was awfully good for a six-year-old, and both Sirius and James were a bit out of practice.

“There you go,” Sirius said as he passed him 3 sickles.

“Thank you,” Bill said, by then Charlie had already come back and was tugging on his brother’s pants. “Charlie, I won them,” he complained as James paid up.

“If I could play, I’d win too!” Charlie complained, “I want to save for the toy dragon at Whimsy Wonders.”

“Well, technically, he helped Bill, didn’t he?” James asked, eyeing Sirius.

“Oh yeah, moral support,” Sirius agreed. “I feel like we owe him for that as well.”

Charlie’s face glowed looking at them. “No, he wasn’t playing,” Bill said.

“Oh, but he was,” James said and handed Charlie a sickle, Sirius did the same. “You wouldn’t have won without him, right?”

Bill frowned, as if about to say he was perfectly capable of winning without Charlie pestering him about dragons, but there was something on James’ gaze that had him hold it. He sighed, “Of course, Charlie helped…”

Charlie smiled widely and ran towards Mrs. Weasley. “Mom, Mom, Look!” he said. “We beat the older kids!” he repeated. James chuckled as he saw the small boy jump about, and then Monty called everyone towards the table.

The Potter’s party table was long and round, with different panels that rolled inside to have the food and snacks pass around and stay within everyone’s reach. Of course, wizards could just float whatever they needed their way, but both Monty and Effie thought it was annoying to have the salad dressing and bread basket cover the face of the person they were trying to talk to so they designed the table to be able to have a pleasant conversation.

Sirius was sitting in between James and Charlie, who was determined to sit with them even if he was meant to sit with his brother. Sirius didn’t mind it much, Charlie mostly talked about dragons, and for a 4-year-old, he seemed to have encyclopedic knowledge of them. While Bill, who was always listening to him go on and on about dragons, found it annoying, Sirius and James thought it was actually interesting.

He was telling Sirius about the Ukrainian Ironbelly and how he wanted to get a wand with a dragon heartstring core when he turned 11 when Monty stood up and thanked everyone for coming to the party, which prompted Charlie into silence.

Monty’s speech was heartfelt and honest, just like he was all the time, and while he didn’t explicitly say anything related to the war, he did mention that they were living in dark times, and for such reason, it was time to keep those whom you love at an arm’s length, to take care of each other and to check up on them as often as possible. He said that sometimes even the simplest of messages made the difference.

When his speech was done, there was a small toast, and then they got to eat. Sirius dived straight for the potato souffle since he had helped with the preparation and thought the amount of cheese they had added was mouth-watering, he also waited a couple of seconds for the inside panels of the table to spin around so he could reach for some of Monty’s special turkey. He had tried it the first Christmas he spent with the Potters and since then he always waited eagerly for dinner time to be able to eat it again.

He had even asked Monty for the recipe, but he had never gotten around to preparing it himself, although this Christmas Monty had him do some of the garlic mincing and spices blending for him, so he learned all the techniques. Sirius was more than happy to help, he found the kitchen to be a relaxing place (as long as it was the Potter’s kitchen and Monty was the head chef).

Effie was a lot more demanding in the kitchen, and if he had never dared to enter the one in Grimmauld Place, he was sure to come out as a roasted chicken instead of with one. Kreacher had always been awful to him, and the kitchens were his and Walburga’s territory exclusively.

Sirius was about to take another bite of his turkey, Charlie was talking about a Common Welsh Green and how elegant he thought they were when he felt another pang on his hand. Sharper and a lot more concentrated this time around. He dropped his fork and it clanged against the plate. He looked up, worried, out of habit more than anything, only to realise he was at home, and not with Walburga where he might have been awfully reprimanded.

With the Potters it was different, in fact, Monty gave him a short questioning look, clearly asking if he was all right, to which Sirius nodded. Monty went back to his talk and allowed James to check on Sirius instead. Meanwhile, Effie raised her voice just a little, covering up for the loud sound Sirius had caused and Molly laughed loudly at something Alastor said. Sirius looked around with a small smile.

Yeah, this is home, he thought as he pulled his hand towards him and placed his thumb over the already faded scar.

“Mate, that’s the second time today,” James said, looking at Sirius with a frown.

“I don’t know what’s with it either,” he admitted with a shrug.

“You wanna skip dessert? Go sleep?”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Sirius lied, trying to push aside the unsettling feeling gnawing at his mind. It had been months since it last troubled him, and this time it felt worse, not even in the aftermath of Mexico when he discovered how annoying it could be, but back then he assumed it was just the healing process, he didn’t know about Protean charms and, even now, he didn’t know why it was happening, perhaps then he would have reacted faster.

Regardless of the uneasiness, Sirius intended to enjoy the dinner, and he did, in between eating, joking with James and hearing Charlie talk about dragons, he was distracted from the pain so often that by the time he went to sleep, he had almost completely forgotten about the discomfort. That was until he actually fell asleep.

In his dream, Sirius found himself in an eerie scene, surrounded by his family, yours, Evan, Arkalis, and even the Dark Lord. Regulus was speaking to him, then he cast a hex on his brother, and suddenly they were torturing Muggles. That’s when he realised he wasn’t himself; he was seeing things through your eyes as if you had lent them to him.

He saw his cousin Bella and then your friend, Nina who was being tortured with an unforgivable. That’s when you reacted, there was a fire. Not any fire, Fiendfyre. The massive Chimera you created was burning everything in its wake. Chaos ensued, lives were lost, and you fled.

He saw how you ran alongside Nina until you were further enough away, but Lucius showed up out of nowhere. You duelled him, almost won, but Nina was hit by a stunning spell and you lost it, throwing yourself over her and crying, desperate to bring her back, but she wasn’t responding. There was a blinding light and he heard Barty’s voice.

“Sirius!” a voice called from a distance. “SIRIUS!”

He jolted awake, with a confused gaze as if trying to get back to reality, “James?”

“You’ve been muttering Vixen’s name over and over, and you’re sweating,” James said, his hand on Sirius’s forehead. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Sirius frowned, his pulse fast and his breathing short, still struggling to ground himself. The dream had felt so real as if he really had been you, as if he really had gone through all that stuff, perhaps he had drunk too much of that Dragon Wine after listening to Charlie go on and on about how the process of slowly heating the conserve with dragon breath was “so fascinating”.

It’s not that he didn’t think it was interesting, but no matter what you said, Charlie found a way to connect it with dragons and after a while, it did get dizzying.

“Yeah, it was awful,” Sirius admitted. “Thank Merlin it was just a dream.”

James nodded and threw himself next to Sirius, taking the rock Andromeda had given him and tossing it from hand to hand. Back when they were smaller, James would sleep with Sirius whenever he had a nightmare. It reminded Sirius of Reggie and he always felt a lot more at ease when he wasn’t alone on the bed. He didn’t do it much anymore, Sirius’ nightmares had decreased, and he had also gotten a lot better at hiding when he had some.

“I’ll go take piss,” Sirius said as he stood up. James threw him a side glance and watched his friend walk all the way to the bathroom attentively. He wasn’t sure when had been the last time Sirius had had such a distressing nightmare, and the fact that it had to do with you, must have been even more upsetting.

He understood it much better now that he had Lily, he wanted to protect her more than anything in this world and the thought of something, anything, happening to her was enough to make his bIood run cold. He was scared of things happening to her, and he assumed Sirius must have been just as scared of things happening to you. Especially with how things were now. At least you were a pure-bIood, not as much of a target for deatheaters as Lily was.

In truth, James had sent notes to Lily every day since he got home, not because he missed her so dreadfully that he couldn’t go a day without talking to her –which was also kind of true- but because he was terrified he wouldn’t see her again. There were rumours of death eaters going for muggle-borns now. And James had read about a student from 2nd year disappearing along with her family last month. Nobody knew where Jane Bishop and her parents were.

Sirius walked towards the bathroom as quietly as possible, he didn’t know the time, but he didn’t want to wake up anybody by accident either. He went straight to the sink and tried to wash the sweat off his face, letting some of the water pool in the sink to be able to clean his neck better. When he dug his hand into the water, is when he realised things hadn’t been just a nightmare.

He felt like he had been hit in the stomach and stumbled back a couple of steps until his back crashed against the back wall, then he saw Barty right in front of him, throwing a stunning spell at his face. He didn’t move, but the bathroom dissolved behind him and he appeared to be sitting in the snow, looking up at the Shrieking Shack, completely surrounded by snow. His eyes, although actually opened, slowly closing and opening again.

One moment he was there, and the next, he saw James crouching right in front of him, with a concerned expression.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Sirius managed to mumble.

“What?”

“It wasn’t a dream!” he repeated a little louder, grabbing onto the towel rack to stand back up again, James helped pull him up and he bolted out of the bathroom.

James looked at his friend and waved his wand over the mess, all things slowly going back into place, the faucet closing and the sink emptying as he walked behind Sirius.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I think shit went down at Rosier’s Christmas party,” Sirius muttered as he paced around the room, “And it was because of Vixen.”

“When you say shit went down…”

“I mean Fiendfyre and dеad people,” Sirus said looking up at James with a stony expression. “But that’s… she somehow ended up in the Shack, Barty stunned her just outside-”

“Sirius–” James said in a comforting tone.

“We need to do something, she might get hypothermia if she stays out for too long, she–”

“Sirius!” James called again, a lot more stern now, grabbing onto his friend’s shoulders and shaking him to get his attention. “Are you sure it wasn’t a nightmare?” Sirius swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as he nodded. James took a deep breath, “Okay, I’ll talk to my parents, we can confirm with–”

“No!! Sirius said, snapping out of James. “It was real, and she’s alone, in the snow, pretty much passed out, we have to do something. Maybe I can apparate there or–”

“You’ll splinch.”

“Damn it, James!” Sirius snapped. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“Remus!” James said, looking up at Sirius.

“Remus?” Sirius asked, confused.

“He’s at school, he can take the passage and–” Sirius didn’t even let James finish, he had already run towards the mirror and the radio, flashing the mirror with lumos and shouting at the small microphone.

“Sirius?” Remus asked confused from the other side of the line.

Sirius was quick to fill him in, and Remus had put a coat on in seconds.

“Wait!” James said as Remus pocketed the mirror and walked towards the door. Remus took the mirror out and looked at the two boys. “What if it’s a trap?”

“If Vixen’s in danger, I don’t care if it’s a trap,” Remus said, with the same determination as Sirius when he was about to risk splinching.

“Remus?” Sirius said, doubtful.

“Yeah?” the boy responded through the radio.

“Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” the boy reassured and pocketed the mirror again.

After that, there was radio silence.

Sirius paced around the room, Monty and Effie had woken up and walked towards them. Effie had a note in her hand and seemed to be hesitating to speak.

“What is it?” Sirius asked.

Effie looked to the side and wet her lips before looking back at her boy. “It’s her mother, Avis” –she hesitated– “She’s dеad.” Effie said as she let out a short breath, “there was dark magic that went out of control, Rosier Manor was badly damaged. No one knows where she is.”

“She’s not there,” Sirius reassured.

Effie frowned and James explained to both of his parents what had happened. Monty went to place a hand on Sirius’ back as they sat on the bed. The boy’s leg kept bouncing, but there was no news, neither from you nor from Remus. All he could see was the dark fabric from Remus’ pocket through the mirror.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 9 months

Text

Creep - Dark!Joel/Creepy Neighbour!Joel x Reader Dark fic.

Taking part in the Haunted Hoedown - I did a randomised one so here we goooo:

Prompts: Urban Legend(s), “I’m so close, can you feel it?”, fate worse than death, mirror sex, the creepy neighbour is too hot to be insane, right? Thank you @psychedelic-ink and @inklore for setting this up! [Extra thanks to @beefrobeefcal and @patti7dc for beta reading this to let me know if it hit right!] [Read on Ao3]

Part 2 of 3 here:

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific warnings: This is a dark fic, it’s twisted af, Joel is a creep, Joel is mean and fucking nasty in this, drug use, dubcon(reader is high AF), coercion, mouth fucking, unprotected PiV, Creampie, breeding kink, degredation(lots of Joel calling Reader a slut/whore etc.), (heavy)stalker vibes, let me know if I missed anything! Enjoy you beautiful THOTs.

Creep.

You’d heard the stories, of the creepy neighbour down the hall, the one Jenny said to avoid like the plague. But she also thought that pot smoking was the work of the devil, and that sex before marriage was a fate worse than death. But you didn’t listen too hard, especially when you realised just how hot Mr Miller was. You’d bumped into him a few times when collecting your mail, or when you’d snuck up onto the roof to smoke.

Tonight is one of the latter. The fire escape rattles as you hear the tell-tale groan of Mr Miller, it’s weird how a pained groan could make your stomach flutter as heat rises on your cheekbones. You take a long drag, the tickling burn of pot threatening to make you cough but you stay quiet, waiting for him to make it up to the roof.

“Damned knee,” He grumbles to himself, cresting over the roof of the building like a bed-headed angel, fuck the pot is already affecting you as you giggle quietly at your own train of thought. The sound makes Joel perk up, dark eyes locking onto yours as he realises he’s not alone, “Hey there gorgeous.” He says with his syrupy Texan drawl dripping from every word.

“Evening Mr Miller.” You say as you take another hit, flicking the ash over the side of the building. Your legs dangle over the edge, feet bare in the oppressive New York summer air.

“Please, sweetheart call me Joel.” He says with an exasperated sigh, as he trudges over to you, his equally bare feet slapping softly on the flat rooftop.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, sitting just far enough away from you to give you some space.

“Never,” You say as you offer him your blunt, which he willingly accepts, “Always a riveting conversation with you Mr-, I mean Joel.” You giggle to yourself, the high already making you feel light and airy as you can’t help the stream of giggles that erupt from your lips as Joel eyes you with a look you can’t quite perceive.

“You been up here long sweetheart?” He asks and you swear he inches closer to you, but you either don’t care, or the weed is just making you horny and hopeful. Maybe it’s all of the above.

“Not long, just been a long week.” You say airily as you watch the older man purse his lips around the tip of the joint, you feel the ache between your legs build as you watch the tendrils of smoke escape from his mouth as he exhales.

“It’s Tuesday sweetheart.” He chuckles, handing you back the joint and for a second your fingers brush against one another and you find yourself chasing his touch. His eyes sparkle in the darkness as he notices your parted lips, knees clamped together as you try and relieve some of the ache in your soaked cunt.

“Don’t remind me.” You grumble as you lie back on the rooftop, a heavy sigh leaving you as you try not to think about how hot Joel is, how his grey sweatpants leave nothing to the imagination. You also try very hard not to get caught staring as you realise his dark eyes are glued to you.

“You ok there babygirl?” The new nickname makes your cunt throb and you know your eyes are wide and glassy as you try to make up an excuse.

“Sorry just-,” You start but Joel lies down next to you stretching his arms above his head, the hem of his t-shirt pulling up far enough that you get a glimpse of the stretch of tan skin, dappled with curls leading down to the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Just what babygirl? You checking out this old dog?” He grumbles but you can hear the humour in his tone.

“Maybe,” You say with yet another string of giggles as you, “What of it?”

“Just surprised such a beautiful girl like you would be interested in someone like me.” He says with a shrug as a chuckle escapes his lips.

“Whaddaya mean? Like you?” You ask, already noting how slurred your speech has become.

“Creepy old neighbour, sniffin’ up all the girls skirts, and so on.” He says with a sigh, as if it actually pained him to say the words.

“Don’t think you’re creepy, pretty hot for an old man.” You say with a giggle, trying to lighten the mood, and it seems to work as he barks out a short laugh.

“Don’t tease babygirl, not nice to kick a man when he’s down.” He grumbles but you can hear the levity in his tone.

“Not teasing, not unless you want me to.” You say as you roll onto your side, looking at him as he mirrors your actions, rolling on his side, you’re almost nose to nose now, the tension between you is palpable as you wet your lips in anticipation.

“You’re high babygirl, don’t go makin’ decisions you’ll regret in the mornin’.” He grumbles but you can hear the strain in his voice. You throw caution to the wind and palm the growing bulge straining against his sweatpants. The moan that escapes him tells you all you need to know as you press your lips softly against his. They’re chapped, warm, plush.

“Take me to bed Joel.” You say softly as you pull back, his eyes are glassy, pupils saucers as he bites down on his lip as he considers it.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He growls and brushes his lips against yours once more before pulling away to roll onto his feet, offering his hand out to you, muscles rippling as he hoists you up.

He helps you down the fire escape, steadying you on the gantries as you try your hardest not to fall helplessly to your demise. Once you’re back at your floor you’re crawling through the window to the hall, stumbling against the wall as your legs wobble.

“Easy there,” Joel coos as he grips your elbow, steading you as he pulls you close, “Your place or mine?” He says softly as he rubs his thumbs back and forth against your biceps.

“Yours, mine’s a dump, don’t want to scare you off.” You admit with a giggle and he rolls his eyes at you as he steers you to his apartment, you note that the door is unlocked as he pushes you into the dimly lit living room.

Immediately his mouth is on yours, a large hand grips your hip, pinning you to him, the other fisted in your hair as he pushes you further into his apartment. Your hands claw at one another’s bodies, stripping you both bare to the humid air as you crash into the unmade bed. All you can smell is Joel, the musk on his bedsheets, the waft of his detergent. It’s all consuming.

“Look at you.” He says darkly as he stands at the end of the bed, bare for you, one hand rubbing the patchy stubble on his chin as the other pumps his length slowly. And length is the right word for it, he’s so big you shudder.

“Mr Miller please.” You whine as you clench around nothing.

“Such a needy brat, c’mere.” He beckons and you scamper up onto your knees to look at him. He smirks and pushes down on your shoulder with one hand, the other still secure on his cock. You’re forced to sit back on your ankles as he pulls your head towards his angry, red tip, beading with precome already.

“Please Mr Miller, fuck me.” You whine as you eye his dick hungrily. You expect him to become bashful, disheartened, but there’s a darkness that settles over his eyes, his posture shifts.

“Suck.” He says with a grunt as he fists his hand in your hair, tugging painfully but you groan at the sensation as your lips are forced against his tip. You whimper as you take the tip into your mouth, suckling gently as your tongue flattens along the underside.

“Fuck, dirty little mouth, knew you were just fucking begging for it, seen the way you look at me babygirl.” He grunts as he rocks his hips slowly, pushing further and further into your mouth. You’ve only got about half of him in your mouth and you’re already struggling. He laughs at you, a cold, condescending sound.

“Shouldn’t pretend to be such a slut if you’re not willing to take my cock babygirl.” He growls as he pulls your head back, opening your throat up for him so he can force the rest of his brutal length into you. His balls rest heavy on your chin as you choke and splutter around him, saliva dripping down your cheeks as you cry at the stretch.

“Fuck, come with me.” He grunts as he unsheathes himself from your mouth, yanking you up with such force your shoulder hurts. He pushes you into his bathroom, bending you over the sink so hard you almost hit the mirror with your head.

“Mr Miller, please, I’m sorry.” You whimper, the anticipation of him fucking you with such a big dick making you shake. But you’re excited at the same time, a sick and twisted desire leaking from you as your arousal coats your thighs.

“Too fuckin’ late sweetheart,” He growls as he notches himself at your entrance, “You wanna act like a slut, gonna treat you like one.”

You cry out as he stretches you out, squirming under him as he bottoms out. You’re so full, raw and split open but it feels so damned good. He fists your hair again and pulls you off the sink to look at him in the mirror. His face is contorted in a sick snarl, you can’t help but whine at how he looks. Dominant and brutal as he uses you.

“Look at you, all fucked out on my thick cock, spearing you like the good little slut you are.” He growls as he fucks into you at pace, not giving you a moment to adjust but it feels too good. You’re drooling, blissed out as a hand comes to your clit, thick, calloused fingers swiping furiously against your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Wanna feel you milk this cock dry little fucking slut.” He growls as he pistons into you as he expertly plays you like a fucking instrument. You feel your release slide down your spine, making your whole body shudder as your clit twitches painfully. You scream as his dick slams into you, your orgasm blurring the edges of fantasy and reality as you fall apart around him.

“Fu-fuuuuck.” Joel groans as he snaps his hips into you a few more times.

“Joel I’m not on birth control.” You babble, the realisation finally hitting you that he isn’t going to pull out.

“Too fuckin’ late you dumb slut, going to fill you up, ‘m so close, can you feel it?” He taunts as you feel him stutter inside you, the sensation of his cum filling you has you whining. It feels so fucking good.

“Fuck.” He grunts as he pulls out of you, immediately walking away, you stagger upright only to have your clothes thrown at you.

“Get dressed and get the fuck out of my apartment you fucking whore.” He snaps and you do as your told, trembling as you dress before scurrying across the hall. You fumble with your keys, as you unlock the door and quickly slip inside, locking the door from within as you slump to a heap against the door.

Your smile is so broad it hurts as you make yourself get up and head to bed, not bothering to shower. You flop down onto the pristinely made bed and laugh to yourself as you prop a pillow under your tailbone, staring up at the ceiling as you hope it takes. You’re ovulating after all.

You smile to yourself as you look up at the collage above you. Blown up photos of Joel from his social media, snaps you took on the sly on nights like tonight on the rooftop, that one time you caught him jacking off on the roof while high on god knows what. Your secret shrine on full display as you pray his seed will take. He thought he was in control, fucking you like he was the one pulling the strings but he was wrong, so very wrong.

“You’re going to be mine Miller, all fucking mine,” You groan as you play with your clit, arching your hips up so no more of his spend leaves you, “All fucking mine.”

Part 2 of 3 here:

Tagging for interest: @beefrobeefcal @cool-iguana @gracieispunk @toxicanonymity

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daydream-cement · 8 months

Text

In The Library (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x Reader

A study date gone awry.

Author’s Note: Ahhhh!!! I’m posting this late and its FAR LONGER than expected. This is apart of Smutember with @alexusonfire! The prompt being library! Thank you to @tunarunes for the beta!

You had one plan for your college experience: to pass your classes and become a teacher. So when you began your teacher training classes and fell absolutely head over heels in love with a walking, breathing, white-haired goddess, your plans wavered slightly.

She walked into your ‘Intro to Education’ class with her head held high, looking like a pinup girl cut out of a magazine from the 1950s. Her confidence was intoxicating and you knew from that instant that you wanted all of her attention. You felt blessed when she sat in a seat right next to you.

She removed her notebook and pen from her bag and turned to you with an outstretched hand, “Larissa.”

“Oh, hi! I’m- Uh-” It took you a moment to recall your name as her eyes trained on your face left you without a discernible thought.

Your behavior caused the shapeshifter to laugh, her hand landing on your shoulder. Her eyes fell to your notebook where your name was written in the upper right hand corner. “Y/n?”

“Yes- Yes, I’m Y/n.” You sputtered, eyes unable to leave her beautiful face.

“Beautiful name…” Larissa hummed, her eyes looking you over before turning her attention onto the instructor.

Sometimes you thought you caught her looking at you from the corner of her eye, but you were sure it was your mind playing tricks on you. One class period you had answered a question in a particularly meaningful way and you caught the shapeshifter observing you with a sweet smile.

When she raised her hand and answered questions, she was so sure of herself. Desperately you wanted to at least be her friend.

Sometimes when you would talk about

classwork, Larissa would rest a hand on your shoulder or thigh. She would look at you with such intensity you thought you would simply pass away. To even have an ounce of her attention was all you craved.

Finally your opportunity to become friends came when your professor told the class you would need a partner for the upcoming research project. Your heart stopped beating when Larissa turned around in her chair and her eyes locked onto yours. She flashed you a smile and gestured with her hand as a way of asking if you wanted to be in a group with her. Your cheeks turned red and you nodded faster than you felt you should have.

After class she passed you a note with her name and phone number followed by a little smiley face. You felt as if you could combust. The grin on your face remained for a long while, making your cheeks ache.

You hadn’t waited long to text her, sending her your name with a text smiley face of your own. Larissa was quick to get down to business, asking you for your availability to meet in the library to work on the project sometime later that week. You were immediate in your reply, offering many times for you to meet.

By that evening you had a plan to meet Thursday night in the library to get started on your project, but the conversation hadn’t stopped there. Soon you were texting back and forth about hobbies and interests.

Larissa had even asked about the dating scene at the university, making it a point to tell you that she was struggling to find other lesbians at the school. Your heart was beating wildly when you informed her of your own sexuality. Her only response to your text was, ‘That’s perfect.’

All Tuesday and Wednesday you continued your conversations over text. Some messages even make you wonder if Larissa had been flirting with you. You tried brushing off a few messages of Larissa complementing your outfits.

Wednesday night’s messages became sultry when Larissa mentioned not being able to keep her hands off you if she had a partner that looked the way you did. You quickly returned the sentiment.

Y/n: Stop. You are so beautiful!!! I can’t even imagine being with a girl as beautiful as you.

Larissa: You’re too sweet.

Larissa: Sometimes I can’t stop myself from looking at you in class. The shirt you wore last week had me staring so hard 🫣

Y/n: Ahhh! I’m blushing. I was worried it was too much!

Larissa: No! Not too much! Left some to the imagination! 😊😉

Y/n: Oh wow! 🤭 Glad you liked it!

Larissa: Liked it? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it…

——

“Are you ready to get to work? I have a favorite spot on the third floor we can work at. No one ever goes there.” Larissa towered over you as she spoke. You couldn’t help yourself as you watched her lips form words. Your gaze was more noticeable than intended and your admiration made the shapeshifter smile.

“Yeah, that sounds, uh, great.” You squeak out, ready to follow Larissa to the ends of the earth.

“I’ve been looking forward to this project since I read the syllabus. I was thinking we could research~” Larissa continued on about her plans for the project, but your mind wandered as you watched her pretty face.

What you would give to have those blue hues focused on your face. It wasn’t until you tripped over yourself because you were blatantly not watching where you were going that Larissa paused her talking to look down at you. She rested a hand on your arm as she spoke, “You really must watch where you are going. Are you alright?”

Your face flushed at the physical contact and you gaped and stumbled over your words, “Oh, yeah… Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m good.”

“Perhaps you should stop staring at me to prevent yourself from falling on that pretty face.” Larissa giggled and drew her hand from your arm to tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. She then continued walking towards her secret spot in the library, leaving you behind to comprehend the interaction. Was Larissa Weems flirting with you?

When you caught up with Larissa, she took you to the far corner of the library where the shelves of books intersected just right to leave you tucked away with the utmost privacy.

“Isn’t it nice? Turns out many aren’t interested in the math textbooks they keep back here.” Larissa smirked as she observed her study nook, obviously pleased with herself.

“It’s very nice.” You agree, glancing about before settling into the seat across from Larissa. “Good find!”

“I’m certainly happy with it.”

The small talk shifted into conversation about the project. Quickly, Larissa took charge, divvying up the assignment so you could more efficiently finish the work.

About ten minutes into researching the benefits of outdoor extracurriculars for students, you felt one of Larissa’s shoes poke your foot under the table. You glanced up at her, but she was still working diligently on her own portion of the project.

When you looked back down at your computer, the footsie started up once more. You allowed it to continue for a few moments before glancing up to her face once more, only now Larissa was smirking. Her eyes turned upwards onto yours and your mouth went dry at the sultry darkness in her eyes.

“I need your help with this slide. Could you come look at this?” Larissa’s mouth formed into a small pout as she asked her question.

You pop up from your seat and circle the table, leaning over her shoulder to examine the PowerPoint slide on her screen. You hold out a hand and begin pointing to different settings to help her through the error, but when Larissa didn’t make a move to solve the issue, you glanced down at her to see what was the matter. She had her eyes trained in on you, her lips darting out and wetting her lips as she stared at your own.

“Larissa?”

“Hmm?”

“Is everything okay?”

“I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?”

“What it would be like to kiss you.”

The brazenness of the statement had you floored. Your eyes were wide and your lips parted slightly as you tried to come up with a reply.

“Would you like that?”

A small whimper accidentally escaped your throat, making the shapeshifter smile. Her hand reached up to the back of your neck, pulling you down with a jerk, and sending your lips crashing into hers.

She held you like that for a few moments. Long enough for your hands to shift to her cheeks so she couldn’t pull away as easily.

When you finally did part, Larissa chuckled and gripped your forearm, pulling you to her side as she backed her chair out from under the table. In an instant, she pulled you down towards her lap. You instinctively shifted to straddle her, not questioning anything that was happening all so fast.

“I’ve noticed you looking at me in class. You’re cute, you know that?”

“I- I- You are so…”

“Yes, darling?” Larissa’s arms circled you to pull your body flush against hers. Her face fell into your neck, kissing your collarbone to your pulse point.

“Beautiful. You are so beautiful.”

“Thank you, sweetheart… Would you want to take a break from the project for a bit?” Larissa questioned, her hands squeezing your sides as a precursor of what was to come.

You nodded quickly and dove back down to her lips, needing more than the few second kiss from earlier. Larissa was happy to offer more passion by opening her mouth slightly, offering her tongue to you. Your tongues battled and you held one another close, hands tugging at one another’s clothes in search of more proximity than what was physically possible.

Larissa was kissing you until you were gasping for breath. You fought the urge to pinch yourself, worried this was all just a wonderful dream.

She parted the kiss for a moment to breathe out a question, “Can I touch you more?”

“Please…” You moan as you start pressing kisses along Larissa’s jawline.

The shapeshifter’s impatience was showing when she maneuvered her hand between your bodies and slipped it in the waistband of your pants. You felt her smile against your neck when she discovered how wet you already were for her. The floodgates had opened earlier when she had pressed kisses against your jugular.

“You feel so good…” Larissa whispered as her middle and forefinger began exploring your cunt, focusing in on your clit after a short while.

You were putty in her hands, whimpering softly into her neck. You knew you needed to remain quiet. This study session had evolved into something far out of the realm of what you thought to be possible. Larissa had been craving you the way you craved her.

“Sometimes I think about this in class… making you come on my fingers…”

The statement made you groan softly. You always imagined her to be such a diligent student, but knowing she was daydreaming such filthy thoughts pushed you towards your orgasm.

“Do you think about me too?” Larissa asked, her breath soft in your ear.

“Mhmm…”

“When I touch myself, I think about getting on my knees for you… I bet you taste so good…” She made herself moan from the dirty talk mixed with the barely audible wet noises emitted from your cunt. Larissa’s arm ached from the strange angle, but she wasn’t ready to relent. She needed to push you over the edge first.

The shapeshifter leaned forward in her chair, pinning you back to the table to give her enough leverage to change her arm positioning enough to push two fingers into your aching cunt. The heel of her hand continued working against your clit, but the sensation was faint enough to cause your hips to buck and grind against her hand frantically.

Larissa chuckled and gave you what you wanted by pumping her fingers harder and faster. Your moans and whimpers came more freely as it became harder to control the volume of your voice.

She began sucking at the flesh of your neck, completely pushing you over the edge. It drove you wild that a mark would be left behind from the woman you were absolutely smitten with.

A low groan escaped your throat and you muffled the cry by capturing Larissa’s lips with yours. The kiss was rough and desperate which only made the shapeshifter moan in return.

You remained quiet in her lap for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of her arms wrapping around you once more. Her face dropped into your neck, leaving soft kisses as she told you over and over how beautiful she found you to be. You made your crush known by quietly admitting all of the sweet daydreams you had about dating her.

Larissa pulled her face from your neck, tucking hair behind both of your ears. Her hands fell back to your waist and her eyes admiring your face. “Would you like to get something to eat and come back to my place?”

“I would love that…”

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @teashock, @enchantressb, @alex-nyx, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @scream-queenlover, @shyladyfan , @lilfartbox1, @rubberduckiesbathing, @mcufanisme, @peanutbutterprincess, @larissaoftarthweems, @sicklygrlsicklygrl, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @dumbasslesbi, @oculusalien, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @h-doodles, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic, @kimiinou

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems smut #principal weems #principal larissa weems #nevermore academy #wednesday netflix #fanfic #oneshot #gwendoline christie #smut #principal weems x reader #gwen christie

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alatushours · 2 months

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☆ LOVE POTION, various — he doesn’t know much about love, but he’ll try his best for you.

contents. featuring xiao, dan heng, and roronoa zoro. gender neutral reader, fluff. xiao + zoro is canon au, dan heng’s is modern! your first date with each of the boys ♡ word count. 537

notes. writing the prompt “love potion” for my own event despite it having been closed for a month LMAO i just need an excuse to write something… anyways uh pls pretend i’m not writing xiao when i said i wouldn’t in a while 🫣 i have a wip for tighnari otw i promise !!!

xiao has never been interested in mortal celebrations. but after meeting you, he can’t help but want to learn more about them. “would you… want to come to the lantern rite with me?”

you were pleasantly surprised when he asked; glad to see that the yaksha was finally coming out of his shell. you laughed, took his hand (which prompted a blushing mess out of him), and led him down to the harbor, where the festivities were already starting.

figuring he still wasn’t too comfortable being around large crowds of mortals, you took him to a secluded spot on a hill by the pavilion, close enough so that you could still see the lanterns that lit up the sky.

“they’re beautiful, aren’t they?” you ask him, following his eyes as he stared at tiny glowing dots fading in the night. xiao nods slowly, seemingly mesmerized by the sight. you smile softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you watch the fireworks show that followed.

dan heng, being a bit of a bookworm, was a little… socially awkward, to say the least. luckily, you found his quirks entertaining. “there’s a new bookstore that opened across the street… would you be interested?”

so one tuesday afternoon, you meet him by the park, where he stood with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. you giggle when he awkwardly offers them to you. “of course, why else would you have bought them for?”

making you way to the bookstore, dan heng watches as you stroll down the aisles, picking out some you wanted. he felt his heart swell as he spies his favorite novel in your hand. “i didn’t know you liked that book too…”

the two of you end up spending the rest of the afternoon in the cafe next door, chatting about your favorite books over coffee. he smiles, maybe being a geek isn’t a such bad thing after all.

zoro never quite wanted to leave the sunny when the crew docked on a new island; he preferred to stay behind and take a nap, or train. but you always encouraged him to come along, and he finally decided to go along with it. “i’m gonna go explore… if ‘ya wanna come with.”

there happened to be a small crafts market in the town nearby, so you and zoro (mostly just you) went admiring the handicrafts the stalls had on display. "aww, how lovely!" you admire a little clockwork deer that reminded you a bit of chopper.

then you realized you had some business to attend to in town, so you left zoro behind for a few minutes, saying, "don't you dare get lost while i'm gone!" he stands there awkwardly, before glancing back at the crafts stall. while i'm here...

...and then of course you happen to accidentally encounter the marines, causing you to have to run back to the ship with zoro in tow. when you're finally safe in the crow's nest of the sunny, however... he presented you with the mechanical deer toy from earlier, to your joy. "i don't have that many berries but.. i know you wanted it, so i guess i'll just have to pay nami back later."

end notes. i thought i would write a lot for xiao but i ended up writing more for zoro lmao he’s been taking up all of my brain recently but i hope you enjoyed <3

#candy hearts : an event ♡#໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა mari writes !#this is long overdue huh…#xiao x reader #xiao genshin impact #xiao fluff #dan heng x reader #dan heng hsr #dan heng fluff #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro one piece #zoro fluff

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moumouton4 · 8 months

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Fantasy || Shikamaru Nara x reader

A/n : Prompt 6 of the Smutember 2023 ( 9th day of consecutive days of heatwave in France with 35°C so 95°F, it will continue until next Tuesday. I would like some ice cream. It's supposed to be under 25°C so 77°F )

The list of promps is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : No mention of gender for reader, exhibitionism, "wall" sex but you'll understand after, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 826

You knew Shikamaru always had a thing for nature. He always preferred to train in the middle of a forest or a field rather than on a piece of land. And he LOVES napping away from the hustles and bustles of the village. The sounds of nature are so exquisite, the birds singing, the wind rustling the leaves or the crickets calling... well maybe not as exquisite as your moans but 🙂 yeah they're good in their own way.

That’s therefore in all normality that you didn’t have any second thoughts when he asked you if you wanted to join him for a little stroll in the forest. Since the day was pretty hot you thought it was a good idea. It would allow you both to enjoy the cool breeze circulating between the green leaves of the trees, protected by their shades. Though it seemed Shikamaru had other plans. For once he was going to be the one being a drag 😂

You let him as you navigate through the trees. The air was much more breathable here. You noticed, however, that he wasn't taking the same route as usual. You didn't point it out to him and continued chatting as you jumped. But then suddenly he stopped on a branch. Surprisingly he started to look around as if he was trying to make sure no one was around and when he knew the way was clear he turned to you “You know it’s been some time I’ve been thinking about something” you nodded as he spoke “You could call that a little fantasy, if you want to name it”

As he spoke he walked toward you, slowly backing you against the tree trunk. Without even you knowing, your boyfriend - who often was a slow-motion kinda guy - swiftly pinned you against the wood. His lips hovered over your ear as he spoke in a husky voice “What if we did it here ?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as your brain processed the information. He wanted to let you choose to join him in this adventurous moment, though his eagerness pushed him to slowly nibble on your neck. Your hand cradled the back of his head as if wanting to bring him closer “You know that you're currently the one being a drag” As you said that you felt his lips curve into a smirk against your neck.

“Does that mean “yes” ?” though he already knew you were going to be up for it ( Imagine Shikamaru just knowing as if it was a fact that you’re horny ) but just in case he teasingly grounded his growing bulge against you. He just knew how to make you weak and get what he wants. With a breathless answer coming from you, he hurried to pull down his pants and position himself in front of your entrance "Don't make any noise okay. We don't want to get caught out here"

“Don’t get too cocky now mist- mpff ah” you moaned. That little bastard plunged himself to the brim in one go.

“Mmh ? What did you say ?” he purred, his teeth grazing against the tender flesh.

“Hey it’s your fault for entering all the way like this”

“Then why are you so wet ?” he said as he started with slow thrusts inside your warmth.

“You’re insufferable” you managed to speak as his cock started to move faster inside you.

“You love it” he groaned slamming harder against you “All - of - it” he punctuated his words with deep thrusts, making your hand tighten their grips against his arms.

As he fucked you, you couldn’t help but look down at some moment just to see if you two were really alone. The branches of the trees were large enough to support both of your weight during your love making. Shiikamaru kept surprising you when he pulled out and switched both of your positions on the branch. He sat with his back against the tree trunk and patted his lap. You didn’t lose time to come and sink on his awaiting and throbbing member.

This one encounter wasn't even finished when your brain already came up with a plethora of other scenarios. You just knew this wasn't going to only be one time. You knew that he was going to try and take you to other places. Maybe in the middle of a field on a soft blanket, surely when night falls on the fresh green grass in a public park.

And you weren’t so far from the truth because the next place he brought you to was a little stream hidden in the forest, far away from where people come and train. It has plenty of depth to get fucked in his arms without him having to make any physical effort. And some smooth rocks that can, let’s be true, make a great place for a good and nice fucking.

#naruto #naruto imagine #naruto smut #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagine #naruto shippuden smut #shikamaru nara #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru nara x reader smut #shikamaru nara imagine #shikamaru nara smut #shikamara x reader #shikamaru smut #smutember 2023 #smut #miri-writes

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effortandmore · 1 year

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tuesday moon | knj (18+)

summary: being “just friends” with kim namjoon sucks

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut

au: university, co-workers to lovers to friends to lovers again (they're oblivious)

warnings: it's mostly fluff i think. they're oblivious. smut: minors should not be interacting/reading, namjoon has a big dick, a lil praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, the usual suspects i think. drinking (but not before they sleep together), tae is into new age jazz... and they were roommates!

word count: 7.7k

a/n: so... i had this dream a couple months ago and couldn't get it out of my head, so here you go. thanks, sleep brain. the title is from a neutral milk hotel song (but tbh the '23 album isn't great). thank you to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over. and then for doing it again when i couldn't even find the mistake you told me was there 🙃

read on ao3

You’ve learned a lot in university—which given how much money you’ve spent to be there is a relief. But amongst business classes and writing workshops and statistics, the most important knowledge you’ve gained is that of small things.

Of small things and how they can change your life in unbelievably big ways.

Kim Namjoon isn’t exactly small. But the events that put him right in the middle of your life are. The first day you meet him is a Tuesday. Tuesdays have always been for non-events: for meetings and your least favorite classes… For snagging a coveted dryer on the third floor of the dorm building because Jeongguk saves it for you when he’s finished with his seemingly endless laundry. Tuesdays are for your first real uni friend, Taehyung, to show up to the laundry room unannounced and make you listen to weird new-age jazz on his phone that you hate, but love how much he loves it.

And then your work-study starts. A job in the library is supposed to be easy, has better hours than a lot of the jobs that are available, and pretty much only requires you to understand the Dewey decimal system so you can reshelve things quickly. You can count and read, and those seem to be the only things the head librarian cares about. Cake.

Your first training day is a Tuesday. It’s a rainy afternoon, and in one of the conference rooms in the back of the law floor are you and three other new employees. Right away, it seems like Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon are already friends. They joke and whisper throughout the orientation videos and absolutely make you feel like a fourth wheel. At your first break, Hoseok extends the invitation for you to sit with them when he notices you still sitting by yourself in the back of the room, and it's then that you learn they for sure already knew each other—music majors and all in the same class even though Yoongi is a little older than the other two. They signed up for all the same work-study assignments hoping they’d be placed together, hoping they could have a chance to work on music during slow times at the slowest work-study assignments. Namjoon, though, who has been quiet the whole time, finally speaks up at this.

“Well, I also like books,” he says softly, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “So, I guess I had an ulterior motive.”

“Of course you did, Namjoonie,” Hoseok replies.

Yoongi turns to you, explaining, “Namjoon’s a double major. Smartest guy we know. Literature and music.”

You talk more with them after the ice is broken—Yoongi’s a double major, too, math and music. Hoseok raps and does street dancing in his free time, and around the three of them, you feel like you’re woefully underachieving just at life in general.

“What about you?” Namjoon prompts after you get some background on all of them.

“Ah… nothing impressive. Economics major. Just what my parents wanted, you know. But I like books, too. I volunteer at the public library already, but it doesn’t exactly help with tuition.”

“You volunteer?” Namjoon repeats, looking surprised.

“Oh, yeah… It’s no big deal. I just read books to kids sometimes.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, and the look on his face tells you he might actually mean it. Next to him, Yoongi snickers and Hoseok smiles brightly at you.

“Namjoonie here has wanted to volunteer doing park clean up for a while, but Yoongi and I are always dragging him to the studio on the weekends, so he doesn’t have time.”

Namjoon shrugs. “It would be nice to feel like I’m helping, I think.”

“It is,” you agree, sharing a look with him across the table. “The purpose of life is to be useful…” You mumble the quote under your breath, assuming they wouldn’t know what you meant anyway.

“Emerson?” Namjoon asks.

“Oh! Uh… yeah, I mean… That’s what people think, but probably not. It’s most likely from a speech someone else gave when they gave Emerson an award, but most people think it’s him—” you cut yourself off when you notice Namjoon’s eyes gone wide.

“Self Reliance is one of my favorites,” he says, leaning forward, excitement playing in his voice.

“Same! No one ever knows what I’m talking about, but ‘Nothing at last is sacred but the integrity of one’s own mind’ is maybe my whole life philosophy,” you ramble, just happy that someone might finally know what you’re talking about. No one in your economics classes ever shows any interest in philosophy, anyway. Your roommate calls you a nerd every time you bring stuff like this up, and Jeongguk just stares at you with big eyes like he wants to drink every word you're saying but doesn’t understand a drop of it. But Namjoon actually looks… interested in what you’re saying. More than interested, even.

Yoongi elbows Hoseok and smirks. “Namjoon’s in trouble,” he says.

But before you can ask what that means, the head librarian interrupts to tell you it’s time to get back to training. You have to partner up for training to use the library’s reservation and shelving programs, and Namjoon comes right up to you, grinning shyly, and asks if you want to be his partner while his friends whisper on the other side of the room. You know immediately how this is going to go. Or you think you do, anyway.

And you’re right. By the end of the first week of your work study, you’re in Kim Namjoon’s bed.

It’s just like it sounds.

You’re naked, legs bent at the knees and open with his head between them. You noticed his brain first, but it only took that first afternoon to realize that not only was he smart, but stupid hot and kind and sort of funny in the sarcastic way you like, and he seemed to like something about you, too.

On Saturday, you work a slow shift together, both of you using most of the time to catch up on homework, and when it’s over, he asks if you want to come back to his place and keep studying. You agree quickly, but as soon as you get there, you realize you’re both on the same page about being more interested in studying each other than your class work. One thing leads to another, and here you are, moaning into your own palm as he flicks his tongue over your clit in a steady rhythm.

“Namjoon, I–” You’re pathetic, you think, gasping and barely able to make words come out of your mouth, but fuck if he’s not good at this. Better than you’d thought he would be, actually. He came across as a little on the shy side during work, like he might be one of those guys who needs you to tell him where the clit is. Eager to please, but not quite sure how to go about it. Willing to take direction.

He is not that.

“Gonna come, baby? You like my tongue that much?” Namjoon lifts his head to ask, and his lips are slick with you and his voice is deep and his fingers just don’t stop moving… It's so much.

“Yeah, so close…”

At that, Namjoon smirks and ducks his head back down to finish the job. He makes quick work of you, sucking on your clit and twisting one of your nipples with his free hand. The other has two fingers fucking into you in just the right way, just shallow enough to hit your g-spot each time he pushes in.

The orgasm builds fast, pressure from the inside, pressure from the outside… Everything feels so, so good, and you try to tell him so, but all you can do is whimper through it, clenching your thighs around his ears when you come on his tongue and he tries (bless him) to keep licking your core as your knees shake.

“Fuck,” you say on an exhale, arm tossed over your own forehead.

“I’m down,” he teases.

You’re about to say something sarcastic back, but when you lift your arm and look down at him, you lose that train of thought. He looks fucking incredible: flushed, a little sweaty, chin shiny with your orgasm and he’s grinning with those stupid dimples out… How could you not give him everything he wants? Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, the sweet rush of dopamine affecting you when you say, “I want that. Fuck me…” And for emphasis, when he stares at you a little stunned, you add, “Please, Namjoon?”

He only nods, enthusiastically and a little dopey with it, a little like the boy you saw in the library. But when his cock is out—big… like, really big. Why even have a cock that large, really? What’s even the point of that?—he’s smirking and appropriately (you hope) confident again.

“That is…” you look down and make a vague gesture in the direction of his dick, which makes him look down, too.

He shies almost instantly. “Yeah, it’s okay if it’s too much or whatever…”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I just… You look good.” You scoot up so you can have level eye contact. “Want you to fuck me. I can handle it, promise. I want to.”

Namjoon swallows, visibly nervous, but agrees anyway.

You knew it would be fine. Any partner who makes sure to tell you you’re beautiful, who makes sure you come first, who pays attention to your body the way he has for the last couple hours is probably going to keep doing that, you decide. And he does. He’s careful, even though you think it might actually be killing him a little to not move once he’s over halfway inside you. He checks in with you, makes sure the consent is still there, and then when you ask him to “actually fuck me, Namjoon… want your cock… all of you,” he does. And he delivers.

You’re essentially sitting in his lap, his palms spread on your hips as he moves you on his cock and it is… Well, it’s unequivocally the best anyone’s ever fucked you. His lips are on your neck, your breasts, the swell underneath them where they meet your ribcage… He keeps talking to you in his raspy whisper, making sure you feel okay, telling you how good you feel to him. There are times when he gets a little porny, telling you how tight you are (you’re sure a cock that big hasn’t seen anything not tight), and then he says, half out of breath, “Knew you would be a good girl. Knew it from the first time I saw you.” And you didn’t even know you wanted to be a ‘good girl,’ but suddenly you very much do.

Before he comes, he makes sure you do again, too. His thumb finds your clit and his lips are hot against your ear, whispering filth when you tighten around his cock and shudder in his lap. He’s not far behind you, pulling your hips down when he thrusts into you a little harder, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort. He’s quiet when he comes, just a low moan of your name as he stills under you.

After, it’s the small things he does that you like. It’s nice that he doesn’t try and move right away, just runs his hands up and down your back—soothing, almost. The closeness is nice, his head resting against your collarbone while you stroke your fingers through his hair. It feels intimate, more than a first time or a one night stand with your coworker should. But neither of you make a move to change that, so maybe it’s alright.

For now.

You haven’t exactly been the most social university student, but you know how these things are supposed to go. You clean up, you get dressed, you make awkward small talk about your classes or your work study and then you go your separate ways. You go back to your apartment and you don’t talk about what happened. He might look at you like he knows what’s underneath your hoodie next time you see him, but you know it won’t happen again. That’s not how it works. Not for you, anyway.

Kim Namjoon is a good guy, that you’re sure of. He’s a hard worker, he’s smart, he has lots of friends and hobbies and between that and school and work, you know there’s no way he’s looking for a relationship, and you also know he’s going to do his best to let you down easy if he thinks that’s what you’re after.

But, he’s your friend. And your co-worker, and the sex was great, so you want to at least spare him the effort of all that. So, when he gets up to dispose of the condom and find a washcloth, you get dressed quietly, pack your textbooks, and do your best to look mostly put together by the time he comes back.

“So,” you start as he returns to his room, “that was great… Really great, Namjoonie. Thank you.”

He looks… confused. “You’re thanking me for sex?”

“I uh… yes?”

Namjoon gives you a dimpled smile with an eyebrow raised, clearly amused. “Okay… Well, you’re welcome, then. And thank you.” He gives you a teasing bow, and with it, you feel a little relief. Because he’s obviously ready to move forward and this can just be a fun thing that happened and you don’t have to make him worry about letting you down, and you don’t have to worry about how much you fucking like him already. You can just be friends.

The problem, you realize quickly, is that being “just friends” with Kim Namjoon sucks.

It’s like sending your poor, delusional heart through a cheese grater with each of your work-study shifts. It’s swallowing down every dream of happiness when you have to sit next to him at a party and watch him nod along in agreement as Hoseok tells him how hot the new guy in his dance class is. (The guy is hot, with at least a 6-pack, big, pouty lips, and biceps like cannons. So, even you have to agree they have a point.)

Okay, that’s probably dramatic. Incredibly dramatic according to Taehyung and Jeongguk. Which, honestly, says a lot coming from them.

So, you do your best to forget your crush and just be cool about everything. You both make a frankly commendable effort to never talk about what happened between you, and after a few weeks, things don’t feel quite so weird. Namjoon’s probably relieved you never mentioned it again, didn’t expect him to be your boyfriend or anything.

You think you’ve done well.

At one party, halfway through the semester, you meet Namjoon’s friend, Seokjin. He’s quiet at first, polite with a big smile and a nervous laugh. He sticks close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and it doesn’t take long before he’s being shuttled across the large backyard in your direction.

“Hi,” he says simply. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh! That’s good… I think?”

“Yah, Namjoonie here—”

“Well, that was great!” Namjoon interjects. “Glad you two finally met. We’re late for something, though. So, bye!” And then he’s pulling Seokjin behind him through the yard in the opposite direction. It’s so weird.

In his protests, you’re pretty sure you hear him say, “You’re ridiculous,” to Namjoon. If you were more sober, you would have recognized it as the first small thing that should have tipped you off.

The second thing happens right before summer break. Your whole group, consisting of your and Namjoon’s friends, are sitting around at lunch discussing everyone’s plans for the summer. Hoseok and Jimin (the hot dancer he wouldn’t shut up about who is now his new boyfriend) are going to a dance clinic on the other side of the country. Jeongguk is going home, promising you he’ll leave you a list of acceptable laundromats in his absence. Seokjin and Taehyung are working—teaching acting classes to teenagers at summer camp.

Yoongi’s got an internship, so he’ll be around, but barely since it’s in the city and your university is a little outside of town. It’s a long subway trip, so he’s got a sublet up there he’s moving into for the summer months.

And then it’s Namjoon’s turn.

“I’m staying. Not on campus, obviously. But I found an apartment and I’m looking for a roommate.” Everyone nods along except Jeongguk, whose eyes dart from Namjoon to you and back several times.

“What about noona?” he finally says, hooking a thumb in your direction. “She’s staying, too.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“That’s not a bad idea…”

Namjoon and you look at one another. He’s flushed, and he’s doing that thing he does when he’s nervous where he rubs his throat.

“I’m sure Namjoon has plenty of people in mind already,” you say, trying to give him the out he clearly wants.

“Not exactly,” he mumbles.

“This is perfect!” Seokjin exclaims. “Don’t you think this is perfect, Namjoon?”

You lean over to whisper to Namjoon, “You don’t have to, it’s really alright.” It feels like you’re making him nervous, you can feel his muscles stiffen where you’re touching his arm, and the flush he was sporting is spreading to his neck now.

“Would you even want to?” He asks softly.

You’re not sure, actually. It’s already hard work trying to put your stupid crush out of your mind most days. And now, you only see him a few days a week. Your brain (a logical friend) is telling you that living with him will be terrible for your heart. Your heart isn’t as smart and is pounding faster just thinking about spending more time around your crush. Friend, you correct yourself.

The problem is that only Tae and Jeongguk know about your feelings, and none of them know you and Namjoon have already slept together. So, if you say no, it might be weird. As far as they know, you’re just friends, good friends. Why wouldn’t you want to live with him?

“Yeah,” you reply brightly, swallowing down your nerves, “it’ll be great, Joonie. I can cook and you can help me study for my summer classes.” You’re nodding along as you speak, trying to convince yourself that what you’re saying is true.

“Okay… sure. Roommates,” he says, looking a little stunned.

“Roommates!”

You stick your hand out to shake his. You’re the least sexy person to have ever existed, you decide, as he laughs and shakes your hand.

“It was a terrible idea,” you whine into Taehyung’s lap. “He’s just here… all the time. And sometimes…”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes he doesn’t wear a shirt!” You slump further into your friend, making what you know are pitiful whining noises into his thighs.

It’s not like you’d go as far as saying moving in with Namjoon for the summer was a mistake. But it wasn’t great. Actually, it was really fucking great, and that was the problem. Or part of the problem anyway.

The apartment is nice—nicer than you’d envisioned when he told you about it. Not too big, but on the corner of the building so you got nice light throughout the day. You each have your own bedroom (thank god) and they aren’t large, but Namjoon gave you the one with the room for a chair by the window, even though you knew he’d been planning to write lyrics there. As promised, you cook for both of you in your small kitchen and Namjoon helps you with your summer classes.

With all of your friends gone or busy, you two don’t see much of them, and it feels like you build your own little world: late nights listening to the records he brings home, eating simple meals by the window and complaining that you don’t have a balcony, getting dragged out on bike rides when the sun falls and it’s cool enough outside, hunched together on the floor of the living room scrolling webtoons and drinking one too many cheap beers, and the worst (best) of all—falling asleep on the couch together before you wake up with a jolt realizing your head is on him and it’s far, far too much to realize his chest is in your face… so you scramble to your room like a coward and don’t fall back asleep, too keyed up.

Seokjin, when you do see him, adds in more and more “old married couple” jokes as the summer goes on. He makes fun of your chore lists on the fridge, cutely decorated with whatever doodle has been occupying Namjoon’s mind that week.

(Jin doesn’t even know that when all the chores are done, you save the little post-it notes, snatching them off the fridge when Namjoon’s not around or not paying attention, and putting them carefully into a little box in your desk drawer with all the other scraps and mementos of your friendship you’ve kept over the almost-year you’ve known him.)

Jin teases you when he lets himself in, late in the mornings, and finds the two of you still asleep, tumbled atop each other on the floor, record-listening session gone too late, the needle still digging into invisible grooves at the center.

It’s not his fault it doesn’t feel like a joke to you, he doesn’t know that you feel like the 45 and all of the jokes and all of Namjoon’s smiles and all of the little notes he leaves and the way he blushes when you come out of the bathroom in your robe like maybe maybe there’s just a chance you’re not the only one still thinking about that one time… that those are the needles, and you’re here, spinning in place while they poke and prod and dig for a melody that just isn’t there.

Namjoon, to his credit, is the very definition of a good friend and roommate. He does all the little things. He brings you breakfast sometimes when he’s been out all night and knows you’ll be waking up shortly after he comes home. He cleans, so that even though he’s got so much stuff (endless records and books and figurines and things he just thought were cute), your apartment never feels dirty, just lived-in and homey and a little cluttered. Buys toothpaste when you forget—before you forget, even. Puts your favorite flavor of soju in the fridge every week even though he hates it.

And it’s not just what he does at home (your home. with him. which you try not to think about because the way the thought makes your heart swell and almost burst is dangerous and confusing, and you hate that you can’t stop thinking about it entirely.) he takes you out, too. It helps that he’s more social than you: gets you outside in the real world between classes and studying. Makes sure you touch grass. Does stupid dances with you to bad music at worse clubs. Buys you hotteok at 2am because he knows you want it even though you won’t admit it so he says both pieces are for him and lets you argue that it’s bad for his heart and you’re willing to take one off his hands just for the sake of his health… because you care for him.

You don’t let yourself think about the way it seems like he flushes and his eyes twinkle a little when you say that. It’s got to be in your imagination.

He doesn’t know that each time he goes out of his way to do something nice for you hurts a little. Doesn’t know that each time he’s a touch too sweet, you wish you’d stayed that one time. Can’t possibly relate to the way you wish that one night turned into a date turned into something more, maybe.

And you know he can’t relate, because he’s started doing this thing while you’ve been living together: talking about someone. Someone that he likes.

It’s devastating and you try so hard not to cry on the nights when it comes up. You succeed in never crying in front of him, but if you drip snot onto your pillow trying to hold back your sobs once you’re alone in your room, he doesn’t have to know.

You don’t know who she is, but you’ve overheard Namjoon on the phone with Yoongi talking about her. She sounds great, if Namjoon’s probably clouded judgment is any indication. He thinks she’s smart and talented, says she sells herself short and he thinks she’s as close to perfect as anyone on the planet. He doesn’t go out without you too often, and you don’t ask where he’s been if he doesn’t offer, but he must be spending time with her because you catch him on a video call with Hoseok saying she can cook and she’s brilliant and she’s everything he’s ever wanted.

She also sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s got, because Namjoon’s convinced she doesn’t like him back and that she’s out of his league—you finally ascertain that the reason he’s been going to the gym more was because one time she said she thought another guy had nice biceps and he knows they were bigger than his.

One time, you come home late, catching Tae at a bar near campus after he’s done with classes and drinking a little too much. You’re not drunk, but you’re in that warm space past sober where everything is a little softer and funnier and Namjoon looks dangerously pretty sitting at his desk with headphones on working on a song.

You plop on his bed, as you do now, and wait for him to notice you’re there. It doesn’t take long.

“Hey,” he says as he pulls off the headphones. He’s giving you the double-dimple smile, which is especially effective when you’re tipsy like this. Throws you more off-kilter than another cocktail would have. “Have fun with Tae?”

“Hmm… yeah.” You lay back on his bed and don’t let yourself worry about your shirt riding up or your hair spilling around you in a haystack. It’s just Namjoon, and you know he doesn’t think about you like that, know he’s already seen you with more skin showing, hair messier.

“Need me to get you some water?”

“No,” you sit up on your elbows, “s’okay. Didn’t drink too much. What’re you working on?”

Namjoon is staring right at you, something indiscernible on his face. He looks almost like he’s in pain or something. “You alright?”

He shakes his head and looks embarrassed. You have no idea why. “Yeah, fine… I’m fine. Just a song, nothing too special.”

“Can I hear it?”

“It’s personal… Kind of silly. It’s not done yet… I’m not sure you’d like it,” he says.

“I like everything you make.” It comes out too honest, you’re not sober enough to hide the tenderness in your voice, to wrap it in something less vulnerable.

There’s no response to that, and you worry you’ve given too much away for a split second before he unplugs his headphones and hits play on the song. And if you thought the sight of him working, bathed in moonlight and neon, was beautiful, this song is truly something else.

It’s lovely—sweeping melody and building building with layers until it crashes all around you, his voice low and quick, persistent with words of love. It’s a love song disguised as wordplay, or maybe the other way around. It’s him in music: smart and beautiful and selfless and breathtaking… You want to keep it, you want it to be yours, you want the words to be about you or for you or just written with you in the back of his mind. It’s too much, it’s so so beautiful, and you know it’s about her. It’s for her. She’s the one who has his attention and who gets his words and it makes you want to crawl under your blankets and never come out like a petulant child.

You’re laying down again, so you don’t know what he’s looking at as you listen. When it ends, you’re asking the question even though you don’t want the answer, even though him saying it will make it too real. “Is it about her?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he answers, just as quietly. “It’s about her.”

You sit up quick, make sure you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the tears that are beginning to drip down your cheeks.

“It’s pretty,” you say as you head toward the door, hopefully not giving yourself away, not looking back in his direction. “Really pretty. She’s lucky, Namjoonie.”

You don’t see the confusion on his face as your bedroom door closes behind you. You don’t hear him tell you goodnight in a small, concerned voice.

After song-gate, you do your best to put a brave face on and move forward. It’s more for him than you, you have to tell yourself. Because you, your heart, you don’t want to let him go, can’t stand the idea of watching him be happy with someone else. But you, Kim Namjoon’s best friend, you want nothing more than for him to be happy, even if it’s not with you. And it’s hard, but for the most part, you let that version of you win.

You give him broad smiles and you keep not asking where he’s going when he leaves without you. You try really hard not to overhear his calls with Hoseok and Yoongi and when you do, you give him a ridiculous double-thumbs up and tell him to go for it, that she’d be a fool to turn him down. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one who ends up looking foolish in that moment though, even if you really, truly mean it.

One day (of course it’s a Tuesday), you come home from class, and you’re sorting through the mail when you spot a card on the counter that wasn’t there in the morning. Namjoon must’ve left it when he came home, you can hear the shower running from down the hall. It’s rare he beats you home on Tuesdays, always saying he’s got “something” to do “across town” and you just assume it’s with her, so you don’t ask.

But what’s more interesting than him being home early is what the card is: a temporary driver license issued to one Kim Namjoon. It’s got a picture of him, dimples out and glasses on, dated that day. You hadn’t even known he’d taken the class or the tests. You wonder why he wouldn’t tell you… It’s a big deal to him—he’d always said he didn’t need it, liked taking the bus and the metro. Thought cars were bad for the planet and that there were too many of them in the city anyway. But here’s the card, proof that for some reason he thought it was time for a change.

“Oh! You… I didn’t mean for you to find that…”

You look up. Namjoon’s standing by the couch, watching you examine his license, wrapped in a towel because if there’s a god, he only wants you to suffer.

“You got your license?”

“Ah… the temporary one, yeah. Still need to take the road test.”

He seems nervous, fidgeting with the blanket on the back of the sofa. You don’t know why he’d be nervous, it’s cool, you think. One more thing to add to the seemingly endless list of things Namjoon can do.

“Proud of you, Namjoonie. But… why? I thought you didn’t want to drive.”

He shrugs. “Don’t really, but… I just thought… Well, I thought if I got up the nerve to ask someone on a date, it would be nice to drive her. Just once or twice. Make it special, I guess. It’s probably stupid, but I thought y—” He cuts himself off and pauses. Looks out the window and scrunches his forehead up like he’s scolding himself. “I thought she might like that,” he says, finally.

“Did she tell you to get a license?” You’re sure you sound as outraged as you feel when you ask.

“No! She wouldn’t… No. I just wanted to try.”

“Okay. Okay, good. You shouldn’t change yourself for anyone, Joonie.” And then you do that thing again, where you say too much, where it comes out too fond. “You’re more than enough just the way you are. If she doesn’t know that, she’s not good enough for you.”

Namjoon smiles softly. “I’m starting to think she does,” he says.

And the look on his face… It’s happiness and warmth and fuck you wish it was for you. Those nagging feelings of wanting more more more from him are welling up in your chest. “Good,” you say, still too tender as you set the card in his palm and scoot past him to your room, mail forgotten. “That’s the very least of what you deserve.”

Later that night, you’ve tucked the soft and vulnerable parts of you back inside, showered, ordered food, and sent Namjoon down to pick it up with a stop at the convenience store for soju and beer. You can do this, you tell yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up for the first time you both will hang out with all your friends in months.

The summer is drawing to an end. Seokjin and Taehyung are done teaching, Jimin and Hoseok got back over the weekend, Yoongi’s internship ended the week prior, and Jeongguk is back from his visit home, everyone returning in time to buy books and settle in for the new semester.

You and Namjoon have decided to keep the apartment: close enough to campus, affordable enough, and you both bashfully agreed you liked living together, an arrangement sealed with the secret handshake greeting from a drama you’d watched together over the summer. So, you have the biggest apartment out of all your friends (which doesn’t say much), and they’ve all decided in your group chat that the group “welcome home” party would take place in your living room.

Seokjin and Taehyung arrive first, Jeongguk in tow. They’re pouring through your door play-fighting and laughing and for a minute, you forget your crush on your roommate, you forget he’s pining after someone else, and you just feel so much joy that your friends are back as they pull you into a crushing group hug.

“We brought wine,” Seokjin says.

“Ew!” (A twin chorus from you and Jeongguk).

“Fine, you two have your cheap soju and leave the good stuff for the rest of us.”

“Hyung, that bottle was only six—”

“Shh! Have some respect!” Seokjin says, slapping in the air in Tae’s general direction.

They file into the kitchen to drop off snacks and cheap wine while you leave to dig around in Namjoon’s room for some records to play. It’s a hassle, finding enough that you like and then having to flip them every fifteen minutes, so you finally give up and resign yourself to just playing a playlist off your phone. Or anyone’s phone except Taehyung’s anyway, because “experimental jazz night” was not a hit last time he suckered you all into it.

When you come back down the hall, your kitchen is suspiciously quiet. There is whispering and you can’t hear what they’re saying but you know anytime Jeongguk and Seokjin are colluding that it means trouble.

“What’s going on in here?” You ask as you make it back to the kitchen.

The three of them are reading the notes on your fridge and they all hop around immediately. Jeongguk and Taehyung have the decency to look guilty, but Seokjin just looks like he’s unearthed the lost city or something.

“What are these?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Our shopping list? Chore list?”

Seokjin grins. “No, not those… These.” He plucks a sticky off the fridge and starts reading it aloud.

“...And greet the all auspicious day,

Whose privilege permits my song—”

You can feel your face like a wildfire, hot and persistent, as you snatch the piece of paper out of his hand and tuck it in your pocket.

“That’s nothing. Just a poem”

“That’s not nothing, that’s a love poem.”

“We just leave each other quotes sometimes,” you mutter, fussing around the kitchen, opening the bags of snacks and setting them on the counter. “It’s no big deal. Just a small thing.”

Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes. “And you sometimes leave each other love poems?” he asks cautiously.

“I guess… It’s whatever,” you say.

“What’s whatever?” Hoseok’s bright voice drifts into the room. You snap your head up to see that he’s with Jimin, and they’re followed in by Yoongi and Namjoon, carrying all the food and drinks.

“Namjoon hyung and Noona leave each other love notes on the fridge!” Jeongguk says brightly. “It’s so cute.”

Your jaw actually drops, and you see in your periphery, Namjoon’s is doing the same.

“They’re not love notes!” You protest.

“They’re poems,” Namjoon adds with indignance.

“Besides,” you add, “he’s got a girlfriend or whatever.” You know you sound a little annoyed, and you don’t want to, but it’s worth it if it gets them off your backs.

“Wait, what?” Yoongi finally joins the conversation, peeking his head around the corner into the kitchen.

Six pairs of eyes are on you, and one (Namjoon’s) is anywhere but. You get the offputting feeling that something is happening, but you don’t know what. That the boys staring at you know something you don’t.

“Namjoonie… He’s got a girl he likes. So, they’re not love notes. They’re just quotes we like.”

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and then Hoseok says, “Oh my god, they are that bad.”

Seokjin nods. “The worst, actually.”

“What? What is going on?” You ask. The question is directed at anyone, but you’re looking straight at Namjoon, who still won’t look at you.

“I’m just gonna open some soju,” Jimin says. “Come on, guys.”

The statement is clearly directed at Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk, who are all still huddled by the fridge, clearly amused at whatever is unfolding in your kitchen. One by one, they file out. Namjoon tries to follow them, but Yoongi unceremoniously shoves him back into the kitchen with a hissed, “I don’t think so, Namjoon.”

“I’m so confused,” you say quietly. Namjoon finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and he looks so so nervous. Just like the day you’d agreed to be roommates. You have no idea why, because you’d never do anything to make him feel that way, not on purpose. “Is this about her? I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have—”

“No! I mean… yeah, it’s about her. Or you, I guess?”

“Me?”

Namjoon nods. He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You. You and her.”

“I don’t even know her, Namjoonie.”

He sighs. “You are her.”

You’re every meme of confused people trying to do math. You think you probably have a literal question mark above your head. You think you heard him right but… but there’s no way that it’s what he meant.

“What?”

Namjoon looks like it’s almost painful to keep speaking, also a little apologetic. “I like you,” he says, shrugging. “I like you so much, and I’m a dick for agreeing to be your roommate when I felt that way, and I thought after that one time… Well, I thought maybe you needed more and that’s why it never happened again, so I started going to the gym more and trying to… I don’t know. Be more?” He runs a hand through his hair and slumps against the counter. “I just like you so much and I wanted you to like me, too. But I—”

“You like me?”

“Oh, fuck, so much.” It’s almost out like a breath, floats through the space between the two of you, waves itself in front of your face.

“That’s why you thought it would be weird to be roommates…” you say, pieces clicking together.

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “And why I tried to get biceps like Jimin and why I leave you love notes on the fridge, and why I wrote you a whole song about how incredible you are, how you make me feel, and how much I want you even though you don’t want me back…”

“Biceps like Jimin?”

“You said they were nice…”

“Oh my god.” Little details of the past few months since you slept together all start floating around in your head and you see it so clearly now, it all starts to make sense, all the silly little things Namjoon does for you because it’s you, because he likes you… and oh no…

“Namjoon.”

“Yeah?” He’s painfully cute like this—nervous and a little shy, hair falling into his eyes like it can protect him from looking right at you.

You take a couple of steps closer to him. “I like you, too.”

“You what?”

“I like you, too. Just the way you are. I like all the nice small things you do for me, I like how you think, I like how you smell like soap all the time ‘cause you take a million showers… I like living with you… I like your records and your books and… And it’s stupid probably, but I save all your doodles like a teenager would ‘cause I just like you so fucking much… And I’m the bad friend, the one who moved in with you even though I liked you like this. I thought I would get over it. I thought… I don’t know. I thought after we slept together you just wanted to be friends, so I’ve been trying so hard, but…”

“It’s awful,” he says, a giant grin on his face as he watches you stumble through your confession. “I thought you just wanted to be friends, too. You left before I could ask you to stay.”

“Yeah, it is awful. Liked you since that first day in the library.”

“Fuck, me too. We’re so ridiculous.”

“Jin was right, we’re the worst,” you whisper.

“You are!” You hear Jin call from the living room.

You let your head fall forward and bury it in Namjoon’s chest as he wraps an arm (with a perfectly sized bicep, you note, reminding yourself to tell him later) around you and laughs into your hair.

“You’re listening to us?” you protest.

“Hard not to,” Yoongi answers, “small apartment.”

“You fucked?!” Hoseok yells.

“Oh my god,” you moan into Namjoon’s shirt.

“I bet they made love,” you hear a dreamy-voiced Jimin chime in.

You can feel Namjoon’s laugh rumble through his chest against your ear. It’s the best feeling you’ve felt in months.

“So,” you start, pulling your head off his chest, but letting him slide his arm down yours until you’re loosely holding hands. “What now?”

“Well, we should probably talk.”

You peek around him to see your friends all staring at you. “Maybe later?” you ask.

“Later is good.” Namjoon smiles so so big. You love knowing that you’re the one making him feel happy, you think you’re a little ridiculous for being jealous of some other non-existent girl this whole time.

“We like each other,” you say, still a little in shock.

“We do.”

Then, because you’re you, and you have not ever once been cool in front of Kim Namjoon, you lift your palm up. And because he’s him, and now you know he probably thinks he has never once been cool around you, he gives you a high five, his palm connecting with yours and then lingering there while you look at each other and you try not to lift up on your toes and kiss the shit out of him.

“Did they just high five?” Hoseok asks, incredulous.

“They’re so weird. Do you remember when they shook hands on being roommates when it was so obvious they wanted to jump each other on the couch? They probably kissed no tongue and called it sex,” Seokjin says, unhelpfully.

“Hey!” you shout. “We can hear you!”

“The sex was really great, for your information,” Namjoon says, and your face heats immediately.

“It was,” you agree, if for no other reason than it really really was. And you want to make Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. “Namjoon really knows wh—”

“This is going to be even worse than them being oblivious, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks no one in particular, cutting you off.

But that night after your friends leave, and you do get the chance to kiss Namjoon again, who is now not only your roommate, but your boyfriend, you know Yoongi couldn’t have been more wrong. This is infinitely better than being oblivious to Namjoon's feelings.

“What do you see in me?” he says into the ceiling, sweaty and a little hazy post-orgasm, after you’d made sure to seal your new arrangement properly. No high fives, no handshakes, just long kisses and nervous touches turning more sure, Namjoon making sure to whisper into your skin how much he cares for you, how sexy he thinks you are, how long he’s waited to have you again like this…

(And you returning those words, moving your hips in slow circles in his lap, fingernails trailing across his shoulders as you tell him how good he is, how gorgeous he looks, how his biceps are the exact right size for you to squeeze—which makes him laugh while he fucks you, and if that’s not the best thing you’ll ever see in your life, you’re not sure what is...)

You lace your fingers with his and turn to him, thinking about all the things you love about him, how all those pieces layer together to make something so big that it seems to take up your whole heart. “I like all the small things that make you, you.”

And he kisses you as a reply, lips soft and sweet on yours, and you decide that from now on, Tuesdays are for kissing your boyfriend in the moonlight and making sure he knows exactly how much you like him so that neither of you are ever unsure again.

#namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfiction #knj x reader #kvanity #btshoneyhive #bts smut #bts fluff #bts writing #bts fanfic #bts imagines

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st-juliet · 2 years

Note

Can I request an nsfw fic sitting on Sherlock Holmes’ lap while he explains a case to reader, she start kissing his neck and he starts stuttering 😩😩 (also, Im literally in LOVE with your works 😫 😭)

Pulse Point

Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: To help him relax in the midst of a trying case, Reader exploits Sherlock’s only vulnerability.

Content: 18+ for smutty smutty smut, Sherlock’s filthy mouth, unprotected sex, and pure domestic bliss.

Notes: My first prompt! Thank you thank you thank you, Anon; I love this so much. I wrote it quite quickly and unedited, so apologies for any imperfections!

“Come, sit with me, darling girl.”

Standing in the door of your husband’s study, you fall even more in love with Sherlock Holmes. He sits behind his desk in his leather wingback chair, attired in his shirtsleeves, coat discarded, posture tense—it has been hours since you saw him come home, carrying a crate of papers and wearing the expression of determination and passion that lets you know the game is well and truly afoot.

Eager to be of help, you follow his directive at once, crossing the room to his side. He settles you on his lap and places a chaste, gentle kiss to your temple, pausing to breathe in the scent of your hair. A little of his tension seems to melt away with your closeness, and you return his kiss—but on the lips, this time—with a smile. He smiles, too, and whispers, “I love you so.”

“As I love you! Now, tell me the matter of the case,” you prompt, with another light, teasing peck. “Begin at the beginning, and perhaps some new detail will reveal itself in the telling.”

Sherlock smiles, a little wearily, but with a clear relief at your presence and enthusiasm.

“Yes, pray lend me a little of your brilliance, Mrs. Holmes, for I am at my wit’s end.”

“Nonsense; your wit is endless,” you scoff, and at last he laughs, too. You share another kiss, deeper this time, and he settles more comfortably into the chair.

“It is Moriarty,” he sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it aside. “It is always Moriarty, the spider in the center of the web. But for once, he torments me with leisure, not urgency. There is no captive aristocrat, no explosives planted, no threat of impending murder; and thank god for it. But instead, he spins me an ever-expanding list of riddles, each more obscure and particular than the last. To what end I do not know.”

He tips his head back against the chair, exposing the long line of his throat to your gaze. Though you would find it nigh impossible to select a favorite part of your husband’s body—for truly, it seems that every night as he fills your aching channel so perfectly, so completely, there is some new, glorious detail of his physique thrown into prominence—Sherlock’s neck is especially tempting. It is a singular point of vulnerability in such a massive, muscled man, and one you love to exploit: you know well that so much as a single kiss can bring the man to his knees, or else drive him to bend you over the nearest surface and make you his in the most primal, profound way.

“He boasts of the reach of his accomplices by infiltrating those systems in which we have the greatest trust, so much that the average man may not even notice anything has changed.”

You simply cannot help yourself.

Delicately, you shift upon his lap, wickedly delighted that he has fixed his eyes upon the cluttered wall opposite his desk, where his series of pinned-up schedules, diagrams, and ciphers distract him from your intentions.

“But I first noticed that the regular seven o’clock train from Trafalgar to Charing Cross was delayed on Tuesday—“

With a slow deliberation, you kiss the point where his pulse beats steadily beneath his jaw.

“—initial—initially—by seven—“

You part your lips ever so slightly and kiss him again.

“—by seven—se—“

A large, lissome hand lands heavily on your thigh. You do not let this deter you; no indeed, it only incites you further, and you press your lips more firmly against his neck.

“By seven minutes!” he concludes in a rush, and you take advantage of his pause for breath to trail your kisses lower, pulling aside the collar of his shirt for a better vantage.

You lightly sink your teeth into his flesh, just at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, and he moans.

“Angel—oh, my g—god…”

As you work your way back up to his pulse point, he still stutters out a little more on the subject of the case: “Angel, the—the trains—I am—tr—trying to—explain…“

You raise your head up innocently.

“Shall I stop, sir?”

Sherlock kisses your lips hungrily, squeezing you tighter, and you wriggle in delight, feeling him grow hard at your ministrations. It gratifies you to no end, when this stern, controlled man falls prey to his own lusts, unable to help the way his length strains at his trousers—and all for you.

“No, no—“ he breathes, and you take your cue eagerly, shifting to straddle his thighs, their breadth forcing your legs wide apart. “Don’t stop, my sweet—ah—angel.”

He fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, but can’t seem to manage the simple motor function, such is his arousal, especially as your lips return to his neck.

“Let me help you,” you offer, murmuring against his throat as you pepper it with more kisses. “Let me please you, please, Sherlock…”

“God, lo—look what you’ve—done to me,” he sighs, throwing up his hands. Laughing breathlessly, you finish the job yourself, a rapturous smile of triumph gracing your lips as your hand wraps around his freed cock, already leaking and flushed with desire. “You…you undo me completely,” he groans, thrusting up into your grasp. “Fuck, please, my darling girl, please, let me feel you—“

“Yes, Sherlock, anything you want!”

This seems to reinvigorate him, and he growls, pushing aside your skirts roughly. He does not allow the time for you to rise and doff your undergarments, but instead simply tears the delicate fabric at the seams to reveal your dripping petals.

“I’ll buy—buy you more,” he promises, as you rock your wet heat against his achingly hard cock. “What do you want, angel? What can I give? All the lace in the world. A dozen gowns, a hundred, anything for you—emeralds or pearls or—oh, Christ, you are so fucking tight I can hardly—“ This as you sink down on him, sheathing him to the hilt with your own a cry of ecstasy. “I’ll give you the world. Oh, my love…”

You continue to besiege his neck as you ride him, finding out each sweet spot that makes him clutch your hips all the harder, with Sherlock babbling out a litany of absolute filth mixed with romantic nonsense:

“That pretty, pretty mouth god your lips—you will be the death of me, angel!”

Sherlock hardly lasts a moment more after your climax causes you to clench around him, holding him tight and deep and perfect, and he gasps your name and a stammering profession of love as he spills himself inside you. You gaze into his eyes as they come back into focus, and you share a little panting laughter, for you are both an absolute mess of half-discarded clothes, dripping seed, and riotously disheveled hair. You have even left a clear mark on his neck, which makes you feel as grand as the empress of the earth, to have laid such an intimate claim upon his otherwise unassailable body. Murmuring quiet, loving little praises, you help one another to undress fully, till you stand before one another fully natural, each drinking in the sight of the other.

“My god. Just look at you, Mrs. Holmes.”

“You are the most beautiful man alive!” you cannot help but exclaim, and he tosses his head in evident pride at the compliment. How you love to make him vain.

“And at last, I am thinking clearly—for the first time all day!” he says, making you laugh again, then he lets out an exultant “Ha!” and strides over towards the gallery of evidence pinned to the wall. “You’ve done it. By Jove, Mrs. Holmes, you have knocked the scales from my eyes. I see the whole design now…”

“Then let me fetch you fresh clothes—and some water to wash, hmm?”

“Yes, give me leave a little while to dole out justice upon Moriarty. And then turnabout’s fair play for you, wife: I think your lovely neck deserves a mark or two of its own…”

If you enjoyed, please do leave a comment, reblog, or visit my Masterlist!

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #henry cavill sherlock #henry!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #enola holmes fanfic

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lostalioth · 8 months

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→ hiii my loves here i go again with an ambitious kinktober prompt list!!!! it might end badly as in i dont finish it as i have the past 2 kinktobers i’ve tried to participate in. which is why i only have 18 days of prompts planned out from the 1st to halloween ill be posting a prompt fic almost every other day so sunday, tuesday, thursday and saturday!! i definitely wouldn’t be able to do a full 31 days when i can barely finish the prompts i laid out the past two years soooo

→ i don’t do taglists as that is too much for me to keep up with however you can follow my library account — @aliothslibrary where i reblog my new fics right after ive posted and thats all i reblog on there so you could turn on notifications for that account if you’d like to be notified when each days fics go out!! here is my masterlist as well :)

→ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! THIS IS A 18+ ACCOUNT / BLOG !! AND THESE ARE 18+ FICS THEY ALL INCLUDE SMUT.

day one — size kink + body worship w/ stucky

day two — mutual masturbation + gagging w/ eddie munson

day three — knife play + thorat training w/ loki laufeyson

day four — bike sex + oral w/ biker!bucky barnes

day five — shower sex + edging w/ steve harrington

day six — blood kink + squirting w/ miguel o’hara

day seven — face sitting + love marks w/ marc sceptor

day eight — free use + sir kink w/ steve rogers

day nine — bondage + creampie w/ tasm!peter parker

day ten — lap dance + fingering w/ bucky barnes

day eleven — cock worship + praise kink w/ steve harrington

day twelve — high sex + corruption kink w/ eddie munson

day thirteen — against a wall + semi-public sex w/ steven grant

day fourteen — choking + nipple play w/ steve rogers

day fifteen — overstimulation + begging w/ miguel o’hara

day sixteen — orgasm denial + dacryphilia w/ loki laufeyson

day seventeen — phone sex + dirty talk w/ tasm!peter parker

day eighteen— doubled penetration + drunk sex w/ steddie

→ hope you enjoy my babes! please send me feedback don’t be shy to comment on the fics and tell me what you think please i love seeing your reactions to my fics guys!!!! thank youuu for reading if you do and if you don’t welll your lose ;)

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zevraholics · 8 months

Text

ZevWarden Week 2023

What is it? A week (this year, November 5th - 11th) of creating new content, sharing it, and celebrating the wonderful relationship between Zevran Arainai and Grey Warden(s) of your choice. How to participate: Feel free to follow the daily prompts as inspiration for whatever ZevWarden-related content your heart desires. Fics, art, meta discussions - everything goes! Remember to tag your works appropriately (ie. #nsfw. Also see our full tag list here.) Most of all, have fun!

Prompts:

Sunday, November 5: Tradition and Trying New Things

Monday, November 6: Secrets, Kept and Told

Tuesday, November 7: Fear and Safety

Wednesday, November 8: Work and Pleasure

Thursday, November 9: Bodies and Minds

Friday, November 10: Favourite Things and Pet Peeves

Saturday, November 11: Family, Lost and Found

Tag your content with #zevwarden week 2023 or @zevraholics on your post and we’ll reblog it here.

*Any art found to be whitewashing Zevran will not be shared.

Day 1 - Sunday, November 5 - Tradition and Trying New Things

"It's Antivan tradition to throw coins in such a well as this. Supposedly it brings one luck." Which traditions (cultural, familial, personal) do Zevran and the Warden have in common, and which are different? Are there any that are unfamiliar at first, but one of them shares with the other? What are ways the two of them break with the past, forge their own paths, or maybe even create new traditions?

Day 2 - Monday, November 6 - Secrets, Kept and Told

Morrigan, "Are [the Crows] so powerful simply because they are very good at what they do? Or is there some secret to their power?" Zevran, "If there were a secret, it would only remain so if it were not told, my dear." What secrets do Zevran and the Warden keep from other people? From each other? Are there any consequences of keeping secrets, positive or negative? What truths eventually reach the light of day, and how does that reveal come about?

Day 3 - Tuesday, November 7 - Fear and Safety

"You mean you want to hear about the grueling training? Being locked in an oubliette for weeks at a time? The slavery? The festering injuries? Or are we seeking something more glamorous?" / "Oh, those things never happened to me." There are stand-out moments of fear in the life of any Grey Warden or an Antivan Crow. Share a time one or both of them were terrified. Did they face fear bravely, or did it get the better of them? What was the impact of that moment? Or, share a story about a time the two of them found safety, comfort, or calm. How did that feeling come about? Was it short-lived or long lasting?

Day 4 - Wednesday, November 8 - Work and Pleasure

"Falling down a flight of stairs is an adventure. Falling into someone's bed? Also an adventure. I am assuming what you're looking for are professional anecdotes." How much adventuring do Zevran and the Warden get up to after Origins, either together or on their own? What jobs or titles do they come to have, what anecdotes do they have to tell? Or do they settle down for a quiet life somewhere—either restlessly or happily?

Day 5 - Thursday, November 9 - Bodies and Minds

Alistair, "So those... designs you have all over your back..." Zevran, "They're called tattoos. And I have them in many more places than just on my back, my friend." What stories do Zevran and the Wardens' bodies tell? How have their bodies changed over time? How do they carry themselves, or use gestures or mannerisms? What about a time when they ran, swam, fought, or enjoyed other physical movement? Or focus your work on a part of the body - eyes, hands, hair, scars.

Day 6 - Friday, November 10 - Favorite Things and Pet Peeves

"I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting.Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?" What are Zevran and the Warden's favorite things about each other? How did they discover those favorite things—slowly over time, or in one particular moment? What things get on their nerves about the other person? Is this something they make an effort to change, or does their partner just have to learn to live with it?

Day 7 - Saturday, November 11 - Family, Lost and Found

"Surely your life has not been so idyllic? People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all." Maybe the Warden resonates with that particular line from Zevran, maybe they don't. What does being part of a family mean to the Warden and Zevran? Does the answer change across different points in their lives? If they regard each other as part of a family, is there anyone else involved in their family? (Friends, other lovers, biological or adopted children, elders?)

#zevwarden week 2023 #zevwarden week #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran arainai #zevran #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanart #zevraholics anonymous

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buniyaad · 1 month

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August 26th - September 1st, 2024

Monday, August 26th - Rescue // Doppelgänger // First Time

Tuesday, August 27th - Moving in Together // Multiverse // Sex Accidents

Wednesday, August 28th - Scars & Disabilities // Ex's // Aftercare

Thursday, August 29th - Double Date // Phobias // Secret Rendezvous

Friday, August 30th - Superfam & Flashfam // Fourth World // Control

Saturday, August 31st - Realizations & Confessions // Only Lovers Left Alive // Fuck Nasty

Sunday, September 1st - People of Manchester, Alabama & The Ravers // Nightmares // Accidental Kink Discovery

Purpose?

Continuing to celebrate the BartKon Renaissance in the modern era. Since the ship has historically been a rarepair since its conception in the 1990's, this fanweek acts as both a way to celebrate the BartKon narrative in DC Comics, as well as engage new fans in our small yet mighty collective.

Why should we participate in this?

Because you like BartKon. Because you saw fanfiction and fanart and shitposts, and decided you wanted to see what's poppin' in the BartKonosphere. All creators are welcome. Our romcom lovers, the darkfic connoisseurs, and of course, our smut specialists.

So how does it work?

The release date for fanworks is from Monday, the 26th of August through Sunday, the 1st of September, 2024.

You have four months to write, draw, and create fanworks. On top of fanfiction and fanart, we also encourage meta, essays, ship manifestos, playlists, and poetry.

This is also an opportunity for new fans to engage with an old ship with a robust body of work, hence why this fanweek is dedicated only to BartKon depicted in DC Comics from 1994-2024. This is not a YJ-centric week, nor it is a BartKon+third week, nor is it a my-ship-is-better-than-your-ship week. Please be courteous and treat each other with respect when engaging with fanworks and their creators. If you misbehave, I will be cursing you with ten thousand years of bad luck on top of car/train/transportation trouble every day for the rest of your life.

BartKon of ANY comic book universe is acceptable. If you want to spend the entire fanweek exploring Luthor-El and Bart because you love horrific love, then be my guest! If you want a crazed version of Bart to kidnap Kon from Gemworld, go for it! Let that imagination run WILD!!!

Both safe and not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell tropes are welcome. Just make sure that you post any Mature content on a landing page that doesn't restrict Mature content (like AO3). I don’t want anyone getting their blog banned. We cannot defeat our capitalist overlords, but we can definitely work around them.

This fanweek will not have a dedicated blog. These prompts are free for anyone to use. Because it is a non-traditional, non-monetized, and free-to-opt-in casual event, there will be no mods but moi, no advertising of paid services, and no ratings or participant restrictions. I will open a collection on AO3 in August for anyone who wants their work collated for this event.

In order to ensure that both creators and the audience are making informed decisions about what they engage with, all creators are encouraged to include triggers and any other squick warnings.

Please utilize the read-more function for fanworks that are longer than 250 words. We're tryna read yer stories, not get spammed with a wall of text. Please Be Courteous.

And last but not least - if you are engaging with any of the fanworks, reblog, reblog, reblog! Share the work with your followers. Send all the love to the creators for crafting their masterpieces!!

What can I contribute?

Fanart (standalones, comic strips, etc.), fanfiction (one-shots, multichapter, etc.), fanmixes, gifsets, graphics, meme collections, fanvids, ship essays and meta, songifics, playlists, poetry, whatever your heart desires! Go wild!!!

Can I create/write not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell content?

Yes!!! All creators are encouraged to include triggers warnings, sub-genre specifications, and other warnings in their posts. I will not discourage you from writing your 16k Bart Goes Insane Over Kon fic, but please... Be Courteous and tag your fanworks appropriately so people can make an informed decision about what they're comfortable with engaging with.

What does (X) prompt mean?

Each day has three prompts!! You can either pick a prompt OR you can combine prompts in different ways. Although the prompts range from The Basics, to Things That Frighten The Barts and Kons, and end with They're Fucking Nasty in Cissie's Basement Because They Can't Afford a Motel, I challenge you to let your imagination take you where you want to go with each prompt!! If you want to explore all three in the same fanwork, then be my guest!! I will not stop you :'>

Mainstream Canon, Elsewords, and AU content is acceptable! Just make sure to stay within the comicsverse. We have SO MUCH BARTKON MADNESS IN THE COMICS, SO PLAY AROUND WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL CANON!!! Creativity is key! Have fun!!!

Can I crackship/multiship/harem/OT3/polyam the characters?

No. It's literally BartKon Week, Heart & Bones Edition. There's like six active fans left on this bitch of an earth. Don't do this to me :'<

Does this have a tag?

During release week, use the general “bartkon” and "konbart" tags to share your work with the wider BartKon fandom on tunglr. You can use whatever other tags you fancy. The best way to share, however, is to directly @ me so that I may reblog it.

I didn’t read a damn thing before this, Ava.

TL;DR: Nearly four months until the fanweek!!! For all fanwork creators out there, now’s the time to start thinking about what prompts you want to utilize for your creations. There are no creative restrictions, but I do ask that you follow these posting tips:

All fanfiction should be under a read-more.

Not-safe-for-tunglr fanwork should be LINKED to whatever landing site the content is being hosted on (Twitter, AO3, etc). This includes both fanfiction and fanart. I don’t want your blog getting flagged bc tunglr hates gay people.

Provide content warnings for all triggers, squicks, and sub-genres. Unfortunately, in my ten odd years away from DC Comics, the fandom's seen a resurgence in puritanical behavior and tons of censorship and self-censorship. Please list content warnings on your work but do not be discouraged in sharing your work. If a fancop gets on your ass, block them. Please block as MANY as you can. They're like pests, they're always gonna be there, but their influence can be diminished by staunch blocking and reporting.

You can participate as much as you want!! Maybe you only wanna create for one day? Cool! Maybe you’re an overachieving corporate clown insomniac like myself, and wanna create for every day of the week? Go for it!!!

The most important thing is to have fun :)

Closing Remarks

Like all my other events I host, this event, too, is entirely selfish. I've loved BartKon since I was a child when I was first introduced to it in the form of Bart/Clark on Smallville. Although I only recently came back to reading DC's mainline comics, BartKon still holds a special place in my heart even after all these years, and the few who still create and engage in their fanworks inspired me to host a little something-something for our small community.

Take your time, look through the prompts, and get your creative juices flowing! I will be sending out reminders until the go-live date.

For the people who showed interest during the initial interest check, I hope you're able to participate. To the people who hate me, your mom's a hoe. Thank you.

#bartkon #konbart #kon el #bart allen #superboy #impulse #dc comics #bartkon week #real talk #ava's ficcing adventures #superboy 1994 #impulse 1995 #young justice 1998 #young justice

69 notes · View notes

unicyclehippo · 1 year

Note

Hmmm...how about a one word prompt of...Skin?

for @possibilistfanfiction i hope it makes u laugh

two

every week, superion talks to beatrice late tuesday night. at the end of every call, she asks to speak to you and you let her.

are you struggling with anything? she’ll ask, or what has your week been like? or, how are you, ava? she doesn’t ask that one often because it makes you hang up on her fast. like. what the fuck are you supposed to do? she says your name nicely, makes it sound like she wants to know about you, not the halo, and yeah. it’s a bit much to deal with.

‘we went to the thrift shop,’ you tell her week two, ‘and spent half the money you sent us on clothes. beatrice got new pyjamas.’ from the kitchen, beatrice sends you a betrayed look. you wave at her. you’re not going to tell superion that you picked out boxers for her—black, comfortable—and that you think you’re going to have a heart attack every night because beatrice has surprisingly buff legs, toned, and the first time she came out of the bathroom in boxers you had to put your hands under your head, pin them down with your heavy fucking skull so you didn’t touch her legs, her knees. how knees could be sweet, you have no fucking clue, but beatrice’s knees are sweet, soft in repose and then sharp and strong when she moves and. yeah. anyway.

‘i’ve never bought clothes before,’ you tell superion, and beatrice looks startled and a little sad and you laugh because it’s funny, actually, not sad. ‘i stole the hottest dress from this rich lady’s house—um, borrowed, i mean. they don’t really have high fashion here but i picked up some cute stuff. right, bea?’ beatrice ducks her head. ‘she says yes and also wants to know if spending this money means i’m your sugar baby now. or the pope’s. ow! okay, she didn’t say that but she did throw a pen at me. i’m your halobearer, that’s so rude!’

‘phase through it next time,’ beatrice suggests, and almost smiles when you flip her off.

‘hello, ava. is there anything you wish to talk about tonight?’

you have been thinking of things to say all week that’ll make superion hang up on you and so, when you pluck the phone out of beatrice’s hand, you’re grinning. she picks up on your energy and excuses herself to the bathroom.

‘so much. where to start? bea has been kicking my ass in training. i think she’s enjoying it. is that allowed? i thought nuns were supposed to not enjoy things.’

‘i’m sure any and all enjoyment pertains to the pleasure all instructors feel when their student shows improvement.’

‘no,’ you muse. beatrice is for sure eavesdropping so you raise your voice a little and say, ‘i think she’s a sadist.’

the bathroom door slides open half an inch, just enough for beatrice to shoot a forbidding look out at you. it’s undermined by the way some of her hair hangs free of her bun and the toothpaste smeared at the corner of her mouth and she’s brushing neatly and you want so badly to squash up next to her and clean your teeth there with her, in your stupidly small bathroom, so you forget all your nun jokes you’ve prepared and say,

‘all good here, supes. catch you next week,’ and hang up on her.

beatrice is in boxers that show off her knees. her sleep shirt is tucked into the waistband of her boxers, which is so endearing you think you might explode. you press your fingers to her hip and nudge her away from the sink so you can get in there and wet your brush. you do the same thing every night. she ought to know by now. she does know by now. you think she wants you to touch her, to lay your hand gently on her hip and make her space into your space. the toothpaste is minty and froths up as you brush enthusiastically. beatrice swishes her mouthwash. puts her hand on your wrist. you obediently shuffle away from the sink so she can spit neatly into it.

‘short conversation with mother superion tonight.’

you shrug. ‘tired, i guess.’ it’s half true. you would have happily made a nuisance of yourself but tonight, you just want to brush your teeth next to beatrice and go to bed.

‘am i pushing you too hard?’

you consider the question. tuck your hair behind your ears so it doesn’t get in the way when you bend, spit into the sink too, like beatrice did. rinse. wash your brush, strick it into the polka dot toothbrush holder on the counter.

‘i want to learn. i’ll do whatever i have to do.’ beatrice eyes you like you’ve said something really interesting, which is worrisome because you don’t know what about that was interesting. ‘bedtime. wanna be little spoon tonight?’

beatrice goes pink at the offer and you can’t resist lifting a hand to her cheek, to touch it. she doesn’t pull away, but her eyes go wide.

‘sorry.’

‘no, sorry,’ you say almost immediately. ‘um. i’ll check the front door is locked.’ you run out of the bathroom, through to the kitchen and the front door. thunk your head hard against the wood and swear under your breath. blindly reach for the door handle. turn it gently. it hits the lock and you release it. you stand there for a few long minutes, hearing the sounds of the bedsheets and beatrice shuffling and the click of the lamp turning off and then the apartment is dark and still and there’s a longing right on the centre of your tongue, dry and empty like a wafer sucking the moisture from your mouth, and you want to pick up the phone and tell superion, i want to live. i don’t want beatrice to teach me how to fight, i don’t want you to know my name, i want this to be real. a home in the mountains and a girl who wants me to touch her.

beatrice pretends to be asleep when you finally join her, crawling into bed and pulling the sheets up to your shoulders. you’re always careful about touching her, when and where you do it, and tonight is no exception.

‘bea?’ you whisper.

‘yes, ava?’

‘can i –‘ you reach over. hover your hand over her forearm.

beatrice shuffles in the bed. the lamps in the street outside are dim and they have covers that keep the light shining down to the street instead of filling the sky. it’s not enough to see beatrice by. you light the halo—the tiniest bit—and her expression goes awed and nervous all at once.

‘you shouldn’t.’

touch her? use the halo?

‘i want to. feels good.’ beatrice breaths out. she won’t say it, and won’t ask you, but when you move your hand to hover over her wrist, sidle close enough to hold her, she doesn’t stop you. ‘g’dnight, bea.’

‘goodnight, ava. sleep well.’

‘good evening, ava. i trust you are well?’

‘we got jobs!’

‘beatrice informed me.’

‘of course she did,’ you roll your eyes. catch sight of the brim of the pink cowboy hat still squashed onto your head you had been given tonight as a prize, the only thing you had wanted. it's a little small, maybe made for a kid, but whatever. ‘did she tell you it’s at a bar? she doesn’t drink but she’s killing it at the books. i don’t have the same hang ups – hans is teaching me everything about being a great bartender and it involves a lot of alcohol. i can – he’s german and i drunk him under the table. i think the halo helped. do you – can the halo heal being drunk, do you think? did i cheat? maybe i should give him this hat back.’

‘i will ask you not to test the limits of the halo in this manner.’

‘i know, i know, control the halo, don’t draw attention, blah blah blah—bea already gave me the speech. i’m being safe. it was just some fun, mother,’ you tease, feeling loose and good and happy. ‘the hat suits me, though. it’s pink.’

superion’s smile bleeds into her voice. you grin, imagining it. a smile on that stern face. that’s the best, that’s one of the things you love the most, making people smile, making people laugh, especially when you have to find the right way to come at it. this feels almost too easy? you’re just…telling her about your day and your job and the hat you won but you know that she’s smiling and you’re a little drunk so you decide not to think about whether she likes you or is showing some softer side of herself for your benefit and just enjoy it.

‘you are entitled to some fun, ava.’

‘tell bea that. and her too. she can have fun too. she doesn’t have to drink, just relax a tiny bit. right?’

‘sister beatrice will attend her duty as she sees fit, you know that. and,’ she adds dryly, ‘i believe she is more likely to listen to you when it comes to relaxation.’

‘what you’re saying is i need to convince her. i need to tempt her.’

superion sighs. ‘drink some water, please, ava. look after yourself. and beatrice.’

‘yeah, always.’

there’s a girl who comes to your bar to flirt with you specifically. you know that because she told you, because she pressed her teeth to the pink of her lip and pressed against the hardwood bar, leaning over it to give you a good—really good—view of her chest and for a second you’d forgotten that there was anyone else in the bar when she looked at you so intently. and she told you.

‘you know i’ve been flirting with you, right?’

‘you? no way, this is a huge surprise,’ you’d teased, because she’s been super unsubtle.

the other night, she’d let the condensation from her beer bottle drip onto her chest and asked so sweetly for a napkin and laughed when you went tongue-tied and clumsy, dropping the cocktail shaker. which was fine because it was empty but it had clanged on the stone floor and hans had looked over with this stupidly knowing grin and only laughed when you flipped him off.

‘sometimes girls don’t know,’ she’d shrugged. ‘and i don’t like to waste my time. you like girls?’

you spin the beer bottle in your hand, because it’s a fun trick and because it makes girls look at your hands. dani is no exception. you haven’t said it out loud before but you want to. should you wait for a special moment? or does the moment become special when you say it?

‘girls are incredible,’ is what you end up saying. it’s not that you’re scared, it’s just that beatrice isn’t here and some part of you kind of expected to say it to her first, the way she’d shared that with you.

dani doesn’t take it as a cop out, thank god. she grins, big and bold, and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. ‘yeah. incredible. let me take you out, ava—dinner, dancing, drinks. what do you say?’

you should say no. for multiple reasons, but chief among them the fact that when dani used her water on her tits trick, you’d thought about beatrice and what her reaction would be if you tried it on her. probably, it’s a dick move to think about another girl when one is being so kind as to show you her tits. but. beatrice is a nun and dani is not. super not. she’s portuguese and taller than you—most people are, to be fair—and you like that the bar is lifted over where the customers sit so she has to look up at you, but you also like looking up at her and the way she crowds you a little, smirks down at you when you sit a little sluttily on the barstool next to her, hand on her knee. she wears, like, a dozen silver rings and her earrings dangle and glitter when she shakes her head, which she does when you make her laugh really hard, and when you think about kissing her it’s, yeah. good. it makes you a little tongue-tied and you stumble over your words and dani looks at you like she knows what you were thinking about which is. yeah. good.

you say yes.

'—compromising our mission here, compromising the halo, compromising herself—'

'whoa! where does the halo come into this? i'm not whipping my top off for her, it's a date.'

beatrice glares at you. she's standing tall and straight—well, rigid—and with the dark clouds gathering outside the window you're a little worried god will mistake her for a lightning rod, but mostly you're worried that you've actually hurt her by agreeing to go on this date. but then she goes and says,

'this is a stupid risk, you can't just - just--'

and you hate being called stupid so instead of trying to calm her down, you rise up to meet her. 'just what? say yes when a girl asks me out?'

'yes!'

'why not?' beatrice glares over your head, unable to meet your eyes. 'give me the phone.'

'what? no!'

'yes, give me the phone.'

'i'm still debriefing mother s—'

'give me the phone or i'll debrief on my date,' you tell her, and you can feel the anger and spite spitting on your tongue and sparking in your eyes. now she does meet your eyes; hers are black with fury, her jaw tense, and you're doubly pissed because you'd said yes to the date because dani is hot and has this quick flirty humour and because she looked at you like she could eat you up and it's a hell of a feeling to be on the receiving end of a look like that, but beatrice... beatrice is pissed and you're nearly positive it isn't because of the mission, and god, whatever your rules are about thinking nuns are hot, she looks hot with her jaw clenched and the muscles of her neck and shoulders tense like she's thinking about keeping you from the door by whatever means necessary. but she is a nun and you're not an asshole, or entirely selfish, so you said yes to dani because if you can't kiss the girl you like, you should be able to kiss a girl you like. right?

beatrice flicks a look over your outfit—high-waisted jeans, a shirt that shrunk in the one laundry load you did so now it shows off a decent strip of belly, and a blue sweater tied around your waist that you'd found over the back of the couch, in case it ends up raining—and she scowls.

'fine. fine.'

she grabs your wrist. your skin sears where she touches you—god, is this allowed? is this allowed? i'm gonna be thinking about this tonight in my alone time, is this allowed, dude?—and you open your hand, you'll take whatever she'll give you. you're so startled by her hand on you that you forget to be angry. if she weren't a nun, if she were a little more open, if she liked you the way you like her...

she drops the phone into your hand. it’s heavy and you nearly drop it, focused on—god forgive you, or better yet, mind your own fucking business dude—her. ask me out. ask me on a date. look at me like you want to push me against the brick wall outside where we work together and kiss me. she must see some of that in your eyes because she drags in a shaky breath and all the anger leaves her. she doesn’t move away. you look at her lips.

‘ava…’

your thumb flickers to mute the phone. ‘tell me not to go.’

beatrice huffs. ‘you want to.’

‘i’ll stay. i won’t go. if you ask.’

her hand goes to your hip. you want to know how much of her hand can fit there, on your skin where your top rides up. but she doesn’t touch you, even though you’re aching for it, even though she can see that you’re aching for it. it’s like there’s an invisible barrier that blocks her from moving those last few centimetres.

‘i’m taking a shift tonight,’ she says. ‘hans is sick.’

‘oh.’

‘i won’t be home. after. i’ll be back tomorrow,’ she says hurriedly, before your heart can totally break. ‘but not tonight.’

‘i’m not bringing her home. you know that, right?’

‘it would be fine if you did,’ beatrice lies, and pushes past you into the kitchen to collect her things.

you let her go. lift the phone to your ear.

‘hey. what’s the company policy on halobearers going out with girls? also, like, your personal policy. not that it fucking matters, i’m gonna do it anyway, but i suppose i’m curious. lesbians…thoughts?’

beatrice slams the front door behind her.

superion doesn't talk straight away—ha. you hear a chair dragging on stone and then a creak as she sits.

'well,' she says, and you forget about beatrice as much as you can because superion doesn't sound angry or disgusted. only considering. and this question isn’t totally about beatrice, it’s about you too, and you don’t care what superion thinks of you, you don’t. but. 'there is nothing written to specifically bar halobearers from dating girls.' nuns, on the other hand, she doesn't say but you hear it loud and clear. 'as for my personal policies... they revolve around, and are cemented in, caring for and protecting my order and my girls.’

‘what kind of protection?’

‘physical and emotional strength is paramount, as you know. if you are being safe, and if it is something that will make you happy, then i have no reason to forbid it.’

you think on that for a minute. then, in a small voice you don’t recognise, you ask her, ‘are you excited for me? can you be excited for me?’ tears sting your eyes and the back of your throat prickles with heat like you’ve drunk hot sauce again, or whiskey, and before superion can say anything, you break in again with, ‘i’m going to be late,’ kind of brusquely. ‘bye.’

after dinner and dancing and drinks, all the things she had promised, dani offers to walk you home.

you lean back against a lamppost and wind your fingers into the lapels of her lilac blazer and tug her forward, kiss her eagerly. the streetlight is almost the same warm gold as the halo, which is snug and silent between your shoulders. dani tastes like coffee, from her espresso martini. she kisses you, bold and unafraid. you’ve thought a couple times tonight about going home with her and you think about it again now, about letting her walk you home, about holding her hand as you let her into the apartment and pushing the same hand down the front of your jeans, into the underwear you bought new for precisely this reason, to where you’re slick between your legs and wanting but–

‘this was fun,’ you tell her, panting just a little.

she groans. kisses your jaw, your neck. fuck. ‘why does it sound like you’re saying goodnight?’

‘i - well - you’re making it fucking hard -’ you say, and laugh, and your stomach twists a little because if you had said that to bea she would press her lips together and shake her head and the way her laugh escapes as a huff makes you feel like you could walk over oceans, shoot up into the fucking sky. you make that joke in front of dani and she laughs, sure, but then half a second later her teeth are on your skin over your pulse and neither of you are thinking about the joke. which is fair. but while you want dani to touch you, she doesn’t make you feel like you can take on the world. she kiss you again. puts her hands on your waist, thumbs sliding up to brush over your belly. hands sliding up until her thumbs are dipping beneath your shirt, fingers wrapping around your hips, and you feel fucking incredible, delicate and wanted and hot. but.

‘dani, fuck -’

‘yeah, i know, saying goodnight.’ she sounds pretty wrecked too, which is a huge boost to your self-esteem because all you’re doing is clinging to her but apparently that’s fine. ‘you’re sure i can’t walk you to your door?’

‘if you walked me back, i’d take you upstairs,’ you tell her, and put a hand to her chest, push her gently away. ‘which - i had a lot of fun, but i can’t.’

dani nods. ‘text me when you get home though.’

‘of course, yeah.’

she takes a step back. out of the halo of the streetlight. you rake your eyes over her—she turned up in matching lilac blazer and slacks with this tiny white crop under the blazer and perfectly white sneakers, a few silver necklaces—and it reminds you a little of seeing doctor salvius for the first time, honestly, in her full pantsuit moment, and maybe you have a thing for women who look like they know what the fuck they want and how to get it.

‘fuck.’

‘baby, i’m trying.’

you flip her off and push away from the lamppost. ‘thanks for tonight. i had a really good time.’

she smiles and watches you leave. you look back when you reach the end of the road and she’s still there, waves.

by the time you get into the apartment, you’re considerably more drunk than you’d felt when you left the bar. you get the door unlocked, kick it closed behind you, and text dani as you struggle out of your jeans, kicking them vaguely in the direction of the wardrobe.

made it home thx for tonight

she doesn’t answer immediately. which is fair, she was drunk too and maybe she went back into the bar or whatever and you don’t really care but beatrice isn’t home and the apartment is quiet and cold and you’re standing pantless in the middle of the room and there’s a sinking feeling in your gut when you realise that you’re sad. it’s not fair. it’s not fair.

the phone is hidden away under a loose floorboard, because of course it is. you hear the wood snap as you peel it up. you’re alive and super strong and drunk and it's fine, the phone shouldn't be hidden away anyway, you shouldn't be hidden away. you pull it out, call the only number programmed into this stupid, bulky phone.

‘beatrice?’

‘no, it’s me.’

‘ah, ava. hello.’

you climb to your knees, push onto your feet. she sounds fine that you’ve called, totally unbothered. ‘i’m not struggling,’ you tell her.

‘i’m glad to hear it.’

‘i’m fine.’

she’s quiet. you think about her towering over you. i know you killed yourself. you are a coward. you think about her standing in front of you, putting herself between you and harm. you are worthy. you are.

‘i’m fine,’ you say again, anger hot on your tongue, hot down your spine. ‘i’ve been fine this whole fucking time but you keep asking so, so if you don’t believe me, let me tell you and maybe you’ll listen this time. i am fine. i’m not struggling. we’re hiding away from the fight and camila is in danger all the time and mary is gone and you - you talk to me but you don’t know me! you don’t know anything about me, and i know you don’t because you still think i’m going to run, or kill myself, but i never did, i never did and i won’t so stop asking me about my fucking life.’

‘ava,’

‘and stop saying my name! scolding me? poor crippled girl out on the streets—i have a job! i have friends! i’m really not fucking interested in what you think of me! fuck. you’re all the same. you nuns…you think b-because i’m not on my knees, crying and praying that i’m not grateful? i died! i’m alive! i’m grateful. you want me to thank you? you w-want me to learn how to be perfect from bea so that i’m worthy of the halo? so you don’t decide you’ve had enough of me? lighten the fucking burden of me? fuck perfection, fuck worthiness, fuck your god, and fuck your halo!’ you yell into the phone. anger stings your lungs; there’s not enough space around it for all the air you need.

‘breathe, ava.’ superion’s voice is muffled by distance and the crackling of the phone line and the dizzy swirl of your head. ‘ava,’ she says more sharply. ‘breathe.’

you breathe in.

‘good. again.’

you breathe in again, til your chest hurts with it. stumble over to the couch and curl into the arm of it, hand on your chest, feeling the trembling of your muscles, the desperation of your body to breathe, to live.

superion can hear when you settle a little. ‘i am sorry. my questions have never been about doubt.’ you scoff. ‘if you had come to the OCS another way, i would have asked you these things. i would have taken the time to know you. it is not doubt, ava.’

‘then what the fuck is it?’

‘it is care.’

‘fuck you.’

‘ava,’

‘no! fuck you. you’re not my mother.’ you want to cry. you want your scars back. you want anything that tells you you’ve been wanted even once, even if it’s that—a sick, dreamy, drowning memory of a twisting road by the ocean, and scars where a parade of people worked to save your life. your skin is blemish free. ‘i had a mother.’ you pick yourself up from the couch. slam through the kitchen cupboards until you find the vodka hans gifted you. you pour a shot into a stripey mug, clear liquid sloshing onto the tabletop. ‘i had a mother and she died and you’re not her. and the nun who cared for me killed me twice, you know. so. fuck.’ you throw back the shot. it stings. ‘you’re not my mother and i hate your stupid god and you don’t get to care about me. i don’t care. i don’t care. it’s not fair. my mum would—i could’ve told her, i could’ve come home to her. hey mum, i went on a date with a girl tonight and it was really nice. but i can’t tell her because she’s dead and you’re a shitty substitute.’

you drink again. and then—because the anger doesn’t feel as good as you hoped it would and doesn’t do anything about the sadness unspooling in your stomach, glossy and tangled like the tape out of a cassette—you twist the cap back onto the vodka and set it back into the cupboard.

superion says, ‘i’m not your mother. that’s true. but i am here to listen to you, and guide you. and i was unduly harsh on you but there is no doubt in my mind or my heart that you are worthy, not only of the halo but of the extraordinary life you will lead. and i am sorry that you cannot kiss someone and go home and call your mother.’

you’re standing, still pantless, in the kitchen and superion is being nice to you when you’ve just yelled at her more than you’ve yelled at anyone, ever. you sniffle. ‘a girl. kiss a girl and call my mother.’

‘yes. a girl.’

‘that’s important.’

‘i understand.’

‘it’s scary,’ you admit. ‘but it’s really awesome. and - and i don’t want to give any time to people and the church who think it’s a sin, i really don’t. because there are people who think - who have been made to think that it is a sin, that they’re bad and they’re not. they’re really wonderful, they’re beautiful and incredible and good. and i know you have faith in something, i don’t want - i don’t want to disrespect that - you love god and that’s cool or whatever. but if god has a plan for me, it’s shitty and it hurt and it’s not fair and i don’t want - i don’t believe in anything that cruel, i’m not going to and you can’t make me.’ you’re really tired all of a sudden. and very drunk. ‘i want my mum. do you have - you can talk to the pope, right? can he talk to god for me? can he make sure my mum is happy? i don’t believe but i think she did. can you - can you tell me if she’s happy? do you think she’d be proud of me?’

superion’s voice is thick with something you are too drunk to decipher. ‘yes, ava. she would.’ you feel turned inside out. like she’s touching raw, exposed nerves when she says, ‘thank you for talking to me.’

‘had to get drunk ‘n’ sad to do it. hooray.’

‘please drink some water and ensure the door is locked.’

‘’kay.’ you shuffle around to lock the door. pour a glass of water. it spills a little down your front but, whatever, it’s just water. ‘okay,’ you say again when you’re done. ‘sorry. for yelling.’

‘you are forgiven. and ava… you are fine. you are good. you do not believe, but i do, that God has made you in His image.’

‘wow. god’s really hot, huh? that’s cool.’

you sleep. beatrice is home when you wake up, sitting at the kitchen table with a book, a bowl of cut-up fruit, and a croissant. you don’t have a headache—thanks, halo—but your mouth is dry like you’ve eaten a mouthful of fucking sand and when you stumble out of bed to dunk your head in the kitchen sink, drinking straight from the table, she watches you, hawk-eyed.

it’s only when you stand, wipe your chin with your wrist, and flop into the chair opposite beatrice, stealing a piece of her fruit, that you realise you are pantless. without pants.

the tips of beatrice’s ears are red. her jaw is tight. ‘please put your pants away when you take them off,’ she says, and turns the page of her book even though you’re pretty sure she wasn’t done reading the last one.

‘uh. yeah. i will.’

her finger taps against the spine of the book. ‘did you - was it fun?’

‘yeah.’

‘good. i’m glad.’ beatrice pushes the croissant over to you. ‘pain au chocolat,’ she says, and you realise that the croissant isn’t hers, it’s yours, she bought it for you because she never buys herself chocolate croissants. you think of her standing in the beautiful, warm bakery after a stupid long shift and buying you a pastry to eat after you went on a date with another woman and she watches your hands for a while as you split the croissant, which flakes between your fingers, smears buttery goodness everywhere. you break off a tiny bit and hold it out to her. ‘it’s for you,’ she says, shakes her head.

‘try it.’

she gives in. she gives in, beautiful when she does it. hungry. takes the little piece and pops it between her lips, which curl upwards, pastry melting, chocolate melting on her tongue. there’s a bit of pastry on her lip and the whole room is full of light.

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #avatrice #warrior nun #i would kill n die for ava i hope u know that #mother superion

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