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toournextadventure · 4 months

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everyone but her pt.39

Summary: Everything is starting to play tricks on you, and all you really want is for Wednesday to swoop in and fix it. Even if only for a moment.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, injury, shock, grief, suggestive themes at the end Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist)

Ringing echoed in your ears. It felt so deep that you could almost feel your teeth vibrating. At least it was a feeling. Something other than the unusual mix of numbness and the heavy weight that had settled in your stomach. The ringing was some sort of distraction from the stench of the hospital.

Underneath the dried blood, your skin itched. A nice contrast to the way it usually felt like it was crawling. Your dirty nails peeled the dried flakes of blood off your skin subconsciously. Piece by piece, falling to the floor like rusted snow. Beneath your hands, resting on the ground, a tiny horrific winter wonderland was being born.

You couldn’t see it. The blackness had crept upon your vision, leaving you with something that was like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. A small pinprick of the spot in front of you, distorted and distant and looking like nothing more than a speck of light in the pitch black.

The doctors were saying something to Yoko. You wouldn’t know; you hadn’t been able to hear anything aside from the ringing for… you didn’t know how long. Time moved both too fast and too slow. Existence seemed to crawl by at a snail’s pace, and yet it felt like you were ageing with each shaky, pained breath you took.

That grounding hand on your knee disappeared, leaving you with nothing but the small speck of light and the itching of your skin. The ringing started to dull, slowly becoming overwhelmed by muffled voices. It started off low, almost inaudible, growing into what could almost be recognised. Something familiar.

Something angry.

You blinked hard once, twice, squeezing your eyes shut the third time. When you opened them, the tunnel vision started to pull back, revealing two tiles on the floor, then four, then letting them take over your vision. There was something powdery beneath your hands. Had it come from you?

Two sets of shoes stepped into your still-growing field of view. A pair of boots and a pair of heels. Both black. Neutral. Safe. It was like Wednesday. Black was safe. Your eyes slowly raked up from the shoes to the legs, to the waist, then finally up to the face.

Bianca. She was safe too.

“What did you do?” She asked, demanded, her voice ringing crystal clear in your ears.

Maybe she wasn’t safe.

She’s accusing you, the voice said, almost sounding more clear than Bianca. You killed her girlfriend. You blinked hard again. You’re a killer. No, that couldn’t be right. Right? No, of course not. No one could have died. Why would they have died?

Everyone around you dies.

“We didn’t do anything,” Yoko said. In contrast to Bianca’s, her voice sounded far weaker, almost uncertain. That couldn’t be right. “You should be happy we even found them at all.”

“Are you here for-”

“-Yes,” Bianca said quickly, interrupting whom you assumed to be the doctor.

You tried to see who they were, to finally get a firm grip on what was going on, but it was like you were moving through molasses. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t move fast enough. It was like a bad dream, one of the ones where you tried to save someone but you just couldn’t get your feet to run faster.

“You can all come with me,” the doctor said by the time you finally managed to look at her. “We put them both in the same room.”

Bianca didn’t wait for either of you to follow. You didn’t blame her. A pale hand reached across your gaze before resting on your arm. It slowly slid down until it cupped your elbow and gently pulled upward. Oh. Oh, of course, you should follow. The creak of your knee was horrifically loud in your ears. You wondered if the entire hospital had heard it.

Yoko’s hand never strayed from your elbow as she helped you down the hallway to the room. Did she think you were incapable of getting there on your own? She may have been older, but you weren’t a child. Even as you tripped over the floor when the toe of your shoe scuffed the tile.

You’re incompetent, the voice chided. A feeble killer.

“They’re stable,” you heard the doctor saying when you walked through the doorway. “They should wake up soon.”

She politely pushed past you then, leaving you alone in the room with Yoko and Bianca. And two corpses. No, they were alive, the doctor had said so. Stable even. As long as you didn’t have to look at them, they would be okay. Your mind couldn’t play tricks on you if you didn’t look.

“What happened?” Bianca asked after a few moments of tense silence. “I need the truth.”

“I already told you,” Yoko started with a sigh.

Her hand vanished from your elbow while she rambled on, talking about what had happened out in the forest. At least you assumed that’s what she was saying; each word from her mouth was melding with the next, leaving nothing but a constant stream of noise.

Look at them.

You didn’t want to.

Look at what you caused.

Your eyes raised from the hole you were attempting to stare into the ground. All of your insides were screaming, telling you something was wrong. The usually pristine white bed sheets were soaked, dripping steaming blood onto the sterile tile below. Yoko’s voice was drowned out by a flatline that grew louder with each heartbeat from your own chest. Bandages were soaked through and they were looking at you with ghastly white eyes. You wanted to scream.

But you couldn’t move.

It was like that story Wednesday had read to you at Nevermore; I have no mouth, and I must scream.

It burned in your throat. Like swallowing hot coals, one by one, devouring them before they devoured you in return. You weren’t sure what it felt like to drink fire, but this must have been close. There wasn’t even any saliva left in your mouth to ease the scorching heat threatening to bubble past your lips.

If only you could open your mouth.

A cold hand slipped into your own from behind. Small, seemingly fragile even though you knew the strength it held underneath the skin. All it took was a squeeze of her hand in yours, and the acid rising up your throat started to recoil, slithering back to whatever crevice it had crawled out of.

It wasn’t just the feel of her hand that tamed your nerves; it was her very presence. The moment you felt her beside you, the pools of blood on the tiles started to absorb into the tiles. Each drip from the bed sheets slowed down until they stopped completely. And each set of nightmarishly white eyes closed until you were standing in a normal hospital room again.

You had always been in a normal hospital room.

Voices - muffled and high pitched - came from behind you before quickly ending up in front of you. The air in the room grew lighter, and you inhaled slowly through your nose. Your lungs then exhaled in relief, the burning ache easing into nothingness. There were plenty of people in the room, you could tell, but you just looked back down at the floor.

Wednesday’s black platforms made for a wonderful focus point.

“Why were you in the woods?”

Bianca’s voice was grating against your ears. It didn’t sound any different than normal, but something about it made your skin crawl. Someone cleared their voice. It was a wet sound; too fleshy for your liking.

“You asked me to go with you.” That was Ash. She didn’t sound dead.

“What do you mean?” Bianca asked, and you finally looked back up. Everyone had gone dead silent. “I was in my apartment.”

“No you weren’t,” Ash said. Her voice sounded raw as she cleared her throat again. “You asked me to go on a morning walk with you.”

“When have I ever wanted a morning walk?” Bianca asked not unkindly as she gently took Ash’s hand in hers.. “Mornings are the worst part of the day.”

Everyone turned their heads slowly to look at you. Why would they be looking at you? You weren’t Bianca; you didn’t even look the same. Besides, you had an alibi, and everyone tended to believe Yoko about things. She was your best friend, but she had made it clear over all the years that she would call you out if need be.

“What about you?” Ajax asked the other bed; Joel’s eyes were slowly opening too. “Who did you follow?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a similarly croaky voice to Ash. “I don’t remember anything after going to sleep.”

Wednesday squeezed your hand again, holding on tightly for a few seconds longer than usual. It was grounding. The longer you stared at Ash and Joel, the more their bandages started to bleed. But each time Wednesday moved, or touched you, or spoke, the bleeding would dissipate. Slowly. Surely.

“Have the police come in yet?” Divina asked. “They were still outside when we got here.”

“Not yet,” Yoko said. She looked at you; you weren’t paying any attention. “But I’m sure we’ll have to.”

“Get lawyers,” Kent said. “No one’s pressing charges, but you can’t trust cops.”

Everyone mumbled in agreement.

“My family will assist with the lawyers,” Wednesday said. “We maintain a list of all attorneys we currently have on retainer.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Bianca grumbled. You didn’t hear her say she didn’t want the list, though.

“Moreno is on his way,” Wednesday said directly to you.

You knew she was speaking to you because her voice lost its edge. The purposefully professional tone she kept around everyone else - though it slipped more and more with each day - didn’t exist with you. Instead she was soft, almost even kind; something she kept reserved just for you. Only Uncle Fester received the same treatment, and that was something you were okay with.

Something sealed your lips together from the inside. You wanted to say something to her; scream out that you were scared. There was too much red, things didn’t seem real. But you couldn’t even tell her a simple “thank you.” Instead, you just nodded once and blinked slowly. You hoped she understood.

—---

You could feel the exhaustion settling in your bones as Moreno walked out of the interrogation room with you. His hand rested between the connecting point of your wings. Fingers scratched between the joints and kept you grounded. Something usually only Wednesday did, but it worked just about the same, you supposed.

Wednesday was sitting in one of the chairs in the lobby of the police station. The tunnel vision from earlier returned; you could only see her. Her, in your worn out hoodie that added just a splash of colour to her usually black repertoire. It looked almost unnatural, yet not unpleasant.

She looked tired.

It’s your fault if she is.

Moreno stopped you in front of Wednesday and started saying something to her. You couldn’t decipher any of it. The only thing you could hear was the difference in who was talking. It seemed they were having a conversation. Well, that was typically what happened when people talked, so of course they were.

Talking about you.

Yes, you could have guessed that on your own. Maybe they were talking about how you were going to jail again. Surely that couldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibility. Maybe it was for the best. Clearly nothing was going right, maybe it would be safer if you were in prison.

Cold hands pressed against your cheeks and tilted your head down. You blinked hard once, forcing your vision to come back. You couldn’t even be concerned about how you had gotten back into your apartment. It was so far detached from the numbness of the situation.

You just didn’t care.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly. It was too soft for Wednesday Addams. A shiver went down your spine.

Her hands lingered on your face for a moment, nails scratching against your jaw. Comfort. Your eyes fell shut as you let yourself feel. The sharpness of her nails against your skin. The shocking cold of her hands in comparison to the warmth of her body pressed against yours. You felt… love.

“In any other situation,” Wednesday said as her arms slid down your neck and arms, “the blood would look lovely on you.”

It should have upset you. The blood belonged to your friend and you should have been upset. You were soaked in it, to the point where your clothes were stiff and your skin itched. But it didn’t. Instead, you felt a warmth in your chest, slowly pushing out the cold that had been tightly nestled into your ribcage.

Wednesday’s hands slipped into yours and pulled. It didn’t take an ounce of brain power to follow wherever she was taking you. The hardwood of the floor turned into tile, and you looked around at the bathroom. A simple room; you would have expected nothing less from her. A clawfoot tub against the wall and a shower across the room.

She let go of your hands to start filling up the tub.

You knew the steps to getting into the bath. Take your shoes off, remove your clothes, and step in. Simple steps, something children could do on their own. Yet you couldn’t get your body to do it. It was too busy staying locked up, refusing to move. Your body felt heavy, like you were trapped underneath rubble and couldn’t get out.

Air caught in your throat when cold hands slid underneath your shirt. Flinching because Wednesday had touched you was humiliating. You hadn’t done it in… you didn’t know how long. She wouldn’t think you were scared of her, would she? Oh god, what if she did? You didn’t think you could handle that.

She’ll think you’re a coward.

“May I?” She asked, eyes uncharacteristically wide.

The words still wouldn’t form on your tongue, so you settled for nodding instead. She gave you that little smile that most wouldn’t even notice before gently taking the hem of your shirt and helping you out of it. Most of the blood was dried, but you still felt a few sticky parts catching your skin. The scalding water filling the tub had already left the bathroom full of steam, so it wasn’t cold when you were bare to the world.

You still shivered anyway.

She held you steady as she helped you out of your stiff jeans. You didn’t know when you had taken your shoes off. Wednesday’s hands kept you steady. She was far sturdier than she seemed. The water was far too hot, but you wouldn’t say anything. If Wednesday Addams had one guilty pleasure, it was a painfully hot bath.

“Wait,” you said when Wednesday started removing the jacket. She froze and looked at you, waiting. “I can help.”

“I’ll only be a moment,” she said. You simply nodded and turned back to face the water.

It would have made anyone laugh if they saw the tub in Wednesday’s apartment. Hot water, fresh black roses on a small table nearby, and a relaxing bubble bath that created a wonderful aroma in the air. Rather soft for what people typically associated with the Addamses. Oh how wrong they were.

The water parted as Wednesday stepped in, quickly straddling your lap. There was nothing scandalous in the position; it was one of comfort, nothing more. It often led to the perfect position for her to help you wash your hair, which was enough of a battle on a normal day. The second upside was your wings could rest on the outside of the tub, staying perfectly dry.

“Stay still,” she demanded, though it held no venom. Her words never held the same sting as they used to. Sometimes you missed it.

Not all the time, obviously. But sometimes.

While one of her hands gripped your chin, the other grabbed a wet washcloth and started washing the grime off your body. It’s blood, the voice made sure to remind you. Your friend’s blood. You bit your tongue to distract yourself from that very fact.

It didn’t distract from the knowledge that you were literally bathing in Ash’s blood.

“Would you find any sort of comfort in talking?” Wednesday asked. “It doesn’t have to be about what happened.” You exhaled slowly through your nose. “It can be about any topic you wish.”

Your thumb rubbed against her hip bone. Did you want to talk about anything? Though you had stayed silent for the majority of the day, you worried that if you opened your mouth, nothing would come out. Or worse, you would fall into uncontrollable sobbing and wouldn’t be able to stop.

But Wednesday was offering, and she so rarely offered.

“Am I bad luck?” You asked.

The washcloth stopped moving for only a moment.

“No,” she said simply. “You are not bad luck.” Her thumb rubbed underneath your eyes. “You simply have a penchant for getting yourself into complicated situations.”

You choked on a laugh. “Did Wednesday Addams just try to sugarcoat my apparent proclivity for trouble?”

“I would never stoop to such a level,” she quickly attempted to defend herself. “I’m simply saying perhaps it’s not all you.”

“Maybe not,” you mumbled. A smile slowly formed on your lips. “Maybe it’s Yoko.”

“What?” She asked.

“Yoko.” You weren’t necessarily looking at Wednesday, but you felt her hands rubbing the product into your hair. “She’s always with me when I get in trouble.”

Wednesday hummed in reply. “You may have a point.” The corner of her mouth tilted upward. “She is a rather unlucky vampire.”

“Exactly,” you said as you leaned your head down so she could better reach the back of it. “I would bet money she’s the reason I’m always in trouble.”

Wednesday smiled. It was her equivalent of a laugh, and you adored it. Even though you would kill to hear her actual, verbal laugh, you had become obsessed with her smile. There was nothing more beautiful, more perfect. The sight alone made your heart skip a beat in the best way.

You wanted to see it for the rest of your life.

That will never happen, the voice taunted. It sounded deeper. Sinister. She will abandon you once she learns how dangerous you are to those you love.

After what had just happened… you couldn’t disagree.

“You’re thinking rather loudly,” she said. You hadn’t noticed she had finished with your hair. “Would you care to share those thoughts?”

No. No, you didn’t want her to know about the voice in your head and how it was right. You hurt those who loved you. Everyone that had ever felt any sort of affection for you had gotten hurt. Fuck, Nicky had gotten killed. How could you explain that to anyone without sounding like either a jinx or a superstitious lunatic?

You couldn’t let her know.

“Do you think Ash really saw Bianca?” You asked instead, doing your best to change the topic before Wednesday caught on to your original train of thought. “Or, I mean, do you think she thought she saw B?”

Wednesday’s hands rested on your shoulders, and her thumbs rubbed against either side of your neck. They were perfectly poised over your jugular; a spot she was rather fond of. You didn’t know if it was because of the power it gave her, or if she simply liked knowing how vulnerable you willingly were around her. All you knew was you kind of liked it.

“If she did,” she started slowly, “then it must have been a hallucination.” Her eyes trailed off to the side. “Or perhaps a shapeshifter.”

“They said the wounds were from claws,” you said. “Shapeshifters usually don’t have claws.”

“Perhaps a werewolf then,” Wednesday continued. “Though it wasn’t a full moon.”

“Enid can grow claws whenever she wants,” you pointed out. “Full moon or not.”

“We should be putting this on my investigation board,” she said.

She didn’t give you any time to object or even fully comprehend what she had suggested. The next thing you knew, she was already getting out of the tub and drying off with her towel; a black, monogrammed towel you had managed to get her for her birthday. You tried not to stare, but she did look rather good with it wrapped around her.

“Are you coming?” She asked.

“Yes ma’am,” you said quickly.

Wednesday was already leaving the bathroom by the time you managed to start emptying out the tub. Of course she would leave you with cleanup. Once a spoiled rich kid, always a spoiled rich kid. The thought made you smile to yourself. Ah, but she was your spoiled rich kid, that was for sure.

By the time you had managed to get out, dry the floor, and dry yourself off, Wednesday had already gotten dressed and set up some sort of board in the living room. You peaked at it on the way to the bedroom. Shit, she had been serious, you didn’t have any time to waste. You hastily threw on a pair of old sweats and pulled the sweater over your head. It was a good thing she was too busy looking at her board to watch you squirm to pull your wings through the holes on the back.

“Did you have this at Nevermore?” You asked as you finally managed to look at the black board. It was littered with notecards and- were those autopsy photos?

“Yes,” she said without turning away from the board. You did your best not to notice that she was wearing another one of your sweaters. And no pants. “I’ve had it since I was nine.”

“Sounds normal enough,” you said with a subconscious nod to yourself. “What else would a nine year old girl want?”

“You said the injuries came from claws?” Wednesday asked.

Okay, no room for small talk, she was in serious mode. That certainly hadn’t happened in a while. It was a lovely look on her; all business. You had missed it. But when she still wouldn’t look at you, you pouted. You hadn’t missed that.

“That’s what the doctor said,” you confirmed. “At least, that’s what Yoko said the doctor said.”

Wednesday nodded once and put something up on the board with a thumb tack. “Plus the possibility of a hallucination.” She tacked a second piece of paper on the board. “What’s the connection?”

“Maybe Bianca’s just a secret psychopath,” you grumbled. This wasn’t turning out to be as fun as you thought.

“I had considered it,” she said, “but it’s rather unlikely.” She turned her body toward you slightly. “Weren’t you and Yoko attacked as well?”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. Was it bad you had practically forgotten your own attack? “But we didn’t see anything, it just… happened.”

“What was the worst injury?” She asked, already reaching for a stack of cards. At least that’s what they looked like.

“Yoko got a cut on her head,” you said with a shrug. “And a few scratches on her back, I think.”

Wednesday turned quickly to look at you. “You’re alright?”

You tried not to smile. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

She nodded to herself and turned back to the board. It wasn’t like she hadn’t just seen you in the bath, though you supposed your body was a bit obscured by the bubbles she just had to have. But you knew better than to bring that up. She wasn’t too keen on being teased about her super secret love for bubble baths.

“Preliminary evidence leans toward a werewolf,” she said as she tacked up another card, this one looking like a picture. “Though obviously we’ll need to do some more research.”

“Research?” You asked, standing up straighter. The pop in your knee was not hurting; you were just getting old.

“Whatever it is has attacked my-” you raised your brow as she cleared her throat “-your friends.”

“Nuh uh,” you said as you grabbed her hand and pulled her around. “Joel is all yours, mi vida.” She exhaled through her nose. “And admit it, Ash is your friend too.”

She seemed to think for a moment. “It might also take the pressure off Enid for those fraternity murders last year.”

You sighed. Well, you hadn’t gotten her to admit they were her friends, but at least she hadn’t openly denied it. That was a start if you had ever seen one. Slow, baby steps with Wednesday.

Baby steps.

“Are we going to be doing this all night?” You asked.

Wednesday turned to look at you with a smile so big you almost, almost, saw her teeth.

“Can I at least get a kiss as motivation?” You asked with a sigh.

Her hands held your head in place as she stood up on her toes and kissed you. She tasted uncharacteristically sweet, as if she had been eating candies recently. Coupled with the warmth that had seeped into her skin thanks to the bath, it was almost like you were kissing a Wednesday from another dimension.

But you could still taste the bitter undertones of black coffee, and her fingers had already lost their warmth, and only your Wednesday let her fingers gently hook on either side of your jaw to give her complete control. Only your Wednesday knew just how to kiss you so you felt utterly wanted, loved, desired even.

“Motivated yet?” She asked, her lips still moving against yours.

You shook your head and bent down, wrapping your arms around the backs of her thighs and picking her up. She inhaled sharply, nearly taking your breath away. But that didn’t stop her from wrapping her legs around your waist and pulling your face closer. Not quite into a kiss, but just to hold you close.

“Just a little more,” you said softly.

You couldn’t tell her you couldn’t look at the board yet. That just the thought of finding out who had done something to Ash and Joel was enough to hammer away at what little sanity you had left. She loved mysteries, and you weren’t going to stop her from it.

But a little distraction from the world wouldn’t hurt. You could get your distraction, she could get a clear head, and you would both be all the better for it. After all, maybe if you were lucky, she would test out a few methods of, ahem, marking to see how possible they were.

For her research board, of course.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #jenna ortega x reader #everyone but her au

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

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The North Star - Part Seven: The Heist - Terry Bruno x Reader (Feat Mike Duarte)

Welcome to mine and @the-hinky-panda The Bronx universe featuring our favs Terry Bruno & Mike Duarte.

This story takes place several years after 'Blood Out'. Terry still lives in the Bronx and works in Manhatten SVU.

Following on from @the-hinky-panda story 'The Dog' Mike has retired from the NYPD on medical grounds due to seizures causes by the attack. He has a therapy dog called Bono and lives with @the-hinky-panda character Meredith.

Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower @legit9thlunaticwarrior @bbyxoo @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @crazy4chickennuggets @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life

Part One: Moments

It was three quarters of the way through your appraisal of the room that you spotted him. That familiar dark hair neatly slicked back from his grizzled features, a black waistcoat over white shirt and black trousers. He was dressed like one of the caterers, a large silver whipped cream canister tucked under his arm as he pulled aside a discreet black velvet curtain at the back of the room and slipped behind it.

Are you fucking kidding me? You thought exasperated. Every time you thought this case couldn’t get any more complicated; something threw a spanner in the works.

A Degas and now a Duarte. Christ, Terry was going to get a kick out of this.

Paul was still occupied on the opposite side of the gallery, his head bent low as he talked with Arthur Munson, the fence and host for the evening. You followed Mike’s footsteps, disappearing behind the curtain before anyone could realise that you were missing.

It took you a second to realise that the room was set up for the auction later tonight. Over a dozen chairs facing a stage that included a podium and a gavel. It was old school, compared to the way it was done these days with computers and electronics. Paul had mentioned that Arthur Munson was a traditionalist. The walls were littered with artwork, a blatant display of the man’s proclivities. You didn’t recognise any of the pieces, but you assumed they were each worth a small fortune. This event tonight was an opportunity to show off, to fortify his reputation as a collector and procurer. A decadent marketing campaign that put his competition to shame.

At the end of the front row, near the stage stood Mike Duarte, his scarred hands covered with black latex gloves as he clasped the frame in front of him and tried to pull it from the wall. It stuck fast, unrelenting as he yanked at it again before huffing with irritation.

“Mike.” You hissed as your gaze came to land on him. “Tell me you aren’t trying to steal that painting.”

“I’m not trying.” He snorted, inclining his head towards you for a moment before turning his attention back to the task at hand. “And I consider it a liberation.”

You stepped up to the painting as he withdrew a scalpel from his waistcoat pocket. It glinted wickedly in the dim light above.

“Is that…” You trailed off as you studied the painting in front of you.

The photographs you’d viewed on Meredith’s coffee table didn’t do it justice. It was vibrant and evocative, all plush greens and vivid blues. A sprawling hillside near Medellin, Colombia, a miniscule white picnic blanket had been added in such beautiful, perfect detail, you could see the tiny red poppies embroidered into the fabric. There was life in this work, it emitted through the thin layer of canvas vibrating through your bones as you stood entranced.

“Carrillo’s work is stunning. Nobody knew he painted, only that he put the fear of God into Escobar.” Mike informed you as he took a second to survey it.

“Mike, I can’t let you...”

“Yes you can.” He said firmly, turning to face you. His eyes fixated on yours, you saw the ferocity in his gaze, the ire and the passion. “His family deserve to have this back; it’s not meant for anybody else’s eyes. He painted it for his wife, to remind her of what they were fighting for before the Narcos killed her. That man sacrificed everything for what he believed in and I’ll be damned if I let this sit in some cartel shithead’s mansion like a fucking trophy.”

There was a viciousness in his voice, an undercurrent of anguish and understanding because Mike had done something similar. He had given everything for the neighbourhood, his heart, his soul and almost his life. He’d lived a lonely existence before Meredith had come along, he had told you one night in front of the fireplace, sharing a bottle of 19 Crimes. Meredith’s head had been resting on a cushion in his lap where she’d fallen asleep, his fingertips were brushing through her hair tenderly. You discussed his life prior to the attack, how isolated he had become, how he had simply been surviving instead of living. It had been years since he’d actually been able to breath, and with Meredith he thought he’d found a home, someone to love, someone who loved him in return. He couldn’t believe it most days, sometimes he thought he was dreaming, that he’d wake up and the bubble would burst but then Bono would greet him with a cold enquiring nose, Shasta would lick his face and Meredith would laugh and his heart felt like it would explode in his chest.

You recognised that feeling, the one where you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. You had it in the dead of night while Terry slept beside you, his face buried in the curve of your throat, his soft breath ghosting over your skin. There was nothing quite as perfect as being wrapped up in his arms, feeling his heartbeat steadily against yours.

“It’s getting shipped out tomorrow.” Mike told you; he lifted the scalpel to the painting before sucking in a breath and hesitating. “That fucking asshole Munson wanted everyone to get one good look before it disappeared. It’s meant to be his piece de la resistance, proof he can get absolutely anything.” He paused, the scalpel wavering as he tried to select the right place to cut. “Go back to the party, I’ll be gone before you make your bust.”

You reached for the scalpel instead, your fingers wrapping around the handle and removing it from his grasp. Mike let you, your hands were steadier than his, these days. He moved to allow you more space to work.

“We can use the scalpel to break the frame instead.” You informed him, driving the slender blade between a minuscule space in the corner of the wooden panel before leveraging it from side to side. “That way you won’t be compromising the painting.”

Mike cleared his throat as a low crack resounded through the air, the lacquered wood beginning to separate at the joint.

“Meredith’s dad used to do carpentry.” You explained, hooking your finger under the lip of the frame and gently working it away from the painting. “It’s why I like upcycling so much. Do you have something to put the painting in once I’m done?”

Mike picked up the metal whipped cream cannister from the seat where it resided before unscrewing the top and revealing an empty vessel.

“Should I be concerned about how good you are this?” You asked him as you pulled away the side panel of the frame and set it down upon the floor. Mike picked removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and wiped down the glossy surface as you tactfully slid canvas from its prison.

“I should be asking you the same thing Sergeant.” He said as he took the artwork from your hands with the utmost care before rolling it up gently and placing it inside the container. You took the handkerchief from his outstretched hand and wiped down the rest of the frame before depositing it and the scalpel into your clutch. “How long do I have?”

You removed your phone from your purse, your thumb flicking over the unlock screen.

“I’m about to call in the FBI.” You told him, your thumb hoovering over your text chain with Sinclair. “So, I’d get out of here as soon as possible.”

Mike rose an eyebrow.

“There’s a Degas out there.”

A smile twitched at his lips, and you found yourself returning it, a burst of laughter beginning to bubble in your chest as the sheer ridiculousness of this situation. You had to look away because you knew that it would erupt from your mouth if you held his gaze any longer.

“Bruno is gonna love this.” He said, tucking the cannister back under his arm.

“I think he’s gonna ban me from watching Ocean’s Eight after this.” You told him, typing out your message to Sinclair.

‘There’s a fucking Degas.’ with three head exploding emojis. ‘Five Dancing Women (Ballerinas)’

He’d know what to do, Sinclair had been your right-hand man ever since you’d made Sergeant and transferred into the Bronx Homicide Unit. He was the one you trusted the most out of all the detectives you supervised.

“You probably have ten minutes after I send this message.” You informed Mike as the two of you strode back towards the black velvet curtain obscuring the doorway. “Head out the service exit. I’ve got Sinclair covering the back and he knows your face.”

Mike nodded his head, before straightening his shoulders and schooling his features into polite boredom before stepping out from behind the curtain and back into the main gallery. You hit the send button on your message as the curtain closed behind him.

Love Terry Bruno? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#detective terry bruno #terry bruno fic #terry bruno x you #terry bruno x reader #terry bruno

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wiremarrow · 1 year

Text

The Double Bind of Women's Speech

“I find vocal fry and upspeak in women annoying.” The Father shrieked and leapt out of his robe. The confessional was engulfed in a blazing inferno. The nuns aimed their crosses at me, harmonizing in Latin prayer. The altar boys circumscribed the ground I stood on with holy salts. I once again echoed my sin that began this conflagration, hands erected to the falling, thundering sky and was promptly laid out by a brass-knuckled Antifa member.

As a privileged, white-ish boy, how dare I criticize the ways young men and women choose to speak and use their bodies! Further, how can I possibly identify myself as a progressive liberal while admitting to my complicity in what appears to be systemic misogyny! Well, today I confess to my atrocity and will provide plenty of tomatoes as ammunition for your volleys; firstly, however, let me cover my bases before judgement comes. I'll go ahead and explain what vocal fry is along with accompanying speech eccentricities.

The human voice has a range of vocal tones produced by the vibrational frequencies of the vocal folds, also called vocal cords, which can be partitioned into three primary vocal registers: modal voice (your normal speaking voice), vocal fry (a low-pitched, raspy voice), and falsetto (a high-pitched, shrill voice) (Appleman 1986; McKinney 1994). For instance, you’d most likely use your falsetto register when squealing at a baby, your modal register when giving a class presentation or simply talking naturally, and vocal fry when describing how pleasureful a piece of dark chocolate is. More physically, “[v]ocal fry is produced by tight adduction of the arytenoid cartilages with reduced tension of the vocal folds with large and irregular vibrations and a low rough sound when air passes. It is not viewed as an involuntary voice disorder, but rather as a volitional strategy that has been mainly recognised as a feature of some styles of singing” (Hornibrook et al. 2018). The coarse, glottal rattling associated with vocal fry is best exemplified in its cultural ambassadors: Zooey Deschanel, Britney Spears, and the queen of creaky voice, Kim Kardashian, among others. Vocal fry’s androgenous partner, upspeak (or uptalk), is an eccentric speech pattern which “refer[s] to [the] rising intonation at the end of declarative sentences, or […] the tendency for people to make statements that sound like questions’’ (Warren 2016).

Now that we’re primed with context, I propose a methodical and logically-sound autopsy of my original question to reason out why I feel the way I do and whether I should feel the way I do.

I’m writing this because a day ago I had a conversation with someone from school where I personally found it hard to discern when the other person had finished speaking their thought, confused over their seemingly disinterested tone (the subject was over the deaths of 19 children in Uvalde, TX), and moderately difficult to make out their deeper utterances – their speech sounded like something between grumbles and moans. Although it probably took me just a few extra seconds to comprehend what they said after each sentence, I was pretty thrown off for the remainder of our talk. So, could this person just be a statistical anomaly that slipped through the cracks of socialization? Am I just a dreadful listener with no emotional reading? 100%, reader. After a quick Google search had diagnosed the culprits of their articulation difficulties to be upspeak and vocal fry, I now seek to objectively answer their effects on users, if others find it annoying, and why I find it annoying to best eliminate biases and pass my learnings along.

The first time vocal fry in speaking voice was formally recognized was in 1966 (Hollien 1966). Now recently, there have been circulating anecdotes asserting an increasing prevalence of vocal fry and upspeak in Standard American-English (SAE) speakers, especially in younger female speakers, which have roused the interest of voice researchers, linguists, speech pathologists, and public critics and pundits alike; yet, the studies researching these speech patterns are small in number and moderate in scale which is likely attributed to the labor-intensive annotation process. From what we do have available, vocal fry seems to be increasing in young women. For instance, the perceived prevalence of vocal fry has increased significantly (P=0.03) among Finnish women and insignificantly (P=1.00) among Finnish men from 1990 to 2010 (Uusitalo et al. 2022). Additionally, out of a population of 34 SAE female college students, approximately two-thirds use vocal fry in sentence reading, suggesting that, “the use of the vocal fry register is frequent in some adult SAE speakers” (Wolk 2012). In a Science article at the time of publishing, Wolk notes that, “speech researchers suspect the vibrational trend [vocal fry] is widespread in the United States” (Fessenden 2011). The article continues: “The group is also the first to verify that American women are much more likely to exhibit the behavior [vocal fry] than men, as its [now-published] data show[s] that male college-age students don’t use the creaky voice” (Fessenden 2011). So, vocal fry appears to be on the rise – predominantly in women (Hornibrook et al. 2018). However, a recent meta-analysis of ten studies measuring vocal fry prevalence in varieties of English found that the, “[i]nvestigations into the prevalence of creaky voice in varieties of English are scarce, modest in scale, extremely methodologically diverse, and lacking in both time depth and geographic breadth. Claims that creaky voice has become increasingly prevalent among young American women are widespread in public and scholarly discourse. However, this systematic review found that such claims are not yet substantiated by quantitative evidence. But nor are they refuted by the evidence. [...] Furthermore, with regards to a possible increase among young American women in particular, there has been minimal description of present-day older American women’s use of creaky voice, which might offer ‘apparent-time’ evidence of change” (Dallaston & Docherty 2020). For upspeak – or in linguistics, high rise terminals (HRT) – a small study found that, out of a sample of twelve female and eleven male speakers, “females used high rise terminals more often than males, and their HRTs showed greater pitch excursion [‘accent curves’] and later alignment” (Ritchart 2013). Do you remember how I said that topical research on the subject of vocal fry is hard to come by? It’s even worse for upspeak. Angela Barry, a linguist at the University of Sheffield denied me an online copy of her dissertation measuring HRT across SoCal and Britain which is entirely in her right but would have been so fucking helpful here. I want to punch this kind lady; I pirated a copy and it was absolute dogshit. Anyways, a study analyzing the responses of Jeopardy! contestants found that, “[t]he typical purveyor of uptalk is white, young, and female. Men use uptalk more when surrounded by women contestants, and when correcting a woman contestant after she makes an incorrect response” (Linneman 2013). Another small study of twelve native Southern Ontario English speakers corroborates that women were observed to uptalk significantly more than men and that it did not vary with age (Shokeir 2008). Further, when a speaker sample of 75 from Porirua, New Zealand, subdivided by age, sex, ethnicity (Maori and Pakeha), and class, the use of HRTs being favored by young Maori and by young Pakeha women (Britain 2008). I encourage you to browse through the facts here and judge it for yourself. Is this growing phenomenon real?

The why of the issue is a little harder to interpret. There are many theories as to why, from my analysis of the data, females predominantly seem to use vocal fry and upspeak more in comparison to males and why their frequencies are increasing. For instance, upspeak is positively correlated when a female believes to be more certain in an answer yet negatively correlated when a male believes to be more certain in an answer (Linneman 2013). Shokeir’s findings corroborates this, concluding that “[...] men interpret intonational contours as having a more traditional function than women do. Men reported that the falling contour conveyed finality and certainty and one of the rising contours, L*H-H%, conveyed continuation. Women did not interpret these contours to have their conventional readings, suggesting that women use these contours to convey other social functions” (Shokeir 2008). These studies support the theory that upspeak may signal confidence or neutrality from a female’s perspective but uncertainty from a male’s perspective. Another theory could be that upspeak is used to indicate politeness or subservience in speech. Britain supports: “The results show that linguistic change is in progress, the use of HRTs being favored by young Maori and by young Pakeha women. Another theory could be that upspeak messages The results are explained in terms of the function of HRTs as positive politeness markers” (Britain 2008). A sociolinguistic study sampled and analyzed the high rising terminals (L*H) of college women in sororities at the University of Texas at Austin, noting that, “[i]n particular, one speaker reported, and several concurred, that upon hearing the intonational features in (23) (also present in (25)), she ‘can’t help but start talking that way too’; others remarked that stories told with that intonation in the dining room were likely to get a larger audience. Interestingly, several sorority officers reported that, while they would use ‘this kind of intonation’ (L*H) when addressing another sorority, they wouldn’t use it when addressing a fraternity because it would make them appear ‘weak.’ The relative status of fraternity-sorority participants is asymmetric to the extent that sex roles are; when L*H is interpreted as connecting participants, a speaker with lower status is more likely to be viewed as eliciting approval, as when a sorority pledge uses the form in addressing active members in a weekly meeting. The relative status of participants is distinct from the attitudinal ‘meaning’ of L*H; suggestions that women use phrase-final rises more frequently than men because they more frequently want to convey uncertainty or deference (Lakoff 1975) or inconclusiveness (Bolinger 1989) are mistaken in attributing these meanings to the intonational form” (McLemore 1990). Another study noted uncertainty associated with prolongations with upspeak to be statistically significant (Tomlinson & Tree 2011). For vocal fry, there are also a vast amount of theories speculating its use case. One follows the classic gender power tug-of-war: that women use vocal fry to perceptually lower their voices out of empowerment. This theory is founded on the premise that a lower voice is seen as more authoritative which is supported by profuse amounts of academic literature. For instance, a 2012 study observed that participants voted more for political candidates with deeper voices as they were judged to be more comparatively dominant (Klofstad et al. 2012). Another theory could be vocal fry’s utilization in solidarity, as distinct vocal phenomena can be markers for culture or a common tribe (Pittam 1987). In this way, a noticeable, repetitive eccentricity like vocal fry might act as a grouping associator in a particular vernacular of English.

Well, if vocal fry and upspeak seem to exist as speech phenomena, who does it harm? Vocal fry doesn’t seem to damage your vocal cords. Lee Akst, an otolaryngologist at Johns Hopkins, claims that “[t]he vocal anatomy is not damaged by speaking in vocal fry. However, like any behavior, vocal or otherwise, it can become a habit” (Akst 2022). Laukkanen corroborates, writing “[n]o significant relations were found between creakiness or strain and vocal symptoms in [the] sample of university students” (Laukkanen 2020). However, social ramifications are another issue entirely. A large peer-reviewed study from 2014 found that “[r]elative to a normal speaking voice, young adult female voices exhibiting vocal fry are perceived as less competent, less educated, less trustworthy, less attractive, and less hirable. The negative perceptions of vocal fry are stronger for female voices relative to male voices. These results suggest that young American females should avoid using vocal fry speech in order to maximize labor market opportunities” (Anderson et al. 2014). Similarly, 700 male and female bosses were surveyed by Pearson, United Kingdom publisher, and found that the majority “believe uptalk hinders the prospects of promotion as well as better pay grades in their organization.” Business Insider details that “85% believe uptalk is a clear indicator of a person’s insecurity and emotional weakness, 70% find uptalk a particularly annoying trait, and 57% confirmed that upspeak has the potential to damage a person’s professional credibility” (Dallett 2014).

I’ve gone through all of this effort to finally diagnose why I find vocal fry and upspeak situationally irritating. Taken as a whole, the research suggests that women are punished for a voice too shrill and a voice too deep along with accompanying speech phenomena that is disproportionately represented in younger American females. Therefore, if I honestly say that I simply dislike the way these speech eccentricities sound, it isn’t clear whether this is a result of a biological predisposition or a socially-induced weight calibration motivated by “Valley Girl” stereotypes or other cognitive biases, in which case I defer to indifference. Although women have the advantage to modulate their vocal appearance to capture more benefits attributed to kindness and confidence in relation to high and low vocal tones respectively, it seems like the vast majority don’t and are penalized doubly on both fronts. It simply isn’t fair. What’s more unfair is that I judged these speech patterns negatively, speech patterns that women are more prone to use, and had them viced in a double bind however they choose to speak; they were losers either way.

I’ve done my due diligence. This investigation allowed me to be more cognizant about my biases and the faulty perceptions I had about these speech eccentricities and I hope it also assisted readers in overcoming their biases in the pursuit of truth.

Bibliography:

Appleman, D. Ralph. The Science of Vocal Pedagogy: Theory and Application. Indiana University Press. 1986. ISBN 13: 9780253203786.

McKinney, C. James. The diagnosis & correction of vocal faults: a manual for teachers of singing and for choir directors. Genevox Music Group. 1994. ISBN 13: 9781565939400.

Hornibrook J, Ormond T, Maclagan M. Creaky voice or extreme vocal fry in young women. The New Zealand Medical Journal, vol. 131, no. 1486. 30 November, 2018.

Dallaston K, Docherty G. The quantitative prevalence of creaky voice (vocal fry) in varieties of English: A systematic review of the literature. PLoS ONE 15(3): e0229960. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0229960.

Warren, Paul. Uptalk: The Phenomenon of Rising Intonation. Cambridge University Press. 2016. ISBN 13: 9781316403570.

Hollien H, Moore P, Wendahl RW, Michel JF. On the nature of vocal fry. J Speech Hear Res. 1966 Jun;9(2):245-7. doi: 10.1044/jshr.0902.245. PMID: 5925528.

Uusitalo T, Nyberg L, Laukkanen AM, Waaramaa T, Rantala L. Has the Prevalence of Creaky Voice Increased Among Finnish University Students From the 1990’S to the 2010’S? J Voice. 2022 Jan 3:S0892-1997(21)00416-1. doi: 10.1016/j.jvoice.2021.12.006. Epub ahead of print. PMID: 34991936.

Wolk L, Abdelli-Beruh NB, Slavin D. Habitual use of vocal fry in young adult female speakers. J Voice. 2012 May;26(3):e111-6. doi: 10.1016/j.jvoice.2011.04.007. Epub 2011 Sep 14. PMID: 21917418.

Ritchart A, Arvaniti A. The use of high rise terminals in Southern Californian English. Proceedings of Meetings on Acoustics, vol. 20, iss. 1. 2013. doi: 10.1121/1.4863274.

Tomlinson JM Jr, Fox Tree JE. Listeners’ comprehension of uptalk in spontaneous speech. Cognition. 2011 Apr;119(1):58-69. doi: 10.1016/j.cognition.2010.12.005. Epub 2011 Jan 14. PMID: 21237451.

Linneman TJ. Gender in Jeopardy!: Intonation Variation on a Television Game Show. Gender & Society. 2013;27(1):82-105. doi:10.1177/0891243212464905.

Shokeir, Vanessa. Evidence for the stable use of uptalk in South Ontario English. University of Pennsylvania Working Papers in Linguistics, vol. 14, iss. 2, article 4. 2008.

Britain, David. Linguistic Change in Intonation: The Use of High Rising Terminals in New Zealand English. Language Variation and Change, vol. 4, no. 1, pp. 77–104. 2008. doi: 10.1017/S0954394500000661.

Laukkanen AM, Rantala L. Relations between Creaky Voice and Vocal Symptoms of Fatigue. Folia Phoniatr Logop. 2021;73(2):146-154. doi: 10.1159/000506901. Epub 2020 Apr 21. PMID: 32316013.

Anderson RC, Klofstad CA, Mayew WJ, Venkatachalam M. Vocal fry may undermine the success of young women in the labor market. PLoS One. 2014;9(5):e97506. Published 2014 May 28. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0097506.

Akst L, Kristine MP. Is Vocal Fry Ruining My Voice? Johns Hopkins Medicine. 1 March, 2022, https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/conditions-and-diseases/is-vocal-fry-ruining-my-voice.

Fessenden, Marissa. ‘Vocal Fry’ Creeping Into U.S. Speech. American Association for the Advancement of Science. 9 December, 2011. https://www.science.org/content/article/vocal-fry-creeping-us-speech.

McLemore, Cynthia. The Interpretation of L*H in English. Texas Linguistic Forum 32: Discourse, Department of Linguistics and the Center for Cognitive Science. 1990.

Klofstad CA, Anderson RC, Peters S. Sounds like a winner: voice pitch influences perception of leadership capacity in both men and women. Proc Biol Sci. 2012;279(1738):2698-2704. doi:10.1098/rspb.2012.0311

Pittam J. Listeners’ Evaluations of Voice Quality in Australian English Speakers. Language and Speech. 1987;30(2):99-113. doi:10.1177/002383098703000201

Dallett, Lydia. This Communication Quirk Could Cost You A Promotion. Business Insider. Jan 24, 2014. https://www.businessinsider.com/how-uptalk-could-cost-you-a-promotion-2014-1

#women #speech #feminism

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littlespoonevan · 3 years

Text

sheltered as you take my heart

this is....not what i was supposed to be writing tonight aksjhfs will this show ever let me (or eddie) rest?????

title: take my heart - birdy

potential spoilers/speculation for 5x07!

“Buck, don’t.”

Buck’s feet stumble beneath him as he lurches to a halt. “Eddie,” he chokes, horror cracking his voice open into something raw and too fucking familiar.

Eddie talks a steadying breath but Buck can see the way he’s trembling, can see the tension in his shoulders where the gunman grips him. His fist covers the spot that conceals Eddie’s scar from the last time and Buck feels sick.

“You promised,” he says, voice quiet but it’s too loud in the static of Buck’s head. “One of us has to go home to him.”

“So let it be you,” Buck urges, vibrating with the desire to keep pushing forward, to tackle the man away from Eddie.

Why does it have to be him again? Hasn’t he fucking been through enough?

“No trades,” the man barks, jostling Eddie’s shoulder and waving the gun around in front of him. Eddie inhales sharply, eyes closing as if he’s expecting it to go off. “And no funny business.”

Buck’s hands clench into fists at his sides. He knows his odds and he knows they’re bad but if he can just distract the guy long enough to get Eddie to safety he wouldn’t care what happened to him next. It’s a thought he’s had to entertain far too many times. But he knew it in the well and he knew it in the middle of the street six months ago and he knows it now.

Putting himself in danger isn’t even a question if Eddie’s the one in the firing line.

He’s weighing up his options, trying not to buckle under the weight of Eddie’s pleading eyes when chaos descends.

It happens too quickly for Buck to keep up – SWAT surrounds them seemingly out of nowhere, disarming the gunman between one blink of an eye and the next and pinning him to the ground. Eddie staggers out of the way, watching in disbelief, and one of the SWAT team moves to check on him but Buck is already barrelling forward.

Eddie turns at the last second, just in time for Buck to crash into him.

He nearly lifts Eddie clean off the ground but Eddie hardly reacts besides clinging to Buck that much harder.

“I’m okay,” he breathes, chest heaving and mouth cold where it’s pressed against Buck’s neck. “I’m okay.”

Buck nods against him, panic seizing in his chest and preventing him from getting any words out. He can feel Eddie’s heart racing where their chests are pressed together and he’s sure his own must feel the same, beating so hard he’s convinced it’ll leave an imprint. He wraps his arms more firmly around Eddie, one hand splayed over his back like his own version of a shield and one buried deep in his hair.

Eddie’s shaking in his arms and Buck doesn’t think when he kisses his shoulder, his cheek, his temple, just knows he needs to feel him. Alive. Safe. “You’re okay,” he stutters, pushing their foreheads together and cupping the back of Eddie’s neck.

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles, moving so their noses bump and his breath ghosts over Buck’s mouth. Buck closes his eyes, emotion shuddering through him. It’s too much. It’s too soon. It’s too close to world almost ending again after the last time.

He swallows hard, forcing his eyes open to catalogue the fact that Eddie really is in one piece in front of him. Eddie’s brown eyes stare straight back at him, wide and glassy and full of something Buck thinks he recognises but is too afraid to hope for.

“Don’t let go,” Eddie requests, hardly above a whisper, and Buck forgets everything else. He folds him back into his arms, curls them together so tightly he can almost convince himself they’re melded together.

“I won’t.”

He’s never letting go ever again.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #userceecee #my fics #911 spoilers #season 5 speculation #i mean i don't think this is what'll happen at all but u know #just in case

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horrorxweasley · 3 years

Text

Shibari

George Weasley x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Swearing!, Shibari,Bondage, Dom George, Sub Reader, Oral (Female receiving), Degradation, Praise

Word Count: 2.1K

Prompt(s) used: none

Summary: George has been practicing the art of Shibari and he now believes that he has gotten the hang of it so much that he decides to test out his new found skill on his girlfriend

General Masterlist

Kinktober Masterlist

Taglist

Over the last few months George has gotten into a new hobby that he had seen practiced online. He came across it when scrolling through an adult website which he had joined a while ago to find new and exciting things to try out in the bedroom with his girlfriend Y/N.

When he first came across it he thought it was just regular bondage but the more videos he watched of people practicing the art and the more photos he saw of completed works, his interest in it grew, so he finally ended up buying himself some rope and a mannequin to practice with.

For months George spent most of his free time in his home office where he also practiced Shibari. He followed multiple tutorials and flipped through hundreds of step by step books. In a surprisingly short space of time George went from a simple arm tie to perfecting the tortoise shell, an intricate pose where the ropes make patterns all over the torso, wrapping round the breast area and making them more prominent, tying the arms behind the back and harnessing through the female’s heat. The look was absolutely gorgeous looking, his imagination always went wild, picturing Y/N in that particular Shibari pose, the very thought in fact made his trousers tight.

After many hours, weeks and months of practicing George finally felt as though he was ready to share this hobby with his girlfriend and hopefully test it out on an actual human instead of a mannequin.One night when they both had a day off of work, Y/N and George were sat cuddled up on the couch watching their favourite TV show until George began to get that itching swell in his trousers as he thinks to himself what is just beyond his office door.

“Hey Darling?” George spoke, shifting slightly to ease the tent that has built in his trousers.

“Yeah?” Y/N replied her eyes not moving from the TV

George leaned in closer so his lips were brushing the side of her neck just under her ear before whispering lowly.

“I have something to show you”

This grabbed Y/N’s attention as she recognized that tone of voice, George was clearly not wanting to watch whatever was on the TV anymore, and she wasn’t complaining. George stood up from his position on the couch, stretching his hand out to Y/N to take, pulling her up and leading her out of the living room. Y/N instantly recognised that George was leading her to his office, confused she asked: “Georgie, why are you taking me to your office?”. She had thought he was ‘in the mood’ so why would he be leading her to his home place of work.

“You’ll see the princess just trust me” he smiled, turning the door handle down, opening the door. He allowed Y/N to walk in first, looking round the room confused, until her eyes landed on the mannequin and rope. The way the mannequin was dressed up in the tortoise shell shibari art took the words from Y/N’s mouth from it’s beauty and also caused a wet patch to form in her pants from knowing that George was wanting to do that to her.

Y/N turned swiftly round to look George in the eyes, her’s wide and doe like, he could feel his trousers tightening slightly at the look of her. His face has a knowing smirk on it and a mischievous gleam in his eyes confirming his intentions for the night ahead.

“What do you think princess?” he smirked

“I-” Y/N was lost for words, her gaze drifting back to the mannequin with the beautiful rope laced round it.

George moved to wrap his hands round her waist, resting his head on her shoulder before whispering in her ear.

“How bout I try my hobby out on a real model” his words laced with a smirk on his lips.

George swiftly took hold of Y/N’s hand and grabbed some of his nicest rope and led her out the home office and down the hallway to their shared bedroom. Their bedroom was partially decorated with the adult toys which they already used the majority of the time in the many nights they shared alone. Once inside George closed the door over with a click while Y/N stood in front of the king sized bed waiting for him patiently.

George slowly walked over to her, his pupils blown with lust, he placed the rope down on the bed behind them as his lips found hers in a loving soft kiss which gradually got rougher and needier as they melted into each other's touch. George bit down on Y/N’s bottom lip harshly causing her to gasp allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth battling with hers for dominance.

George pulled back from the kiss, his lips red and swollen slightly covered in their saliva.

“Strip” He growled, letting go of his tight grip around Y/N’s waist.

Y/N began straight away, starting with her t-shirt, pulling it up over her head to reveal her bra, George soaked in the sight as she moved her hands down her body shuffling out of her leggings. She hadn’t planned it but she was wearing George’s favourite two-piece on her.

“Fuck, those bra and panties make you look even more etheral than you do, shame that you’re going to take them off” he purred, kissing her neck and shoulders slightly.

Once he had pulled away Y/N began to strip off her underwear, she unclasped her bra throwing it to the ground, her nipple hardening with the cold air. Next to come off were her panties, sliding them down her legs and kicking them across the room leaving her completely bare in front of George. His eyes darkened as they wandered round her whole body as he paced towards her. His hands found their way to he sides, caressing her soft skin with a groan.

“So beautiful as always darling”

He reached behind her to grab the rope, showing it off in front of her.

“Now the fun begins” He smirked, kissing her lips quickly before getting on his knees. Due to George being a literal giant he wasn’t much smaller than Y/N while on his knees.

George began to weave the rope expertly all over Y/N’s body, wrapping round her waist, over and under her arms. Y/N looked down to George in admiration as he concentrated on his art. The moment that George started the lower half of the ropework, Y/N found herself whining and moaning slightly at the feeling of the rope brushing up against her wet pussy. The friction was something she had never experienced before, but she was definitely enjoying it.

It didn’t take long for George to finish what he was doing, getting up from his knees to admire his girlfriend. Her hands were now tied so she was unable to move them, the rope accentuating her breasts perfectly. The tent in his trousers became tighter and tighter with every second, he reached forward and pulled on the rope slightly causing Y/N to moan as it brushed past her clit.

“Mm you like how the rope feels against your skin darling? Not too tight is it?”

“Love it Georgie, not too tight, promise”

“Look so pretty tied up like this” He cooed kissing and sucking marks on to her neck causing her to moan as he quickly found her sweet spot, her arousal dampening the rope slightly.

“M’gonna eat out that pretty little pussy darling, bend over the bed for me be a good girl”

Y/N quickly complied, desperate for George’s tongue, she laid her top half down on to the bed, her cheek pressing against the mattress, her hands tied behind her back. George made his way over and once again got on his knees, he raised his hand to slap her arse leaving a red handprint on the skin. The sensation caused her to half moan, half scream into the soft material.

George spread her legs wider to allow himself more access and began to place sloppy kisses over her fold causing her to whine out in pleasure. He groaned against her causing the vibrations to shudder throughout her, his tongue began lapping at her folds gathering her juices on his tongue. Y/N’s whines and moans got louder with every lick and sucked against her sensitive bundle of nerves. Every time George ate her out, he made it his mission to do a better job than the last time, he ate her out like it was his last meal. The lewd sounds of Y/N’s moans, George’s groans and the wet lapping sound of George licking up her arousal.

Y/N’s legs shook as she got closer and closer to her orgasm.

“Fu-uck Georgie”

“Y’like that don’t you princess, taste so good”

George’s teeth grazed against her clit before sucking harshly, Y/N screamed out in pleasure, her walls beginning to flutter against nothing as she came. Her legs buckled but George held her tightly in place as he slurped up every last drop of her orgasm, moaning at the taste.

A muffled “Fuck” could be heard from Y/N

“Done so well f’me, taste so fucking good princess, why don’t you make yourself comfortable huh and i untie your hands, but the rest...the rest stays on” George growled as he leaned back from her cunt,he reached up and untied her hands so she could flip round and lie on her back.

George towered over her, unbuttoning his shirt, ripping it off of his torso exposing his pale, freckled chest to Y/N, her eyes roaming across his bare body as he roamed over her tied up one. The tent in his trousers now fully painful and in need of release, he took off his trousers and boxers allowing his erection to spring free, slapping his lower stomach.

The tip was red and covered in pre-cum, Y/N felt herself salivating at the sight, but as she reached up to stroke his cock George’s hand caught hers, shaking his head ”no”.

”ah ah ah, tonight is about you princess”

George crawled on top of her, capturing her lips with his, their eyes fluttering closed as their tongues brushed against each other. George reached down between them and began stroking his cockthroigh her folds, gathering her juices as lube. He pulled away to look Y/N in the eyes as he slowly pushed himself inside her, her face contorting with pleasure as a loud moan fell from her lips.

”F-fuck” George groaned as he fully sheathed himself inside her tight cunt. He moved his hand so that it was wrapped round the rope on her stomach, pulling it slightly causing friction to run up her body as he began to pound into her.

”y’like that don’t you, you like how the rope feels brushing against your slutty cunt as I fuck you” he groaned

”fuck yes Georgie, love it”

George’s pace quickened, his cock hitting Y/N’s g-spot with each thrust, her walls squeezing his dick perfectly causing both of them to moan out in pleasure. Geroge’s hand stayed firmly wrapped around the Shibari rope as the other cradled Y/N’s face, as he looked into her eyes lovingly leaning down to kiss her once more.

Y/N felt her vision become blurry with each thrust as she came closer and closer to her orgasm. George’s pace slowed as he felt her walls squeeze his cock but his thrusts became harder.

“So. fucking. tight.” George growled out with each hard thrust. The sound of their skin slapping together along with both of their moans filled the room.

“Georgie- oh god, m’so close, feels so good” Y/N moaned out

“Yeah? Can feel you squeezing me princess, fuck you feel so good”

George sped up his pace again as they both neared their release. Y/N could feel George’s dick twitch inside her causing her to moan loud.

Soon enough Y/N’s legs were shaking as her orgasm took over her body, and George’s white

ropes of release coated her velvet walls. Both of them moaned loudly in each other's ears as George held Y/N close to his body, by the ropes round her skin.

After they had both calmed down and from their highs and caught their breaths George pulled himself from inside her and laid down on the bed beside her, wrapping his arm around Y/N’s waist.

“Fuck we’re gonna have to do this more often princess”

“You were amazing Georgie, this was amazing” Y/N smiled

“But no matter how much I love these beautiful ropes, could you take them off me now, I don’t think I can sleep like this” She laughed breathily as George smirked.

“Of course princess”

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lovetorn · 3 years

Text

Life Was A Willow [Part 1]

Witch Hunter!Dream x Witch!Fem!Reader

Part 2 Part 3

Summary: it's always been hunters vs. witches, right?

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings for part 1: violence, swearing

A/N: AHHHH !! It's finally here !! i'm going to be posting this in parts, originally 2, but looking at it now, it may even possibly be 3 parts. i've been working on this for months and i'm extremely happy with it !! i hope you guys love it as much as i do !!

The leaves of the willow tree rustle loudly whilst Y/n kneels in front of the raspberry bush. With each piece of the fruit, her fingertips are stained with a deep magenta as she plucks them off of the branches. Bark and twigs dig into her knees sharply when she reaches forward to grasp one last raspberry, but before she has the chance to pick it, the sound of horse hooves galloping on the dirt startle her.

“Ma’am! Are you alright?” A deep voice calls. Y/n sighs, standing from her spot on the ground before she turns around.

Five men on tan horses surround her. Her heart skips a beat when she recognises their uniforms. Witch hunters. With the nod of her head, Y/n smiles. “I’m doing just fine, gentlemen! Thank you for your concern.”

Although, she doesn’t recognise any of their faces—especially the man in a mask. The girl tilts her head at the sight of it; hardly any hunters wear a mask. But, what confuses her more is the taunting smile drawn lazily across the white ceramic. “Are you sure? There’s a whole lot of danger in these parts, sweetheart!”

Y/n almost rolls her eyes but stops before they catch onto her. “I promise, I’m completely fine.” She wishes she could see the expression of the man in the mask.

None of the hunters reply before they kick the sides of their horses and ride off in the opposite direction they came. Panic sets in as Y/n drops her basket of berries and sets off into a sprint, her skirts catching under her feet.

Being this far from home with hunters close-by is risky, Y/n knows this. But the raspberry bush had just ripened and she promised Wilbur she would bake him a raspberry cheesecake in return for repairing her wand.

Her lungs burn as she pushes open the small wooden gate that surrounds the house.

“Niki!” Y/n yells, her voice cracking slightly in fear. Her friend spins around from her spot in the garden. “Y/n! Take a look at the rose—“

Y/n only shakes her head, turning back in panic. “Hunters.”

“Quickly then, get inside, we must inform Wilbur.”

The pair rush into the cottage, Niki’s rose bush and Y/n’s basket of berries left behind.

The back door slams against the wall, only to be shut and locked as soon as it was opened. Wilbur stands from his spot at the dining table with a puzzled expression.

“How many?” Wilbur runs a hand over his face.

“A whole army. The King’s been busy; there’s a lot of new faces.”

The man sighs deeply. He turns to face Niki, who sits on the kitchen stool with a look of fear on her face. Y/n swallows and peers out of the small window. She sees a flash of white and the sound of an arrow cutting the air. “They’re here. They’ve followed me.”

—

Niki is the first to exit the house, her hands out in front of her. She clenches her jaw as she feels tingles through her muscles, her eyes shaped like crescent moons. The sound of branches cracking and leaves crunching makes her throw her hand to her right, which earns a distant cry as a hunter is thrown backwards.

Wilbur hurries around the house in search of his staff while Y/n whispers angrily at him to hurry up. The man lets out a quiet squeal when he spots it leaning against the living room wall and faces Y/n. He exhales, nodding once to tell her to go out the back door.

Y/n moves silently whilst passing windows and eventually through the door. Her eyes dart in every direction as she steps onto the dirt beneath her. The only sound is the snapping of bows and faint cries from the front of the house.

“Witch!” A voice calls. Y/n lifts her hands up, flecks of glitter-like sparkles falling from her fingertips. “We come to you on behalf of the King; he wishes to discuss potential alliances with you.”

Y/n struggles to distinguish where the voice comes from before there’s a hand on her back and she’s being pushed to the ground. She scowls and turns to face the person behind her; a man with a white bandana tied around his head.

Y/n jumps up instantly, moving her finger in a circular motion until the man’s feet begin to lift off the ground.

“Hey, hey! No!” He yells, scrambling to grasp the sword attached to his back. Y/n raises an eyebrow as she gets a closer look at the weapon.

“A diamond sword? Huh? Did Technoblade give you that?”

The man visibly stills, his hands fumbling the sword as he brings it up beside his face. “Yeah, what about it?”

Y/n shakes her head, a sad smile on her cheeks. “Nothing, Techno’s an old friend of mine. Tell me, is he well?”

The squeal of an arrow stops the man from answering her question. Y/n steps back when the sharp object swizzles past her head. “That wasn’t very nice.”

She chooses to pay no attention to the other hunter, who hides behind a tree and instead focuses on the one in front of her.

“Are you new?” Y/n asks calmly.

The man nods before Y/n lowers him back onto his feet. “Name. Now. That’s not a question but a demand.”

“Sapnap.”

Y/n squints at him. “Odd.”

“Y/n! We need help!” Wilbur calls from the opposite side of the house. Y/n sighs and places her hands back to her sides. The man with the diamond sword narrows his eyes at her, jerking his neck to the side to stretch it.

Y/n sighs in annoyance and sweeps him to the side, the roots from Niki’s rose bushes wrapping tightly around his body; not enough to hurt him, but to keep him immobile.

Y/n goes to step in the direction of the front of the house but is stopped by the man in the mask. A bow and quiver sit on his back and Y/n glances at them, planning on destroying them. “Don’t even think about it.”

Y/n is taken aback by the man’s forwardness and watches as he draws a dagger from his boot. Y/n raises her hands again, her eyes turning to slits as she awaits the man’s next moves.

As anticipated, he lunges forward, the knife tightly held in his fist. Y/n swiftly dodges, her hands moving majestically around to form a divet in the ground for him to fall into. However, she is quickly mistaken when he spins on his heel and steps over the growing hole.

“Nice tactic,” The man teases. “But not good enough.” Y/n is annoyed that she can’t see his face—she'd love to see what it’d look like after this.

Y/n rolls her eyes, a bored look on her face. She sighs deeply and steps into a fighting stance. She notices the man doing the same.

“Nice footwork,” Y/n says, stomping one foot into the earth before it starts to vibrate. “But not good enough.”

The man’s face falls and pales behind his mask as vines come to conceal his feet. Y/n smirks as he falls onto the dirt with a thump. The man lays with his back against the ground and his arms outstretched as Y/n stands above him.

She smiles at him—her grin is more genuine than usual, which is odd considering the circumstances—and leans down and places her mouth near his ear. “You know, you did pretty well for being a new hunter.”

The man scoffs then laughs in response. “Thanks.”

—

A hunter draws his sword, one made out of netherite, and Wilbur’s eyes grow in shock. “How did you get that?”

The man smirks and lifts the weapon high into the air. He brings it down towards Wilbur, who quickly matches the hunter’s strength with his staff. The two objects clash against one another and white light begins to seep through the lines in the staff.

Wilbur inhales sharply at the sight and pushes the man away with all his might. His staff starts to vibrate and soon the wood cracks in various places.

“Wil, move!” Y/n comes from behind him, her hands out wide as she lifts the hunter into the air and towards a tree. His body slams against the bark, making pieces fall onto the grass before branches weave around the man, enclosing him in a cocoon.

“Thanks,” Wilbur smiles, although it falters when he notices his staff becoming weak. “But I think it’s the end for this guy.”

Y/n frowns, her fingers caressing the cracked wood. “We can’t repair this. You must go to Quackity, he’ll be able to fix it.”

“I can’t fix this.”

Y/n’s jaw goes slack before she stands from the long table. “Alex! Why not?”

Quackity stifles a sly laugh as he rounds the table, picking up the broken staff on the way past. “It’s beyond repair. You see, when netherite and magical objects mix, the netherite completely destroys any magic within it. Therefore making it impossible to fix.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, “We know that already, Sherlock, which is why we brought it to you thinking you could help us. But you clearly can’t, so we’ll be on our way.”

Quackity’s eyes widen and he drops the stick onto the table once more. “No! I–I can fix it, just give me a few days.”

Y/n raises an eyebrow, suspicious of his sudden enthusiasm. She slams the staff onto the table from Quackity’s hands and looks him in the eye. “No fucking around, okay, Alex? You fix this staff or there will be consequences. Got it?”

The man looks around his cave in search of something. Y/n squints as she watches him duck under rocks and dodge around cauldrons.

“Karl? Have you got any wands?” He calls down a hallway. Y/n and Wilbur meet gazes, his eyes moving towards the staff before Quackity returns in a hurry.

“Well, I haven’t got a wand to cast a promising spell, but if you come back in 2 days, I’ll guarantee this staff will be good as new and back in business,” He smiles, snatching the wood from the table. “Free of charge, just for you.”

Wilbur nods hesitantly, glancing at Y/n before he stands. “Okay. See you then, I guess.”

Quackity grins. He slowly shifts his weight to his other foot as he waits for them to leave. But Y/n isn’t finished.

“If you trick us, Alex. I swear to god I will take that little hat if yours and shove it right—”

The younger man shakes his head, “There will be no need! I’d never trick you! I just want to help my friends.”

Wilbur winces on the word ‘friends’ and ducks his head as he exits the cave. “See you!” Quackity says before Y/n follows in suit.

“Karlos, we’ve got work to do!”

“Down this way!”

Dream’s eyes drift towards the small cottage he and the hunters were at yesterday. Sapnap rolls his neck and groans in pain. “You’d think they’d wait a few days before going out again.”

Dream ignores his friend’s complaints as the group nears the house. The tidy garden and ivy that intertwined along the roof are torn and disrupted, and Dream feels slightly guilty looking at the damage they did. But, upon arrival, the house is empty.

“It’s been abandoned!” A brunette hunter yells in confusion. Dream twists his lips and narrows his eyes at a faint snap a few feet away. The silence is deafening as he realises everyone else heard it too. “Don’t move. We’ve been ambushed.”

The men look up towards the trees above them; the canopy appears darker than usual. Suddenly, a hunter behind Dream yelps, and as he turns around to see what happened, the man is gone. This causes a collective gasp amongst the group, fear coursing through their veins.

“Hello, boys!” A voice calls from the trees. The hunters whip their head around, trying to decipher which direction it came from and readies their swords. However, Dream remains calm. He only raises his eyebrow at the sound of the voice continuing. “Lovely seeing you here.”

Another yell echoes through the group and another and another until only Dream and Sapnap remain.

“Hey, Snapmap. Can I call you that? Or is that only reserved for your friends?”

The younger boy furrows his eyebrows as his eyes lay on Y/n, floating down from the trees. Dream watches the same girl he fought yesterday, fling Sapnap’s sword away with the swish of her fingers. The pair tilt their heads at the action and remain quiet when Y/n begins laughing. “Calm down, you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dream feels someone behind him and then he turns around and swings his sword in one movement. He’s met with a slightly taller man, who immediately forces his sword backwards and onto the dirt.

Dream’s eyes widen before he brings his fists up. “This isn’t a fair fight.”

Wilbur struggles to contain his giggle as he meets Y/n’s gaze. “You want to take this one?”

Y/n nods and lifts her hands to drag Dream across the forest floor towards her. Dream is startled as he regains his balance. “Nice seeing you again, mask boy.”

“Can’t say I feel the same, witch,” Y/n smirks at his serious tone before she shoots her hand to the side to gather a sword from one of the hunters who sits tied to the branches above them.

“Get your sword, it’ll be a fair fight.”

Dream bends down to pick up his netherite sword, its purple aura intimidating to the iron one Y/n holds. “No magic.”

Y/n rolls her eyes. “Got it.”

And with the sound of metal scraping against metal, the fight begins.

Y/n steps back as Dream moves forwards. He bounces on the balls of his feet and adjusts his grip on the sword before he lunges forward. Y/n is quick to sidestep the sharp edge before she retaliates with her own movement. The pair continue barely missing each other, the interaction being a friendly fight rather than a deadly one. Y/n shifts her weight to her back foot as she watches Dream’s sword swing between them.

“What’s your name, anyway? I know Sapnap’s, so what’s yours?” Y/n asks, out of breath slightly. Dream squints as he dodges her swing at his abdomen. “Dream.”

“Well, Dream, you’re good with a sword. I’m Y/n, by the way.” Y/n mumbles, and what she doesn’t see is Dream’s cocky smile. She doesn’t question his odd name like she did with Sapnap yesterday, and it makes his stomach turn.

The pair stop for a second, staring at each other before Dream’s blade cuts the air and barely misses Y/n’s shoulder. The girl gasps at the closeness and scolds him.

In Dream’s moment of victory, and distraction, Y/n thrusts forwards, her sword coming to a halt at Dream’s throat. “I win. Again.”

Dream gulps. The feeling of the sharp point so prominent on his skin scares him. But, the soft look in Y/n’s eye tells him she’s not going to kill him. And as she begins to lower her sword, Dream’s foot sweeps under hers, causing her to tumble forward. There’s a dull thud of bodies hitting the dirt, and Y/n knows exactly where she is.

“I—Uh,” Dream mumbles, his hands hovering over Y/n’s hips as she lays on top of him.

“Thanks for that.” She murmurs. Dream hums and tries to help her maneuver off of him. The pair eventually stand and avoid eye contact, despite keeping it for close to 8 minutes straight previously.

“Get a room!” Sapnap yells from the tree. There’s a small grumble of laughter from the other hunters and Y/n shakes her head.

“How do you plan on getting down, Snapmap?” The youngest boy’s expression turns sour. Dream tilts his head back to observe the other hunters and laughs lightly—his throaty chuckle making Y/n look at him.

“Well, have fun!” Y/n calls as she slips away, but not before she bids Dream goodbye.

The hunters trudge through the castle gates with defeated expressions and their outfits muddy. The group share collective groans of pain as they walk the grounds, their muscles aching.

“What was all that between you and that witch?” Sapnap asks Dream whilst they enter the Hunters Wing of the castle. Dream shrugs and strips himself of his jacket, hanging it on the peg on the wall next to them.

The Hunters Wing of the castle is a large area with corridors of bedrooms and even more rooms for dining, training, cooking, reading, and more. The training room, however, is the largest out of all of them. Its high ceilings and concrete pillars make for a great place for target practice, surprise attack run-throughs, and performing hand-to-hand combat.

Dream spends most of his time here; Sapnap pokes fun at him for his constant preparation for new opportunities, but their other best friend, and the Prince, George, just applauds him for his determination—which eventually makes Sapnap agree.

“Nothing, and her name’s Y/n.” Dream’s lack of answer causes Sapnap to sigh loudly as he sits on the bench to untie his boots.

“Bullshit.” He exasperates. “There was definitely something there and you know it. But you better get over it, it's forbidden.”

Dream rolls his eyes and shrugs one shoulder. “Not forbidden, just frowned upon.”

Sapnap drops his shoes onto the cobblestone ground abruptly, groaning at his best friend before he stands and walks towards his bedroom. “You are such a—”

“Sapnap!” A new voice startles the boy, and Dream grins as soon as he recognises it.

“Georgie, don’t scare me like that, you idiot,” Sapnap whines, jogging over to the Prince to lightly punch his shoulder.

“Please, if that scared you then I’d consider you a—” Another light punch to his shoulder stops George from continuing.

“No swearing, Gogy,” Dream snickers as he walks towards the pair, heaving his duffle bag he collected from the cubby hole. He reaches his hand down to George’s cheek before pinching it. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your image.”

George shrugs both of the boys off of him with a scowl. “Get off of me, the both of you.”

Sapnap only giggles at George’s attempt at swatting their hands away, his own hand coming up to cover his smile. Dream places his bag on the floor, smirking, before letting out a soft laugh.

“Anyways, Dream had a moment with one of the witches today.”

George’s eyebrows raise as he turns to look at Dream, who rolls his eyes at the topic again. “Is she pretty?”

Dream goes to reply, yes, and she can fight really, really well, but Sapnap is quick to shut down his chance.

“George, it’s forbidden, why don’t you disapprove of this?” Sapnap’s brows furrow as he throws his hands around. Dream crosses his arms over his chest, irritated that he’s brought it up again, and now to the Prince.

The eldest shrugs. “I find magic more interesting and worth learning about, than dangerous. It would be so cool to have powers like that, don't you think?”

Sapnap groans again. “Ugh! You guys are so weird. Talk to me when you come to your senses about how it's destroying our world rather than helping it.” And ignoring Dream and George’s calls, he stalks to his room, leaving the pair in the training room.

“He’ll come around.” The Prince mumbles.

However, Dream doesn't say anything, picks up his duffle bag from the floor and takes off in the opposite direction, leaving George alone.

“Pricks.”

Y/n sits on the rocking chair on the patio of the cottage, a spellbook in her lap and a mug of lavender tea in her hand. The wind picks up slightly, making the leaves rustle and the trees sway around her. The chair rocks softly and the creaks of the house comfort her—especially in a time when everything is unknown.

As she goes to bring the cup to her lips, Y/n is startled by an object flying at her. She throws her opposite hand up to stop it before it hits her, the force causing the rocking chair to tilt backwards.

Y/n feels a sharp edge on her palm and her heart skips a beat. As she moves her hand away, she notices that the object is, in fact, not a dagger, but an envelope. She exhales loudly and feels her heart rate slow down from its once rapid beating.

Y/n examines the letter as it floats in front of her face and then grasps it in her fingers. The envelope is crisp and white and is closed with a red wax seal. The signature can only mean one thing: the Castle.

Opening the letter, there is a single white card with black calligraphy: Y/n, wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark, at the abandoned cottage that is East of the castle. We can talk then. –C

The witch furrows her eyebrows. C? Who is C?

She chooses against notifying Wilbur and Niki about the letter, and instead, slots it into her spellbook and takes a sip of her tea.

But, Y/n notices a return address on the card before she tucks it away, and flicks her hand back over her shoulder to summon a pen and paper. The pen stills in front of the card, waiting for Y/n to instruct it on what to write.

“Dear, C,” Y/n starts, she ponders for a moment before continuing. “I’ll be waiting for the signal, I hope it’s grand.”

Puckering her lips, Y/n swirls her finger around to fold the letter up and sends it back inside to package it.

The envelope, now sealed with periwinkle wax, flies out of the floor and then up into the sky and out of sight. Y/n sighs, mindlessly fiddling with the corner of the card she received.

Ok, she’ll meet them after dark. Whoever they are.

#lwaw #dream smp imagine #dream smp x reader #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dream smp imagines #dreamwastaken x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines #life was a willow

500 notes · View notes

prfctethereal · 3 years

Text

bloodline. | james potter

thank u, next x marauders

alexa, play bloodline by ariana grande

pairing: james potter x reader (fake dating au)

summary: after lily breaks up with james, you offer to pretend to be lily over the christmas holidays

word count: 10k (i deeply apologise)

warnings: language, mentions of food and eating, sexual jokes and innuendos (nothing explicit or smut), a whole lotta angst but a whole lotta fluff

a/n: a can't believe i wrote so much for this man. anyway, this is probably my favourite thing i’ve ever written to enjoy - Kennedy

***

The common room was a ghostly quiet, but that was expected at this time of year. Tinsel decorated the mantelpiece by the fireplace, the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon wafting through the air. In the corner, a large, oak tree sat, it’s leaves standing tall and proud, juxtaposing against the scarlet walls. Christmas was the reason for this tranquil atmosphere.

Except, that wasn’t the case for everyone. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be going home for the holidays this year, opting to stay at Hogwarts to get in more study time. It felt like nearly all students were going away this year and the ever growing loneliness was catching up to you, weighing your mind down, a foggy haze resting over your eyesight.

You turned your head, looking up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly one in the morning, which meant that there were usually more students in the common room. The train was leaving back to London tomorrow - well, today - so you assumed that they would all be getting some rest. The only sound that filled the common room was the fire crackling and some light whimpering.

Light whimpering?

That definitely caught your attention. Straightening yourself up on the chair, your eyes scanned the dim room, searching for the source of the noise. It was quiet, but prominent, and it definitely sounded like someone crying. The sniffling painted a picture in your mind of someone’s broken face, eyes red and puffy.

There was something wrong though. Your intuition was getting the better of you. You recognised that voice, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. Sure, you had friends, but you weren’t close to anyone, close enough to know what they sounded like when you cried.

By now, the crying was loud enough to attract the attention of anyone that would pass by. Your book, laid forgotten on your lap, was brushed aside, as you sat up, ready to find the source of the crying. There weren’t many places to hide in the common room, so it struck you as odd that you couldn’t see anyone.

Following the whines, you crept to the corner of the room, where the cries never stopped and seemingly carried on through the wall. A smile stretched across your face, a mystery forming in your head. Pressing your palms against the wall, your tenacious fingers searched the wallpaper for anything, small incisions, lumps, maybe a door handle. In the lack of light, you didn’t notice the small hole in the wall, letting your finger slip through the wallpaper. Curling around your knuckle, you tugged slightly, opening the secret door you had just found in the wall.

Letting the light slip into the tunnel, you noticed the figure curled up in a ball. His suave messy hair, paired with the thin, round glasses on the ground gave away that it was James Potter who was crying in a secret tunnel at one in the morning.

Your heart broke in an instant. James was actually a very close friend, having helped him and his marauders out multiple times on their pranks and overall mischief. You had met James in the first year and you were the bestest friend he had outside the marauders; he had told you multiple times. Many times you had laid together in the common room, shoulders touching, staring up at the ceiling, enjoying each other’s presence. It was comforting. He was comforting.

But right now, he needed comfort.

A lone piece of parchment was peeking out of his arms, which you carefully plucked away, not focusing on the ink scratched in. Soothing his shaking muscles, you ran your hands up his arms, him immediately calming down at your touch. When you felt like he was feeling better, you reached down, sitting against the wall next to him, placing your arm around his quivering figure. Your fingers found his lonely glasses on the ground, bringing them up to his face, trying to coax his hands away from his reddening cheeks.

The moment you met his eyes, you could feel his pain. His normally bright, cheerful eyes were filled with salty tears, staining his freckle-covered cheek in a sheen of sadness. It was the envisionment of pure anguish.

“Jamesie,” you started, voice quiet as to not shock the obviously patronised boy, quivering next to you, “can you tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you, love.”

“It’s-” He sniffed, voice croaky, “Lily. It’s Lily.” He struggled to keep his gaze on your face, opting to look at his fiddling fingers in this lap. “She broke up with me. A few hours ago.”

Your heart failed. Lily broke up with James? But they were perfect together. For the past two years, it was always James and Lily, Lily and James, high school sweethearts. They were so happy, so why would she end it?

The sadness creeping up inside of you soon turned to wrath, a fire burning wildly in your chest. Red clouded your vision as you felt your fist curl up in anger, fingernails digging into your skin. You only stopped when you felt James’ hand resting on yours.

“Why?” You asked. It was a dumb question, but it was the only thing that came to mind, wanting to keep the attention off of your growing asperity.

“Dunno,” James shrugged, turning back towards his corner. “She said that she wanted to take a break. Had no idea why though. Thought everything was going swimmingly.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, a nice contrast to his tearful expression.

“What a bitch, right before Christmas.” The words fell out of your mouth without you registering it, your eyes scanning the room as you chew thoughtfully on your bottom lip. You didn’t know how James' face grimaced at the mention of Christmas, a pink tint growing on his face, but not from the tears.

Turning around, you saw James with his head in his hands, an excreted groan vibrating from his vocal chords. “Fuck!” He swore, “She was supposed to be coming to meet my parents this Christmas. Now, I have to owl Mum to tell her that’s she’s not coming, oh no-”

He paused, rubbing his eyes together. “This is going to ruin Christmas. Mum and Dad are going to be fretting over me all Christmas. I wish she could’ve just waited until after the holidays.”

It really did seem like James was in a predicament. You had never met Euphemia or Fleamont Potter, but you did know that they were described to be some of the most lovely people to be blessed on this Earth. Even through your tight friendship, you hadn’t met them yet.

Then, another problem rushed through your mind. Lily was now going to be staying at Hogwarts during the holidays, and your blood was boiling. It was going to be difficult to stay in the same room as her without lashing out in defence of James.

“I don’t want to have to deal with Lily for a whole week.” You muttered under your breath, unaware that James was hanging onto every word you said.

“You’re not going away over the holidays?” James asked, eyebrows furrowed together as he scanned your face for any insight. Sighing, you shook your head in response.

“Nah, normally stay.” You pondered for a moment. “Do you think that Lily is gonna be unbearable over Christmas? I might as well just stay in the Room of Requirement all Christmas.”

Then, a thought came to your head. It was almost genius, a bright light twinkling in your eye, your mouth slightly agape. You sucked in a small breath, watching as James eyed you curiously, before a slim smile stretched across your face.

“I have an idea James, but please, I want you to stop me at any point if you feel uncomfortable with this. You are grieving in a way and I don’t want to undermine that. Promise me you’ll shut me down if you don’t like it, okay?” You noted that his head nodded up and down, letting you continue.

“What if I pretend to be Lily? Your parents have never met her before, right? Or me, for a matter of fact. I can come to yours for the holidays and pretend to be Lily to keep the Christmas cheer. When the week is up, we can stop fake dating and you can send a letter to your parents a few weeks later saying that Lily broke up with you. Christmas saved, no pestering parents, and I don’t have to spend a week with the insufferable Lily.”

There was a silence that followed, James gawking at the ground as his mind churned over what you had just said. Then, he spoke.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“If that’s okay with you. I mean, it’s just fake dating, right? For like a week? Are you okay with that?”

You exhaled a deep sigh of release, followed by a hearty chuckle. “Of course I’m okay with it. I suggested it, remember? And besides, we’re friends. Best friends, if anything. Everything will be fine.”

“What about Sirius and Remus? They’re staying over the holidays too. Are you sure they can keep the secret? That, you know, you’re not actually Lily Evans. You’re Y/N L/N.”

“Yeah, I think they can.”

***

“We can’t keep that secret.”

You and James and just explained what the plan was. It was the morning of December 21st, a fresh layer of snow had just been laid on the ground. Wrapped carefully in many layers, students of Hogwarts had bundled up into the crimson train, ready to go back to London for a week.

After explaining to Professor McGonagall that last minute plans meant you could go away in the holidays, she had let you onto the train, where the four of you sat in a carriage, laying out the details of you and James’ awkward plan to fake date for the Christmas holidays.

Sirius had found the whole prospect of the situation immensely funny and had been laughing ever since you told him. Remus - the more serious one of the two, ironically - wasn’t too keen on the idea, a look of disappointment plastered on his face like an angry parent.

“You can’t just lie to Euphemia and Fleamont. They’re your parents, James. Surely they’ll know you’re lying?”

“That’s the brilliant thing!” James had surely brightened up overnight. After talking for a bit, you helped James into bed, hoping that a good night sleep would change his mood slightly. Unexpectedly, his mood changed more than slightly; almost drastically. He was cheerful, his teeth glowing in the daybreak sun, enthusiastic talks from across the common room. It was a rather stark constraint from the glum Lily Evans who was moping around, as if she was the one who got dumped only the night before. “They’ll never know! They haven’t met Lily, nor Y/N! Sure, they’ve heard about both, but they won’t connect the dots.”

Anxiously, Remus looked at Sirius for guidance, except Sirius hadn’t stopped laughing, glistening tears of joy beading at his waterline, a hand clamped over his chest. You rolled your eyes at his tomfoolery, focusing your attention on the still uncertain lycanthrope.

“Remus, please?” You begged, pouting your lips. “It’s just one week. Please just lie for one week.”

It seemed as if his brain was clicking into place because after a moment, a smile replaced with frown, with him sticking his hand out. Eagerly shaking it in agreement, your mood lightened significantly.

The rest of the train ride, you went over everything that you needed to know about James and Lily’s relationship, if it came up. Firstly, they got together in February of year five, 1976. You fake barfed at the fact that their relationship sprouted from Valentine’s day, an opinion that the others giggled at. Secondly, James had told his parents that Lily was a muggleborn, so you would probably get bombarded with questions about muggles. You didn’t mind though; you were muggleborn yourself.

Next, you had to make some rules to keep boundaries between James and yourself. First, let James answer questions about the relationship, while you have to make notes and remember. Second, only refer to you as Lily in communal spaces, as Euphemia or Fleamont could appear at any moment. Three, physical affection is fine, almost encouraged, but no kissing on the lips.

As everything was settled, the train pulled into King’s Cross Station, the horn blasting through, grabbing the attention of the energetic students, ready to stretch their legs. Nervously, you kept still in your seat, an anxious stomach ache coming on. You felt sweat beading at your forehead as you finally realised how nervous you actually were.

James took note of this though, grabbing your hand and rubbing the back of it soothingly, calming your tense nerves. It seemed impossible, this task at hand looming over you, but you had to keep calm. You knew you could; in all honesty, you didn’t know why you were feeling so worried all of a sudden. Giving in, you took James’ hand and followed the three boys out onto the platform.

You followed the gaze of the three of them before your eyes landed on an older looking couple. A lady was standing there, dark brown hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, streaks of grey peaking through. Harsh smile lines protruded through her skin, a warm and inviting look on her face. Next to her, a taller looking man stood proudly next to what you assumed to be his wife. His feathery hair was combed back and the same round glasses as James sat comfortably on his peaky nose. You could only assume that this was Euphemia and Fleamont Potter.

Walking over, you stayed quiet as James greeted his parents first, pulling them into a tight hug. Immediately, you noticed how much of a mummy’s boy James was when you saw him unconsciously seeking comfort from his mother. It hurt to see him not being able to get what he needed in the moment. You looked away, afraid that you might’ve started to cry if you continued looking for any longer.

Fleamont greeted Remus and Sirius like they were his own sons, engulfing them in a hearty hug, lovingly slapping them on their backs. You watched as the affection oozed from James’ parents, a warm feeling growing in your chest. It was admiration.

Then, you felt a tug on your sleeve, looking back to see James’ trying to grab your attention. Giving him an inquisitive look, you noticed Euphemia, arms open, a beaming smile on her face.

“You must be Lily. Come in, dear.” It felt wrong as you dove into her arms, letting her motherly love wash over you like a tidal wave. Pulling apart, you felt the guilt twang in your chest, the name of Lily echoing in your mind.

That wasn’t you.

But you continued to smile. You smiled through your greetings with Fleamont. You smiled through the light banter they shared with James’ friends. You smiled through the small talk. You smiled through aparating to the Potter’s house.

As you stepped through the front door, you were greeted with an adorning archway, the walls endlessly covered with family photos. Everything about the house was inviting. A lingering smell of fresh baking settled in the house, as the light from the window perfectly captured the chandelier, a thousand rainbows dancing around the room.

As you stepped into the entrance way, you watched as Euphemia gestured the four of you up the staircase, down a hallway littered with doors. She stopped at a room, a sign with ‘Sirius’ on it, labelling you it belonged to. You beamed, remembering how this was now Sirius’ new home.

“I hope you don’t mind Remus bunking with you Sirius. I pulled out a spare mattress.” Euphemia addressed the two boys, who eagerly piled into the bedroom, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“You too, this way.” You looked over to James, but his face was contorted into something unreadable, only smiling when he noticed your staring, giving a reassuring squeeze of your hand. You brushed it off though, your mind blurred by the thought of following Euphemia.

“Here’s James’ room,” Euphemia stopped in front of a door that was decorated by a Gryffindor flag. “Make yourself at home, sweetheart. I hope you’re still okay with sharing the bed? James said that was fine in our last letter.”

You inhaled tightly through your nose, clenching your jaw. You looked back at James, whose face was once again turning a bright red, his lips slightly parted as stutters started to spill out. “Well- I- actually-”

“Sounds great, Euphemia. Thank you so much for your hospitality.” Impatient to leave the awkward situation, you gestured to James to enter his bedroom, trailing in behind you, keeping a faux smile on your face, up until the door closed behind you.

In an instant, apology after apology spluttered from James, trying to explain. You were vaguely listening, although you were more focused on the room around you. You liked the detail and the Gryffindor pride. Moving posters of different Quidditch players lined the walls, covering the red and white wallpaper. In a corner, a pile of muggle vinyls were stacked together, tied together by a pink ribbon, which you could only assume was gifted by Lily. The room was surprisingly tidy, different to the state of James’ dorms back in Hogwarts.

“I like your room.” You finally spoke, dragging a finger across a chest of drawers. A thin layer of dust rested on the pad of your finger, which you rubbed off on your skirt before turning back to the panicked boy before you.

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“Don’t worry about it, James.” You comforted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You forgot; that’s okay! I honestly don’t mind. It’s sort of what I signed up for anyway.” You laughed, hoping James would join in. He did.

***

Dinner went alright. You stayed quiet most of the time, only speaking when spoken to. You didn’t think Euphemia or Fleamont noticed, but you did get a peculiar look from Sirius, seemingly smirking at the way James and your seats were placed so close together.

After excusing yourself from the dinner table, you helped out in the kitchen with Fleamont, drying the dishes and putting them away in the cupboards. You were lost in your own thoughts, drifting off, keeping a smooth rhythm as you stacked plates.

“Lily, can you pass me the soap dispenser please?” You almost didn’t register what he was saying, a muted hum escaping your lips, until you realised you were being addressed. After apologising profusely for your tardiness, you handled the soap bottle to Mr Potter and carried on, hoping he wouldn’t start a conversation.

He did anyway.

“How’s James been treating you?” Fleamont quipped, a sly grin on his face. You knew what he was implying and shook it off, trying to keep the conversation as ambiguous as possible.

“Good. He’s been good.” He didn’t seem to buy it. “Lovely as always.” You gulped discreetly, disguising your nervousness as a yawn, which wasn’t missed by Fleamont.

“My dear, you look tired. You better retire for the night.” Nodding and saying your goodnights, you trod up the stairs, into the bedroom, where you were met by James, where only pajama shorts, reading Quidditch Through The Ages on his bed. You smiled, knowing that it was one of his favourites. He looked up when he saw you enter, smiling sheepishly, pointing towards the ensuite door.

“You can get changed in there, love.” Humming in agreement, you took a spare change of clothes into the bathroom and quickly returned, having brushed your teeth and washed your face as well. It wasn’t that late, but you felt inordinately tired, feeling as though you could pass out.

Collapsing on the soft bed, you pulled the duvet covers over your torso, letting your head hit the soft pillow. You nearly missed James whispering a small “goodnight darling” before falling into a dreamless sleep.

***

Tuesday 22nd December

Day two of whatever this was supposed to be had begun. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, not uncommon as James had always been an early bird and must’ve opened them himself. He wasn’t in bed when you rolled over, but you did notice the harsh sound of running water and an overwhelming smell of apple shampoo seeping into the bedroom.

Getting into some fresh clothes, you heard the water stop, buttoning up the last button on your blouse as James waltzed back into the bedroom, before seeing you. He stood like a deer in the headlights, water running smoothly down this toned skin, wearing only a towel around his hips.

“Why is it that I always catch you shirtless?” You tried to end the awkwardness by making a joke, reaching into James’ drawers and pulling out the first shirt you saw, throwing it across the room.

Because of James’ Quidditch skills, his fast reflexes caught the soaring shirt, catching it in one hand, unintentionally flexing his biceps. You shouldn’t have been staring, but the situation was too hard to read.

After standing still for a moment, you regained intelligence, snapping yourself out of your gaze. Muttering a quick apology, you dashed out of his bedroom, closing the door behind you. Pressing your back to the newly closed door, you shut your eyes tight, trying to forget the fresh memory in your mind.

“Trouble in paradise?” You opened one of your eyes to see Remus standing there too, novel in hand, also having his back pressed against the closed door.

“Shirtless.” The only words that could fall out of your mouth, making Remus bark with laughter, before clamping his hand over his mouth, an inch of sympathy showing in his eyes.

“Can’t be that bad of a sight, can it?” He joked, egging you on. You clutched your hands up to your face, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, but the worse past was that there was still so much more to come.

“Shut up Lupin.” You stuck your tongue out playfully at Remus, before bolting down the hallway, hoping to help Euphemia out with breakfast, like you said you would last night at the dinner table.

You were efficient in the kitchen, once again keeping talk to a minimum. Except today, you were feeling more comfortable with Euphemia, a more natural conversation gracing your time. It felt easier to speak. Maybe it was the fact that you had just had a good sleep, or maybe it was that you were actually feeling somewhat at home at the Potter’s residence.

Just as the bacon seemed to be completely cooked, James bursted through the door, Sirius and Remus in tow. James seemed to be the only one nervous, as the other two boys sat down at the table gleefully. Dishing up the breakfast, you handed the plates out to everyone.

Lastly, you handed a plate to James, trying your hardest to not make eye contact. You only stiffened when you felt James’s soft fingers accidentally brush against yours, tensing your muscles immediately.

“There you go,” you spoke in a voice so everyone could hear, “sweetheart.” You hissed the last word out in gritted teeth. Instead of sitting next to James like last night, you opted to sit directly in front of him, something that didn’t go unnoticed by James himself, who gave you a curious look at your choice in seating arrangements.

But before he could talk with you about it, you had finished your breakfast, immediately bouncing back into the kitchen, avoiding all signs of the messy haired brunette who was lurking around the ground floor.

The rest of the day followed a similar pattern. Mundane tasks, followed by awkward conversation, and running away. It wasn’t what you had thought when you offered the idea to fake date, but you realised how hard it actually was to pretend to be madly in love with someone.

It wasn’t until later in the night, when you were getting ready for bed, that you overheard James talking with Remus and Sirius. You knew you shouldn’t, but after hearing him say your name, you were too curious not to eavesdrop in. Pressing your ear against Sirius’ door, you prayed that Euphemia or Fleamont wouldn’t walk past any moment now.

“How’s it going with the whole fake dating thing?” It was Sirius’ voice, and there was a cheek to his voice. You rolled your eyes at his blatant teasing.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” It was James speaking this time. “Everything was going so well, especially yesterday, but after today, I’m a bit worried that my parents won’t believe.”

“What do you mean?” Remus’ voice held a question, an obvious inflection at the end of the sentence.

“I just wish she was a little more, you know,” a pause, “tactile. At least, a little more affection. She’s not playing the part well.”

You should’ve been hurt by James’ words but instead, you felt immense anger, and for what? You didn’t understand why you felt so annoyed by James’ harmless comment, but you did.

Begrudgingly, you languidly stomped back to James’ room, burying yourself under the covers, pretending to be asleep. You didn’t want to talk to him at the moment, in fear that you would just snap at him for the comments that he was making behind your back.

When James came back in about half an hour later, you felt a feeling of pressure being lifted from your chest, breathing easily as James tucked himself on the other side of you. You didn’t know why, but you felt like it was so much easier to sleep now that you knew that James was beside you. And so you did.

***

Wednesday 23rd December

It was an accident. You didn’t mean to wake up at the piss crack on dawn, wrapped in James’ arms. Sometime during the night, your sleeping form must’ve found its way to James. Your head was tucked in the crook of his neck, the soothing sound of his heartbeat rippling out. You felt safe.

Until you remembered that you were supposed to be mad at James. Carefully so you didn’t wake him, you slipped out of his arms, letting yours legs fall off the edge of the bed. Your warm toes made contact with cold hard wooden floors, making you jolt up in surprise. Looking back, you saw that James was still asleep, so you sighed, peeling out of the bedroom.

It was winter, so it wasn’t even that early in the morning. The grandfather clock in the living room was showing that it was just about to be seven, and that was good enough for you. Taking initiative, you decided to start cooking breakfast yourself, remembering the open invitation Euphemia gave you to use the kitchen whenever you want.

Cozying up to the stove, you placed the palms of your hands just over the radiating heat of the stove top, reveling in the delicious warmth that was defrosting every muscle in your body. Your mind was working overtime, trying to remember what James’ favourite breakfast was.

If James wanted an affectionate girlfriend, then he was going to get himself an affectionate girlfriend.

Mixing together a sweet pancake batter, you welcomed Euphemia into the kitchen. Praises filled the room, as you poured the dough into the pan, letting the bubbles rise to the top. In the meantime, you took out the bowl of fresh strawberries in the fridge, letting them come to room temperature on the kitchen counter tops.

Once again, James entered the kitchen right as you were serving up. Making sure it was as noticeable as possible, you sent a massive wink his way, catching him off guard. Grabbing a chopping board from the cupboard, you started slicing the tops off of the strawberries, to which James stopped you.

“Let me help darling.” He spoke, his morning voice making you feel something in your stomach that you weren’t expecting. Butterflies? Surely not. You shook the thought away, focusing back on flipping the pancakes on the stove tops.

After serving another freshly cooked pancake, your attention was pulled to James, a dopey smile on his face, strawberry juice staining his lips. “Y/- Lily, come over here.”

A bitter feeling rose in your chest at hearing Lily’s name, but you pushed it away, walking over to James’ workstation. He had a strawberry in his hand, beckoning you over to taste it. An idea sprouted in your head as you sashayed over, swinging your hips slightly.

You did what James wanted you to do, bending over slightly to place your lips around the sweet berry, letting your loving ‘boyfriend’ feed you. What he didn’t expect was after you had eaten the strawberry, you latched into his hands, wrapping your mouth around his fingers and gently sucking off the rest of the strawberry juice. It had caught him off guard but that’s what you wanted.

Today he was going to get all the affection you could give him.

At the breakfast table, you sat beside him, resting your hand on his thigh as you ate, leaning into him as you laughed at a joke Sirius had made. It wasn’t that funny but you wanted to prove a point. You wanted to prove that you could play the part of the doting girlfriend.

Soon, after breakfast, the Potter’s decided to go for a walk, so everyone joined in. Wrapping each other up in as much warm clothing as possible, everyone bundled outside together, minding the brisk breeze that was blowing through.

Holding James’ hand, you strolled calmly together, leaning your cheek against his arm and shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind, but he didn’t keep sending you strange looks as you continuously clutched his arm, running your fingers up and down his skin. You couldn’t tell if the goosebumps were from hesitation or the cold.

It started snowing quite heavily so they decided to head back inside. James and Remus had been caught up in conversation for most of the walk, about who was better at wizard’s chess and had agreed to a competition to decide for once and for all.

Curled up on the couch, you sat beside James, one and curled around a mug of cocoa and the other places upon James’ thigh. He let you, nodding when you hesitated on placing your hand there the first time.

About an hour into their little competition, you felt a haze settle upon your eyes, rendering you tired. It was late afternoon though, not a good enough time to go to bed. Yawning, you placed your mug down on the coffee table, and stretched out over the couch, placing your head down on James’ lap. Subconsciously, his left hand followed the movements of your head, latching onto a piece of your hair and twirling around his finger.

You never slept, but you rested your eyes. You didn’t know for how long until you felt the familiar sound of Euphemia’s dream-like voice, calling you to dinner. Hurriedly, you placed a mushy kiss against James’ cheek and sat in the usual spot at the dinner table.

By now, conversation flowed more easily than it did the day before. You were now beginning to feel safe in the Potter environment, opening up to everyone more, letting yourself join the conversation.

When you were going off the bed, you placed one last public kiss on James’ cheek before lacing your hands together, pulling him up to the bedroom and winking at Sirius and Remus, knowing full well what it was suggesting.

Once you got behind the doors though, you were off him in an instant, searching through your bag for a spare change of clothes for the night. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, getting ready for bed in your own separate bubbles. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to speak to James, it was more that you didn’t know what to say to him after today. You were afraid that you had crossed a line.

“What was that today?” James finally broke the silence, a crack in his voice as you spoke. You spin around, a fake smile creeping onto your face.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” His voice was cool, sending shivers down your spine. Your smile dropped, replaced with a frown. You could almost feel a few tears edging at your waterline, threatening to spill over if you weren’t careful.

“I’m sorry.” You started, fiddling with your fingers. “It was just- I overheard what you said last night. You said you wish I was being more, uhm, tactile.” You felt embarrassed to say the word. “I just wanted to put in a bit more effort. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

James stayed quiet as he settled into bed. You followed suit, getting it just behind him. You faced away from him though, as your cheeks were now being stained by your tears.

“Y/N?” You heard James call from behind you, but you didn’t turn around.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was just strange seeing so much affection from someone who wasn’t Lily.” He paused. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight Jamesie.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

***

Thursday 24th December

Once again, you woke up in James’ arms. Once again, you weren’t sure how you got there, but you weren’t complaining either way. Once again, you moved out of his arms before he noticed.

A new occurrence this morning though was he woke up by your movement.

“Oh, good morning love.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, although you didn’t know why. You kept your eyes closed, as they were still heavy from last night’s sleep. Unfortunately, it was plagued by fluffy dreams, all lead by a familiar bespectacled boy. You shook the thought from your mind, trying to open your eyes, but you couldn’t. You could barely mutter out a greeting.

“Hmm.” You grunted in acknowledgment, burying you head in the pillow. It smelt like James. A smile crept on your face without you realising.

“Tired?”

“Hmm.” You let out another whine, this one more pitiful, as you nuzzled you head against James’ arm, wanting to feel his warmth once again. Chuckling, he wrapped an arm around you before placing a calculated kiss on top of your head.

“Stay here darling.” You didn’t have to be told twice. As James left the bed, you stayed put, falling down where James was previously sleeping, laying horizontally along James’ bed as you fell back into your slumber.

You didn’t know how long you were out for, but you didn’t wake up to the sound of the creaking door opening and the clinking off ice against a glass of water. You tentatively opened one eye, letting in as much light as you would allow, adjusting to the new found sunlight. Slowly, you opened the next eye, so you could properly see what James was doing.

In his hands, he carried a breakfast tray, adorned with fresh ciabatta bread, yogurt, and a bowl of strawberries. The clinking sound before was coming from a glass of icy cold water, sitting next to a vase of peonies. Your favourite flower. You flushed at the fact that James had remembered something so miniscule.

“Breakfast in bed for the princess.” James joked, letting you sit up filling before placing the tray on your lap.

“What does that make you then? A prince?” You continued the joke, folding back a bit of the duvet to let James hop back into the bed too. There was double of everything on the tray, so you assumed one helping was for James.

You gave him a plate of breakfast as you slowly miches on yours, your mind too preoccupied to think about breakfast. All you could think about was why you were feeling so nervous around James. Why was your heart racing? Why were your cheeks flushing? Why were your hands clamming up?

“Open wide.” You whipped you head around to see James with a goofy grin on his face, holding a strawberry in his hand. Remembering what happened yesterday, you took a bite of the berry, purposely not continuing how you did yesterday and licking his fingers.

A disappointed pout returned to his face. “No finger sucking? Aww what’s wrong?”

“Did you want me to suck your fingers, Prince James?” You poked him playfully on his side. “It would be highly inappropriate. We aren’t even married yet. What a scandal.” You spoke in an over the top British accent, mimicking stereotypical royal figures.

“Oh, don’t worry Princess Y/N, I wouldn’t mind have you in my bloodline.”

“Hm, Princess Y/N of the Potter residence.” You jokingly thought for a moment. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

As you giggled together, you heard a knock at the door, followed by a “I’m coming in.” The doorknob turned and Euphemia emerged from behind the door. “How is my happy couple going?”

You kept the smile on your face, not letting it falter and break character. A little voice in the back of my mind was angry, upset that Euphemia had interrupted the moment, but ultimately you thought that maybe it was for the best. You needed to keep the flirting for the public eyes only.

“Hey Mum.” James cheered. You looked back to him and noticed the same smile on his face, like it hadn’t fallen. Like, he hadn’t even noticed that Euphemia had called us a couple.

“It snowed again last night so we’re snowed in for the day. Do you two have any plans?” She asked, her eyes flickering from between us.

“I have a lot of homework to do so I might do that today.” You spoke quietly, a little embarrassed that you wanted to do homework. You didn’t actually want to do homework, but you felt like you need to be occupied by something, to control an inner urge that was bubbling inside of you.

“Come on!” James whined, letting his head fall down on your shoulder. You got immediately warm from his touch. “It’s the holidays! You can’t seriously be doing homework?”

“I have stuff to catch up on.”

“Like what?”

“Like, um, stuff.”

“Would you kids like to do some baking for Christmas tomorrow?” Euphemia suggested, to which James lit up like a Christmas tree, completely infatuated by the idea.

“Yes, yes, yes.” James repeated, rushing out of bed, but carefully enough to not spill the tray everywhere. You followed suit, pulling on a dressing gown and entering the kitchen with an enthusiastic James.

That’s how the rest of the day went. You and James stayed in the kitchen all day, still wearing your sleeping pajamas, fooling around and baking.

You started with making Christmas cake, but soon found out that James was rather good at baking himself. He took the reigns, busily working as you helped out, doing the chopping and measuring for him.

At one point, James’ eyebrows were furrowed together in concentration for over two minutes. You were getting restless, the perfection needed for baking boring you, so you decided to have some fun. Pinching your finger together, you gathered up a handful of flour, flinging it at an unsuspecting James. He turned around slowly, his cheek covered in white powder, before an evil grin consumed his face.

“Oh, you’re on, L/N.”

That’s how most of the baking went with James that day. Joking around, flinging ingredients at each other. By the end of it, you could hardly tell the difference between the kitchen floor and your aprons.

At the end, you had made Christmas cake, gingerbread cookies, and a loaf of bread. Happy with your haul, you went into the living room to call the rest of the members of the household to inspect the food.

“Come see what we made.” You and James called, standing underneath the archway from the kitchen and the living room. As you were about to step away, you heard a halting sound.

“Uh uh, wait up.” You turned back around to see Fleamont with a cheeky smile on his face, pointing at the two of you. You didn’t know what he was pointing at but Euphemia, Sirius, and Remus did, following Fleamont’s arm and laughing when they saw it.

Gazing upwards, you looked to see what the big fuss was about. Your face fell in an instant. Hanging above you and James was a freshly picked mistletoe plant.

You grimaced at the thought, feeling guilty. It was one of the rules you had set. No kissing on the lips. Surely Remus and Sirius knew that, but they were too busy laughing their asses off to remember.

Looking back at James, you gulped. You stared up at his cerulean blue eyes, your hand shaking beside you slightly. James’ eyes were raking your face, searching for any sign of consent. You nodded soon after realising what he was doing and you let him cup your face, bringing you closer than you’ve ever been.

“Are you okay with this?” James whispered for only you to hear. You kept leaning forward until you were only millimetres away from touching when you breathed out your last word of consent: “yes.”

Your lips met in the middle. It was soft and sweet, not wanting to push what was already fragile. James’ left hand stayed cupping your cheek, holding you face still as his right hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. It was magical, as if all your happiness you had ever felt was wrapped together and given to you right there. You had your hands resting on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat underneath you like a song from the heavens.

When you pulled away, your eyes lingered a little longer in James’, the eye contact you were holding inescapable and passionate. Your head felt heavy, your eyelids weighing you down as a wave of exhaustion hit you like a freight train. Discreetly, you yawn behind you hand, a gesture that wasn’t missed by James, who reached out for your wrist, running his thumb up and down your hand.

“Let’s go get you some sleep, hm?” An affirming sound escaped your mouth as you trailed behind James. Back in his bedroom, you collapsed on the bed, your lips still tingling from the sensual kiss just moments before.

The two of you were silent as you got ready for bed. Working harmoniously beside each other, you changed, and did your repetitive nightly routine, just to end up in the same place as always; on opposite sides of the bed, unable to make conversation. Luckily for you, James was onto it.

“I’m so sorry,” he started, but when you tried to butt in, he cut you off, continuing his rant. “I knew that was one of the rules and I broke it. I should’ve just said no and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. You didn’t deserve to have your boundaries crossed. I’m sorry for pressuring you into something you weren’t ready for.”

You stayed silent for a moment, soaking in his words before you began yourself. “James, I didn’t mind. You didn’t take advantage of me. It’s completely okay. And what’s that famous saying, rules are meant to be broken.”

Your pathetic attempt to joke was shut down as James didn’t say anything, nor move, just staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Huffing, you rolled over, trying to let slumber take you away, but you couldn’t. There was a chill in the house tonight, another snow storm heading your way. You shuddered as a draft blew through.

“You’re cold.” James finally spoke, yet it was an obvious statement, as you were still shaking under a blanket, your teeth starting to chatter.

“Come here.” You turned around, seeming as if you had misheard him, but you saw what you were afraid of. James’ arms were wide open, beckoning you to fall asleep with him wrapped around you, keeping you safe.

So you did.

***

Friday 25th December

Christmas morning was perfect. As you fluttered open your eyes, you once again found yourself situated in James’ arms, the only difference was that he was awake too, his radiant smile beaming down on you, making you feel warm and cuddly on the inside.

Breakfast was simple, as everyone was mostly preparing for Christmas lunch. You tried to help out as much as possible but Euphemia always shut you down, insisting that you had helped out enough and that you needed a break. So, you sat patiently on the couch, munching slowly on an apple, the juice running smoothly down your face.

“Good morning Lily.” James had appeared beside you, placing a soft kiss on your temple. The words falling from his mouth were more acidic than the juice dripping from your chin. Your returning smile was filled with bitterness, something James picked up on, his nose scrunching up as he surveyed your emotions.

“G’morning Jamesie.” You slurred, gritting your teeth together, detesting the name you were just called. Still unable to figure out why, James gave you a look, a look that just said “what?” It hurt, knowing that he wouldn’t know why it spurred you on so much.

Fleamont soon joined you in the living room, taking the armchair in the middle of the room, burying himself in the comfort. Politely, you nodded towards him, acknowledging his presence, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“How did you two sleep?” He asked, gesturing between the two of you, to which you both smiled.

“Just fine, thank you, any you?” You responded for the both of you, feeling James’ hand curl around you own, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Just fine, although, I was walking down the hallway during the night and I noticed something peculiar.”

Unsure of what he meant, you egged him on. “What did you notice?”

“Your bedroom door was open, son; the pesky draft must’ve opened it. There was moonlight streaming in from the window, and I noticed the two of you curled up together.” Fleamont looked directly at you. “I didn’t realise the two of you were at that stage of your relationship.

As Fleamont winked at the two of you, your mouth fell open, appalled, as James was laughing like a maniac beside you. It wasn’t until Euphemia came into the living room to break apart their banter to get together for Christmas lunch.

It was a peaceful meal of casual conversation and light jokes. You stayed quiet most of the time, actually rather enjoying listening in on the fascinating stories that Euphemia and Fleamont were telling about James when he was a child. Soon, the conversation turned towards the future, and all eyes were on you.”

“Dear, what would you like to do when you leave Hogwarts?” It should’ve been an easy question to answer but you were stumped, unsure if you should answer as Lily or as yourself. Unable to think of something Lily would say, you decided to answer as you would.

“Actually, I want to study in a muggle university. Literature, or maybe anthropology. I’ve always been interested in learning about the world and my heart has always been somewhat attached to the muggle world. It’s where I want to flourish.” Embarrassed by your little monologue, you flushed a deep red, before turning back towards your ham.

“How inspiring,” Euphemia said, clapping her hands together in delight, “and what about marriage? Have you thought about settling down?”

You almost choked on your food at the question, catching you completely off guard. All eyes were on you and James now, with Sirius and Remus trying not to disturb anyone as they laughed in the distance.

“Uhm,” you looked at James for guidance but he also seemed just as uncomfortable as you were. “I haven’t thought that far through, to be completely honest.”

“Oh, but dear,” Euphemia looked positively thrilled. “We would be absolutely delighted for you to join our family. Lily Potter, my beautiful and caring daughter-in-law.”

“Okay, how about we clean up now, yeah?” Thankfully, James had broken up the conversation, offering to clean up the plates. Eager to leave the uncomfortable situations you helped bring in the stacks of food, offering to split it up, and repackage it for later consumption. You worked efficiently, avoiding anyone with the last name Potter at all cost.

When everything seemed to be tidied up, the Potter parents insisted that everyone sit around together for the gift giving portion of Christmas. Quietly, you rushed back to the bedroom, getting out the small gifts you had brought everyone for the Christmas season while you were out the other day.

Sitting amongst everyone, it felt like everything was back to normal. No more awkward conversations about the future plagued the atmosphere, just joyous laughter and pure happiness circling the room.

Firstly, you gave small presents to Sirius and Remus, including some quills for school, and gunpowder for pranks. You gave Euphemia and Fleamont some Christmas fudge that you had found, as well as a thank you note, thanking them for letting you stay over the Christmas season. Lastly, you handed a small box to James, a lacy ribbon decorating it.

“Open it.” You spoke in an almost whisper, as James’ fingers fiddled with the ribbon. As it fell open, you heard the small gasp from James, as he took the chain out of the box.

It was a small silver bracelet, yet it was decorated by a tiny, dangling gem, the colour of the deep blue ocean, something that seemed to have enchanted the bespectacled boy.

“It’s a sapphire.” You said, running your fingers over the cold chain. “It’s supposed to represent honesty, trust, loyalty. Everything that embodies you.” You spoke with so much weight in your chest, speaking from the deepest depths of your heart. Everything you said was true.

Swooping down, James pressed a kiss to your cheek, whispering a hushed “I love you” under his breath, so faint that you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to hear it.

The rest of the presents were handed out, until there was only one left underneath the Christmas tree. With a smile on his face, Fleamont reached down underneath the tree, grabbing the package and passing it to you.

It should’ve been a happy moment, a moment where you truly felt like you belonged in the Potter house. It did at first as the smile seemed to never be able to falter, until you stared down at the packaging, noticing the name ‘Lily Evans’ written in cursive. A single tear ran down your face as you realised something harsh in that very moment. It was always going to be Lily Evans, never Y/N L/N.

The feeling got worse as you carrot undid the wrapping paper, revealing a collection of polaroid photographs. They were all different shots of you and James throughout the holidays. Curled up on the couch, baking in the kitchen, out on the walls, sucking the juice off of his fingers. The last one made you laugh as you remembered the memory that had now turned fond.

“I love them. Thank you so much.”

The day was mostly mundane, just filled with more activities, like chess, or cleaning to fill in the time. It seemed like everyone was just waiting for the snow to melt, so they could all go back outside again. You knew James was just itching to play with his Quidditch set outside.

Strangely enough, you found yourself outside in the snow, wrapped up tight from the weather. The snow had stopped falling for a peaceful moment, so you thought it would be the perfect time to get some fresh air, away from the overwhelming company.

You were soon joined though, as you heard the front door open and close from behind you. You didn’t even have to guess who it was as they stood beside you, taking in a deep breath, exhaling visibling in the frosty air.

“How are you doing?” James looked over to you, his eyes laced with concern. You shrugged, smiling that he seemed to care about you. It warmed you.

“Overwhelmed, but you’ve been perfect. All thanks to you, I think they might actually believe it.” You were now completely facing James now, looking up into his deep, aquamarine eyes, watching as the tint changed when the light hit the irises at a different angle. It was mesmerising.

You weren’t the only one mesmerised though. James couldn’t stop staring at your beauty. The way your eyes sparkled in the light. The way your skin catched the light snow that was starting to fall. Your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question caught you off guard, but it left you feeling unsatisfied. Before you could even respond, you had James by the collar of his sweater, pulling him down ever so slightly so your lips could meet with his. It was light fire and electricity, a thousand gusts of wind blowing through you, spilling into you like an endless thunderstorm. You kissed him like it was the last time you were ever going to see him, hungry, desperate, passionate.

You were in love.

***

Saturday 26th December

You had fallen asleep on the couch, slumped with James as he cocooned your sleeping body between his limbs. Unfortunately, your slumber had been awoken in the early hours of the morning by banging on the front door. Groggily, James got up, rubbing his head with his hands.

Running your fingers through your hair, you got up with him, putting on a sweater to make yourself look more presentable. James’ sweater, to be exact.

The four other residents of the house had now awoken from the persistent knocking and had joined us downstairs. It was just after sunrise so everyone was sort of dazed and out of it. With one last eye rub, James swung the door open to reveal the person standing there.

Lily Evans, with her hair like a roaring fire, cheeks naturally rosy, and eyes glinting like a morning sunrise, she stood there, clutching her hands nervously. As soon as she saw James though, she flung her arms around his neck, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” A string of apologies came out of her mouth as tears started running down her cheeks, dark mascara staining her porcelain skin. A confused look was shot my way as Euphemia just stared between the two of us, unsure of what to do.

“Hello darling.” Euphemia’s motherly voice was out to play. ”If you don’t mind me asking, who are you?”

“Oh sorry for not introducing myself.” Lily removed herself from James’ figuring, wiping her eyes on her sleeves, as she stuck her hand out to be shaken. “I’m Lily Evans, nice to meet you.”

Then, Lily noticed your looming form sending a curious look your way. It wasn’t the only look of confusion. Euphemia and Fleamont were almost unreadable as you flicked between the two of them.

It was time to come clean.

“This is Lily Evans, my ex girlfriend.” James had the same idea as you, introducing the red headed girl to his parents finally.

“And this is Y/N L/N, my close friend.”

Friend.

That’s all you were. That’s all you would ever be, compared to Lily.

It took a bit of explaining and sitting Fleamont and Euphemia down to fully explain the plan. You started off with the breakup and then talked about the devilish plan, saying that all you wanted to do was keep Christmas light and cheery. All you got were uncomfortable looks from James’ parents.

When everything was laid out on the table, Fleamont got up and left, obviously disappointed in the choices you and his son had made. Euphemia looked as though she had just swallowed a bee, lips pursed as she contemplated the next move.

“Well, Y/N,” the name fell bitterly for her lips; it sounded so foreign, so unnatural. “You are happy to stay with us until tomorrow. It was nice to finally meet you.”

That was the full extent of the conversation. For the rest of the day, it seemed as though Fleamont and Euphemia were keeping James and you away from each other, always asking one or the other to help with chores, or to do a mundane activity with them.

It wasn’t until night time dawned on the residence. The atmosphere had unfortunately changed after Lily’s short and unexpected visit. Her exit was speedy after her unprompted entrance, an uneasy ripple of tension in the house.

When it was time to sleep, Euphemia had shown you to a spare room, taking initiative to set you up somewhere separate, now knowing that you weren’t actually dating James. It was cold though, empty and alone, and as you tried to sleep, your hands kept trailing to James’ side of the bed, searching for him.

You took it upon yourself to take matters into your own hands. Creeping through the house, you found yourself outside of James’ bedroom door. Quietly, you knocked, waiting a few seconds before entering. James was lying in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the open curtain which was letting in trickles of moonlight. When you entered, he looked back at you, his lips parted slightly in shock.

“Can I…?” Your voice trailed off as you couldn’t bare to finish your sentence in embarrassment, but James seemed to know what you were alluding to, pulling back the covers almost immediately.

“Of course.”

***

Sunday 27th December

You woke in early hours of the morning. It was intentional, not wanting to be found in James’ bed again. It would be scandalous. You laid back in your new bed, closing your eyes for a moment, hoping you could go back asleep, but sleep couldn’t find you.

Before breakfast had started, you had packed you bags, ready to catch the train at ten o’clock. An early breakfast run was needed as you munched some Christmas leftovers, opposite sides of the table from James. You still hadn’t talked about what had happened. Even last night, you had only just cuddled until you both had fallen asleep. Your feelings till needed to be addressed.

Hurriedly, the four Hogwarts students were aparated back to King’s Cross Station by Euphemia and Fleamont, both with sorrowful looks on their faces. They were hugging their son goodbye, then moving onto Sirius and Remus, hugging them like they were also their children. You shifted awkwardly in the group.

“And we can’t forget you, now can we, Y/N?” It was still strange hearing your own name come from their lips, but you welcomed it, slightly happy to be the only receptor of the love now. As you were pulled into a jug by Euphemia, you could hear the last words she spoke to you. “Thank you for looking after my son. I’d be happy to have you as my daughter-in-law.”

Last minute goodbyes were said as you all bundled up onto the train, finding a carriage right in front of where Euphemia and Fleamont were standing. You waved cheerfully at them as the train pulled out of the station, a chapter of your life closing.

You hadn’t noticed Remus and Sirius had stepped out of the carriage, giving you and James some much needed privacy. There wasn’t much that needed to be said though. Everything that needed to be communicated had already been done through awkward glances and small looks.

“Hey.” His voice was almost silent.

“Hey.”

A pause.

“What are we?”

“Whatever you want to be.” You eventually said. James hummed in agreement, resting his head in his hand.

“Onwards?”

You smiled.

“Onwards.”

#James potter #James potter x reader #James potter fluff #James potter angst #harry potter #marauders #marauders era

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loudstan · 3 years

Text

Epiphany (Pt. 10)

A collection of NCT werewolf AU stories.

Doyoung (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt. 3) (pt. 4) (pt. 5) (pt. 6) (pt. 7) (pt. 8) (pt. 9) (pt. 10)

Summary: The wolf population kept decreasing and those who were left had a hard time trying to fit into society. Sure, people didn’t consider them as dangerous as vampires, but wolves could still sense some hostility every time they did as much as go for a walk in a public place. Thanks to wolves’ natural magical abilities, NCT (one of the remaining packs) found a safe place among witches in a town where no one knew their secret, allowing some members to finally get a job, study and interact with others without fear of being rejected.

Life seems to finally be peaceful for them… except that wolves have needs, and one of those needs is finding their mate.

Pairing: Werewolf! Doyoung x Witch! female reader

Warnings: future smut

“I’ll spend my heat right here, looking at you, smelling how wet you are and pretending I can’t hear you touching yourself at night but, like I said, I won’t lay a single finger on you.”

He can’t be serious. There is no way he’s being serious.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” he said.

“Oh my god. So now you can also read my mind just because I’m your mate?!”

He looked like he was trying to repress a smile.

“Actually, you said that out loud. As strong as our connection is, I cannot read your mind,” he licked his lips and stared at the floor. “But I like how you called yourself my mate.”

You blushed furiously at this.

“I mean- that’s what you said I was.”

“Because you are.”

“… I guess, in theory I could be something like…”

“My mate,” he finished your sentence with a teasing tone and right when you were about to scoff at his comment he flinched and groaned in pain.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, standing up to make space for him on the couch. He lied down slowly and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his face.

“Shit,it’s gonna be harder than I thought,” he muttered.

“Then maybe...don’t do this?”

“I gotta- ugh,” with a groan he squeezed his eyes shut. “I-I have to do this.”

“What the f-WHY?!”

“I have to s-show you I can control my wolf. Only then you’ll-oh god you smell so good,” he clenched his fists tight and took a deep breath. “Only then you’ll believe my feelings are real.”

You scoffed. He clearly couldn’t even think straight anymore.

“How is that fair?” you asked, “Now that you marked me I have no choice but to like you back! This will be frustrating for both of us.”

“Drink the potion,” he muttered.

“What?” so he didn’t want the potion for himself, but was suggesting that you drank it?

“If you drink it, you’ll get rid of this bond and won’t feel anything. I’ll be the only one feeling like shit. Does that sound better?”

You narrowed your eyes but said nothing. It was tempting to drink the potion by yourself, considering this was all his fault.

“You are still in time to kick me out of here. I’ll get a cab or something,” he whispered. You could barely hear him, as his voice was way too weak.

You didn’t have it in you to kick him out like this. What if he collapsed on the way home? What if something really serious happened to him? What if he found some other woman to take care of him during his heat?

You pushed that thought away immediately. You surely did NOT care if he fucked somebody else. BUT you wanted to believe you were a decent person who could let him sleep on your couch.

“What is the point of you proving yourself if I drink the potion?” you asked, wanting to understand how his mind worked. “You’d be in pain for days and gain nothing at all because I wouldn’t have feelings for you!”

“You wouldn’t have unwanted feelings for me because there would be no bond forcing you to,” he barely whispered. “Then, after my heat is over, you can decide if you want to give me a chance.”

“...You’re crazy,” you said in disbelief, but he didn’t reply. “Doyoung?”

Still, not a single sound came from him. Alarmed, you placed your hand on his forehead to see how his fever was going.

What you weren’t expecting was the loud moan that left his mouth as he lifted his hips into the air. Immediately, he pushed your hand away and stood up, running to the bathroom and locking the door.

You stood there in shock for what seemed like an entire minute until you heard his muffled groans coming from the bathroom. You walked in that direction like you were possessed and knocked on the door twice, only getting a weak moan in response.

“Doyoung? D-did I hurt you?” you asked in spite of that voice in your head telling you that those sounds were a clear sign of pleasure.

“I’m fin-Oh! Uhng fuck, just- just give me a m-minute mkay?” he replied panting heavily. “Y-you may want to-,” another loud moan, “Ah shit… you may want to stay a-away for now.”

You didn’t move. Your feet felt glued to the floor and your heart beat faster as you recognised a constant, wet sound. You were sure he was touching himself. Without even thinking about it, your hand twisted the handle and tried to open the door between you, which only frustrated you when you remembered it was locked. On the other side, Doyoung had gasped and halted his movements.

“Y/n! What do you think you’re doing?”

“I just- this stupid door,” you replied stubbornly. You didn’t even know why you wanted to open it, but your hands kept pushing the hard material in a vain attempt to get through.

“Shit- y/n you really shouldn’t,” his panicked voice made you want to comfort him. If only you were in there with him.

“Can you open the door for me?” you asked, you hardly recognised your own voice; it sounded hoarse and lazy, like you had just woken up.

“Oh fuck… Y/n, I want to, I r-really do but-” you heard him turn on the water and a mumbling sound due to him splashing water on his face to collect himself before continuing, “I can’t. You don’t want me… it’s just the bond.”

“But,” you pouted, pressing yourself against the door. You just really wanted him right now, whether it was a stupid bond or not, “It would feel so good.”

You heard him groan and the wet rubbing sound came back faster than before.

“Please,” you insisted, discovering the effect your words had on him, “please sir, let me make you feel good.”

“Fuck! A-ah! Nnnn!”

You heard him coming closer to the door and the handle moved a little and you licked your lips in anticipation, but it never opened.

“Y/n… drink the potion.”

“Wha- now?!” you had been so close! He almost opened the door. Why was he talking about that potion now?

“Yes, now. Before we do something you’ll regret.”

“I-,” you swallowed hard, “I promise I’ll drink it later, but can we-?”

“ Y/n, if I open that door now I won’t stop. It’s better you have a clear mind before making any decision. Drink the potion.”

You whined and tried to open the door once again, pressing your thighs together to get any type of friction at this point. Maybe he needed some more convincing.

“Doyoung-”

“NOW,” he growled. He sounded so intimidating, your legs felt weak and you fell on the ground, your eyes wide and paralyzed in fear. You could still feel the vibrations of his voice on your body when you stood up with difficulty, going for the little jar of potion forgotten in the living room.

You looked at the sparkling dark liquid and took a deep breath in. Now that you were right next to Doyoung you could think more clearly. You cringed as the words you had just said to him came back to your head. Did you really find him that attractive or was it just the bond?

Maybe he was right. You were the one who wanted to drink it since the beginning anyways, so why not do it now? That way his heat would have no effect on you and your life would be normal again.

You drank it and immediately felt nauseous at the bitter flavor. Suddenly a burning sensation crawled up your chest and everything around you was blurry. You dropped the jar and it broke into a million pieces as you grabbed onto the couch to avoid falling until you were stable again.

Once everything stopped moving and you calmed down a bit, you looked up and the first thing you saw was Doyoung, standing outside the bathroom. He looked heartbroken with the way the tears slid down his face, but he still managed to smile.

“That was the right choice, y/n. Now things will be way easier for you.”

Or so you both thought.

#doyoung #doyoung smut #kim doyoung #nct doyoung #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct smut

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writesowhatnext · 3 years

Text

submerse myself in brie // fred weasley

Summary: Bill & Fleur’s wedding is quite the event… too bad about those wedding crashers. Anyway, what wedding is complete without awkwardness at the buffet table?

Request: Are you taking requests? If you are could I ask for another Fred Weasley? Maybe something where they’re fighting together (bills wedding or battle of Hogwarts maybe?) and the reader rescues him in some way but gets injured herself but not fatally because I can’t deal with too much angst 🙈 hope that’s not too specific... also just wanted to say I love your writing it’s amazing 💕💕

A/N: thank you!!!! Terribly sorry for how long this took holy cow but I hope this is alright love I loved the request and that is why this is so long also I wasn’t quite sure how to split up the flashbacks so like we’ll see how this goes

Reader: female

Warnings: injury, battle, suggestive, couple stuff, alcohol, suggestive, implied sex

A groan peeled open your lips before you could even think about opening your eyes. You couldn’t really focus on anything, though, not when everything just ached, not with your head pounding and your ears ringing. People’s feet blurred past you, rushing and falling with flashes of light. You frowned. Blades of wet grass pressed against your cheek. The smell invaded your senses.

Fred groaned like a child at Molly’s pestering, the vibrations echoing down your spine. You rolled your eyes, pressing your back further into his chest in response.

“When I get married,” he said, turning to face George with a grimace. “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full-body-bind curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

Molly tutted at her son, ignoring him for the most part as she scurried away to fix something else that didn’t really need fixing.

“Oh, really, mate?” George said, drinking his tea.

You were happy to see him up and around; you remembered how scared Fred had been after the incident on the broomsticks. The bandage around George’s head still looked particularly grizzly, but you were glad he was feeling better.

“Does Y/N have anything to say about that?” he said cheekily, hiding his face in his mug as he watched you with playful eyes.

“Why would I?” you asked, pulling away from Fred to grab a piece of toast off the table. “It’s not like my standards are low enough to marry this git.”

“Oi!” Fred huffed.

You tried to move out of his reach before he grabbed you, or worse, tickled you, but you weren’t fast enough and you squealed as he clapped his hand on your arse.

“Cheeky,” Fred said, pointing at your accusatorily as you glared back, pulling your dress straight with your toast balanced in your mouth.

“Might have to teach my wife a lesson,” he teased, shooting you a wink. As you moved to sit by George on the kitchen counter, you mimicked Fred, ignoring the backflips of your stomach at his words.

Your stomach flopped again as you rolled over, the wet grass splaying over your face, no doubt covering your cheeks in mud. There was a sharp pain at your side and a nagging in your head as you tried to remember what exactly was happening. Where you were. Where the bloody hell Fred was. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, every breath felt like daggers in your side, your ribs bruised horribly. Whatever happened had certainly left you winded. It could have been worse, though, you thought as your vision cleared up.

Standing up was almost impossible and each breath was wheezy as you fought the fog clouding your mind, your knees sinking into the mud as you did. Your dress was ruined, that much was obvious. The fabric and your skin were both covered in dirt and dust and black marks as you reached your feet. You tried to smooth it down, but it didn’t seem worth it, especially not as your eyes trailed up to see the wedding tent.

Well, what was left of it.

The golden marquee was in tatters, torn here and scorched there. Guests were running under the archways and disappearing into thin air like there was no tomorrow, no doubt encouraged by the black figures shooting brightly coloured spells at their feet. You almost wished the ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped as the sounds of shouting and carnage began to fill your senses.

“Y/N, you look lovely, dear,” Molly said, the pride in her voice obvious.

“Thanks,” you said, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be sure to pass the message on to my stylist.”

She laughed at the joke, patting your hand softly and leaving to tell someone off, no doubt. You remembered fondly her insistence earlier that no, she was never too busy to do her favourite soon-to-be-daughter-in-law’s hair. It was a good job though, you thought, that Fleur was too busy getting dressed up herself to hear that one.

You finished your champagne, more than grateful that the flute was enchanted as you watched it refill. As you stared, you became suddenly aware of someone’s eyes on you and turned to see Fred sat beside you, a strange look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked lightly, sipping your drink.

“Nothing,” he said, a decidedly un-Fred-like smile playing on his lips. It was far too angelic to be recognisable in his features.

“Is there something on my face?”

You all but slammed your glass on the table, using the shiny napkin holders to try and get a better look at your reflection.

“No,” he chuckled, his laughter only growing as you made faces, looking for some stray crumbs or Aunt Mildred’s lipstick. “There’s nothing wrong with your face.”

He placed his hand on top of yours, stopping your borderline-neurotic inspection. You looked up at him with a pout and a fond smile spread across his lips.

“There is,” he said, cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb along your cheekbone. “Nothing wrong with your face.”

Struggling to hide your pleased grin at his compliment, you leant into his touch.

“Sounds like someone has a crush, Weasley.”

“Oh, really?” he said, his hand leaving your face with a pout in its wake. You smirked though, when he scooted his chair closer to yours, like a child, leaning on the back of yours with his elbow instead.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, his smile contagious. “Is that so?”

“Actually,” he said conversationally, leaning the side of his head on his hand. “I think you might be the one with the crush.”

“How did you know?” you said dully, slowly placing a hand on your chest in mock surprise. “How can I ever cope with the knowledge that you will never feel the same?”

He barked a laugh at your dry, monotonous tone, his head dropping to the side as he watched you for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes. That was before, however, a sly smile lifted his lips – a look you were very familiar with when it came to Fred. You fixed him with a suspicious stare.

“How about we get out of here?” he said, shifting in his seat.

“What?”

Your eyes followed him as he stood up, brushing down his suit briefly before offering his hand.

“Come on,” he insisted impatiently. He made a face at your unwillingness.

“Fred,” you said incredulously, shaking your head at his gall. “This is your brother’s wedding.”

“I have other brothers,” he shrugged before rolling his eyes and leaning down to grab your hand. “And we’ll be back in 20 minutes, half an hour, maximum.”

You stood up, enjoying the way his hand twisted to thread your fingers together.

“We will, will we?” you said, raising your eyebrows with an amused grin.

“Yes.”

He moved to wrap his hand around your waist, pulling you closer so he could whisper in your ear.

“With you looking like that, I doubt we’ll need any longer, sweetheart.”

You choked out a laugh at his words and looked around you as you escaped through the side of the tent.

“If we get caught-“ you threatened, cutting yourself off when he shot you a smirk.

“Live a little, sweetheart.”

“Fred,” you said quietly, your voice coming out hoarse. You blinked, swallowing and letting yourself adjust to the frantic rush of your surroundings.

“Fred,” you repeated, slightly louder this time as your heartbeat began to race.

People were apparating in and out like wildfire and there were already a few bodies collecting on the ground. Only injured, from the looks of it, but your mind thought the worst. Spotting your wand on the ground, you bent down to pick it up, your whole body singing in pain at the stretching of your muscles.

“Merlin,” you muttered, a grimace contorting your features. That was going to hurt tomorrow.

You searched for someone you knew in the crowds, a recognisable face in a sea of sparks and mist and gold wedding decorations. Your reactions weren’t the best, though, and your head was swimming. Albeit, though, you were grateful to be getting your land-legs back with each shaky step. Every flash of red hair you saw had your heartbeat jumping, but none of them were Fred, all most likely some distant Weasley cousin and none of them anybody you wanted to see right now.

What had even happened? One minute you and Fred were watching Fleur and Bill dance – she did look ever so lovely in that dress – and the next you woke up on a bed of damp grass with a killer headache and a distinct lack of memories. You didn’t have to be a genius, though, to put two and two together. The dark figures slowly herding people inside the tent and shooting spells every which way were Death Eaters; you could only hope that Harry had gotten out safely. Despite your hopes, though, your thoughts were preoccupied with Fred and you found yourself praying that he was okay.

“Fred!”

You hoped you weren’t giggling too loudly, and that your dress wasn’t too creased, and that it wasn’t too obvious what you’d just spent the last 23 minutes doing. As you snuck back into the tent, you separated from Fred, shushing him and moving to interest yourself in the buffet as to avert suspicion. Necessary, you figured, with Fred being so very suspicious. Typically, he ignored your plans and followed you to the buffet table, a cheeky grin slapped across his face

You glared at him, distracting yourself with the mini sausage rolls and putting as much distance between you both as possible. Harry, unlucky as ever, was caught in the crossfire.

“You alright there, Harry?” Fred said, looking over the display. “Any of the classically beautiful Weasley cousins taking your fancy?”

“I’ve got other things on my mind, actually, Fred,” Harry said tightly. You felt your stomach drop slightly; he was far too young to be carrying so much weight on his shoulders.

“Ah, no mind,” Fred replied, as unaffected and blasé as ever. “I’m sure you’ve got your eye on someone else anyway, eh?”

You watched Harry’s face heat up and rolled your eyes affectionately: Fred had a knack for turning even the darkest of issues to humour.

“I’ve got my eye on someone here actually,” Fred said, piling cocktail sausages onto his plate with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, really?” Harry asked, turning to face Fred. He clearly didn’t care but you did notice his double-take and frowned, your brows drawing together. “Who’s that?”

“Well, if I told you then I’d have to kill you,” Fred nodded solemnly, shoving three mini sandwiches in his mouth at once and shooting you a surprisingly subtle wink.

“Sorry, uh,” Harry stuttered, pointing at Fred and then gesturing to his own face. “You have, uh, something on your-“

“What?”

Fred frowned, his mouth stretching as he swallowed the food and began to rub at his cheek.

“Lipstick, I think,” Harry said, decidedly awkward.

Your eyes widened and you gulped, not daring to look at Fred

“Ah, cheers for that Harry.”

“Not a problem, Fred.”

With that, Harry turned to leave, surprised to see you behind him. You watched his eyes flicker down to your lips and you prayed to Merlin, Godric and even Salazar that he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Alright, Y/N?” Harry said softly, his mouth set in an embarrassed smile.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice a couple of octaves too high. “Thanks. Enjoy your…”

You looked down at his plate, swallowing uncomfortably as you felt your face heat up.

“Chocolate frogs.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded. “Thanks.”

You clenched your teeth as Harry walked past you, cursing Fred under your breath. Chuckling, he slid next to you, his plate once again overflowing with food.

“Brilliantly eloquent there, love. I don’t doubt that Harry’ll enjoy those chocolate frogs, but I’m sure your well wishes are appreciated.”

“You’re the worst person alive,” you snapped, not looking at him.

“That is not what you said earlier,” he said smugly. You turned to shoot him a dry look as he pushed a block of cheese into his mouth.

“I hate you so much,” you insisted, your smile giving you away.

“Me?” Fred pressed a hand to his chest defensively, spewing crumbs everywhere as he spoke.

“Yes, you-“

Your bickering was cut off by the clinking of a spoon against a champagne class. You both turned to face Molly, who was looking particularly happy with herself as she announced Fleur & Bill’s first dance.

“Come on, you pig,” you huffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the crowd forming around the happy couple. Despite his grumbling, he put down his plate and followed you. Ever the gentleman, he brushed off crumbs onto his trousers before grabbing for your hand.

As you watched them dance, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. It was hard not to imagine you and Fred in their shoes in a couple years. Molly always told you that you argued like an old married couple as it was, surely it wouldn’t do any harm to make it official. You couldn’t think like that now though, not with the constant threat of war looming. It never seemed more real, though, than when Kingsley Shacklebolt’s patronus appeared, his deep voice ringing through the tent, announcing the incoming storm, creating a frenzy.

Fred’s hand tightened around your own and when the Death Eaters started appearing, you were grateful for the contact. You looked between the faces you recognised, somewhere between heartbroken and horrified to see Ginny and Molly already firing out spells; Harry, Ron and Hermione rushing outside, hopefully apparating to safety. Distracted by the others, you barely noticed a Death Eater appearing next to Fred. Fred, in his panic, didn’t seem to either. Just as he readied his wand, you found yourself pushing Fred to the side and out of the crossfire. The force of the hit ripped your hand from his and the last thing you remembered before you were knocked out cold was your body flying through the side of the tent.

“Y/N!”

You spun around, the new memories and very familiar headache making you wince as you all but collided with Fred, suffocated instantly in his tight grasp.

“Merlin,” he sighed, his breath fanning against your cheek as you struggled to form a sentence. “Am I glad to see you.”

He pulled away, cupping your cheek with one hand whilst the other still held your waist gently. “You had me so worried.”

He didn’t need to tell you that; you could see it for yourself. His relief was slowly ironing out the deep crease between his brows and his eyes were shining with tears in the light of the moon.

“Pushing me out the way like that, what were you even thinking? Could’ve been killed. Merlin, you flew right through that tent, George had to hold me back, he did. If I wasn’t so bloody worried, I would’ve ripped that bastard to-“

“Fred, we really need to go,“ George insisted, his eyes drifting to you for a moment as he anxiously fiddled with the wand in his grip.

“Hang on a minute,” Fred said distractedly, turning to his brother for a moment as his fingers slotted behind your ears, cradling your face.

“Are you okay, love?”

You breathed for a second, only vaguely aware of the commotion still going on around you. Without another moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around Fred’s neck, holding him close and revelling in the familiar scent of his shampoo. You smiled as he relaxed in your hold, his chin digging into your shoulder.

“Guys-“ George said, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. Fred pulled away abruptly, his worried eyes scanning your face.

“Are you alright to apparate?” he asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.

You nodded.

“Let’s get the hell out of here then.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator @decadentwastelandtrash @loveisblindness @xinyourdreamsx @brainlesspasta @hariosborn @staringmoony @rexorangecouny @alittletoomanyobsessions @peachesandpinks @yuptha-tsme @obsessedwithrandomthings-blog @dreamer821 @iprobablyshipit91 @in-slytherin-we-trust @haphazardhufflepuff @princesof-theuniverse @whovianayesha @msmimimerton @extra-trash77 @potterverseimagine @my-own-mindpalace @sxrensxngwrites @damonwhitlock @susceptible-but-siriusexual @answer-the-sirens @thisismysketchbook @zhangixingxing1 @cedricscoffin @ccabian @amourtentiaa @ickle-ronniekins @harrysweasleys

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #imagine #writing

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st-kitten · 3 years

Text

Kinda Hot In Here, Innit?

Summary: Aokaga in the hot spring after a game.

Warning: Close to smut (if that's a thing).

Seirin High with their overly fatigued team and Touou High with their hotheaded champions found themselves sprawled in the hot springs after a nail-biting game, more, between the aces of each team. They'd thought that this kind of play only happened the first time when the anxiety of surpassing one's own limits was the most palpable. But, even after a friendly rematch (just to settle the grounds for once), neither of the teams had been able to break each other's spirits. What was anticipated to be a heated conclusion had ended with a nerve-racking tie.

'I can't believe this,' muttered Hyuga, crossing his arms swiftly, creating ripples in the water.

'Hate to agree with you,' said Imayoshi, his narrow eyes squinting ever more than usual.

'Will there ever be a conclusion?' asked Hyuga. No one answered.

'No conclusion, only concussion,' whispered Izuki, earning nothing but eye-rolls and hitched breaths from the men.

'Aomine was perfect as always, isn't that right?' remarked Imayoshi, a glare from Hyuga spiting him.

'Hn,' the bluenette hummed.

'What matters is that we had fun playing, right Kagami-kun?' asked Kuroko, turning toward the redhead leaning against the cool rocks of the spring, eyes closed. He had AirPods stuffed into his ears, his phone lying around on a deck, away from the water.

Kagami didn't say anything, so the team assumed he hadn't heard Kuroko or had dozed off. They resumed talking about the match and its peak points. Much to their disappointment, everyone was too exhausted to drag the conversation and decided to visit the sauna.

'Yes, sauna sounds good,' soughed Kiyoshi, massaging his aching back.

'I can't wait to get out of the water,' complained Imayoshi, getting up hastily and accidentally hitting Sakurai, gaining at least ten apologies at a go.

'Yes, the sauna we go, the better,' said Izuki, instantly getting kicked into the water by Hyuga.

Kuroko looked at Kagami, contemplating whether or not he should nudge his friend, but seeing him relaxed in the water changed his mind and he simply followed the rest of them.

Kagami could barely hear the ambient conversation over the music that played in his ears. No matter his ambitious play, at the end of the day, fatigue took over him and he succumbed to the ache latched onto his body. Somedays, he just wanted to lie in one place doing absolutely nothing. The hot water from the springs had seeped into his tired body, allowing him to let loose and forget about the next course of action. For now, he just wanted to unwind the rigidness in his body. Suddenly, he felt the steam hiss in his ears as one of his AirPods was yanked out. Assuming it fell in the water, Kagami jolted upright hands already in the water attempting to grasp it. He was startled to feel a presence tower him.

'What girly shit is this, bakagami?' He recognised the coarse voice instantly. His rival, his equal, Aomine Daiki stood in front of him, one hand on the waist and the other pressing the AirPod in his ears, the music echoing in both, Kagami and Aomine's ears.

'Tch... Give it back, bastard' grumbled Kagami.

'Don't tell me. You like Taylor Swift?' Kagami could hear the taunt in Aomine's voice.

'I- It's- That's on shuffle. Why do you care anyway?' Kagami replied.

'I don't.'

'Why're you here? Go with the others.'

'No.'

'What do you mean, "no"?'

'Exactly what you heard, bakagami. No.'

'Then go sit in the corner. Don't bother me.'

Aomine smirked at the redhead's remark. He'd seen Kagami's rudeness coming from a mile away.

'Sure,' he said, slowly stepping back and leaning on the deck, a couple of feet away from Kagami. He saw him tense, arms tightening to fight the tension he'd took on himself. The idiot plays too hard sometimes, thought Aomine. He'd long confessed to himself that Kagami was a miracle in making, but seeing him take the journey this hard made him want to smack the man into his place. He knew that the same road Aomine took won't guide Kagami up there, but taking things down a notch wouldn't harm him either.

'At least change the song, will you?' he commented.

Kagami's eyebrows quirked and angrily realising that Aomine still had an AirPod embedded in his ear, he grabbed his phone, pressing "next". The last thing he wanted was to be mocked for having a differing music taste by his "rival". He tossed his phone onto the deck and huffed, massaging his shoulder, which seemed to have gotten a cramp.

[cue Mine by Bazzi]

He watched Kagami struggle to release the strain in his shoulder rather comically. Kagami under the public eye was very perplexed and clumsy.

'Tch, you're only making it worse, baka,' he said, strolling toward Kagami, who rolled his eyes and continued to massacre his already exhausted shoulder.

'Turn around.'

'What?'

'Turn around,' said Aomine, twirling his finger in the air, signalling the redhead to do as directed.

Kagami gulped, trying to determine why he'd been asked to do so.

'Why?'

'I'm going to get rid of that stupid cramp in your shoulder. What else?' answered Aomine. His words hit Kagami like several hundred basketballs and he yelled, blushing, 'What the hell, Ahomine? I don't need y-'

Aomine interrupted his sentence by manhandling Kagami by his waist and spun him around. Kagami gripped the tall stone with his arms, trying not to slip and fall.

'What're you-'

'Shh...' Aomine's voice vibrating behind his ears made Kagami shudder a little. He had run out of excuses and timidly waited for Aomine to pull a trick or two. But, instead, he felt calloused hands press on his shoulders, kneading his shoulder blade tenderly, to his surprise. Kagami definitely was not expecting this.

'You play too hard, bakagami. Take it easy.' Aomine's voice shed the usual mischief and sounded more solemn, something Kagami hadn't heard from the ace who destroyed his opponents like squashing a grape with two fingers.

Kagami scoffed but didn't reply. He wasn't prepared to have that kind of conversation with Aomine. But, he did agree, Aomine's hands had a way to ease the pain in his shoulders and slowly release the knots packed in the muscle. He didn't know why he was enjoying this contact, in a hot spring, with only a pair of boxers on, and with a crowd of people right next to the water, who'd take any chance to tease him were they to see the scene. He soon felt comfortable and let his shoulders fold under Aomine's touch.

Aomine saw and felt him relax and smirked to himself. All Kagami needed was a little push. Or fifty of them. It was then when he finally noticed how well-built Kagami actually was. All those years of hefty practice and grit had served him well. He could feel the sculpted muscles play along with his massage. Kagami's arms, which were propped against the boulder looked even more humongous in the dim light at night. If he didn't know better, he'd also call it hot. Kagami... was hot. Aomine almost choked at his thoughts, but there was no use denying them. As if he wasn't massaging Kagami's nearly naked body by his own will and secretly liking the way he arched his back whenever Aomine ran his thumbs across the redhead's spine. It made him wonder how Kagami would react to being touched in other places.

He was answered rather graciously when Kagami half-sighed, half-moaned as Aomine kneaded a rather rigid spot. More than happy to continue, Aomine chuckled into his ear, 'Glad you're having a good time.'

'Sh-Shut up, bastard.'

'Or what?'

'Or th-' Kagami turned around, temporarily breaking contact with the bluenette, facing him. Aomine simply stretched his arms over Kagami's shoulders and locked his hands behind his neck.

'Yes?' His smirk grew wider at the sight of another blush creeping on Kagami's face.

'What's the big idea, bas-'

'Quite the idiot, aren't you?' Aomine stopped him mid-sentence, inching closer to him.

Kagami halted in his tracks, physically and mentally, feeling Aomine's scent trickling through his nose, dampening his senses. His gaze automatically lay upon Aomine's smirking lips. He licked his own lips reflexively, not knowing why. He was tempted to take a small risk, but like the idiot he was, he simply froze and stared at Aomine's mouth like a deer stuck in the headlights.

'Want to get a closer look?' Aomine whispered, moving as close as he could get without touching the redhead's mouth. He could feel Kagami quiver, goosebumps rising on the neck Aomine had locked his hands behind. Kagami had wanted to reject the boiling urge to slam his lips onto Aomine's, but he got beat to it as he felt soft lips peck his mouth. Like a vintage television snapping shut with monochrome static broadcasting itself, Kagami's mind exploded into pieces and before he could fathom what was happening, he felt Aomine press his lips slightly harder, locking onto Kagami's perfectly, obstructing any escape. Kagami surrendered to the kiss and let himself go with the flow. He kissed him back, and not wanting to stand there like a stick, held Aomine by his lean waist. He could feel the bluenette smirk even when he was engrossed in pecking his lips. Aomine slid his tongue against Kagami's teeth demanding entrance, which Kagami gladly provided. Their tongues waltzed together in sensual sync, eliciting swoons from the two men. Aomine held Kagami's neck, the other hand pushing him against the boulder, their torsos meeting. Aomine's slender front fit perfectly with Kagami's bulky build.

'Hngh,' Kagami groaned and snaked his hands up to the bluenette's locks, gripping his head, wanting to never let go.

Waste this night away with me, you're mine!

Like slippery dolphins, their bodies moved against each other in the water, their hips craving the to and fro a bit too much in their tightened boxers. They could feel themselves respond to the intimacy, but neither wanted to eject the carnal desires out of their minds yet. The gradation of intensity augmented and they kissed each other in a frenzy, bestowing sloppy, wet, and impatient kisses upon each other, hungrily tearing apart the veneer of reluctance.

Aomine was drowning in astonishment seeing Kagami's response and could only strike back stronger. He pressed Kagami once more, letting go of his warm lips and making his way to his neck, letting his animal instinct drive the momentum. Kagami felt himself look up naturally, leaving Aomine a playground to work on. His grip on Aomine's waist grew firmer. Feeling his neck getting sucked on by the alluring man he'd let approach him this way felt a thousand times better than he'd envisioned in the mere seconds of their contact. As a response, Kagami tugged at his hair a little too harshly, making him grunt and pull away. But it didn't last long as they both found their way back to each others' lips, tongues gliding against one another. Long gone were the hesitancy and the rivalry. Aomine and Kagami kissed each other with the same passion they'd played against each other with, which was perhaps, what made them accept each other this way. To the world, it hadn't been more than a few minutes, but to them, it had felt like languorous hours, their hearts beating rapidly, hands in a battle to hold the other tighter, and lips claiming each other their own.

Aomine pulled away, panting ever so slightly, a thread of warm saliva tying the two together. He dared to look at the redhead once and the look he saw in Kagami's eyes drove him wild within an instant. He looked at him with an appetite, a thirst that Aomine instantly recognised as his own. He felt the same, he thought. A tinge of happiness overpowered the sense of relief. Kagami too knew at the back of his mind, that he wasn't an idiot to have thought so.

The distant chatter of Seirin and Touou high dismantled their moment and they pulled away from each other, Aomine putting the AirPod back in Kagami's hands, the ones which had ravished him seconds ago. He climbed out of the spring, holding the thick towel near his waist, covering the blemish implanted by Kagami's fingers. He walked inside the changing room leaving a flustered redhead smiling like a high school girl, controlling the urge to squeal. Kagami let out the breath he'd been holding and shuddered as the crisp air hit his abdomen, getting up and heading toward the sauna to meet up with his team, clutching his phone tight, the song changing to the next.

Kuroko waved at him, not noticing his red cheeks and the fact that all his tension had disappeared. Touou's team burst into the streets, exiting the hot springs, engaging in yet another conversation. Their ace, however, walked behind the group, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, earphones blocking the loud chatter of his teammates, and Taylor Swift musically reminding him of a certain redhead.

The TS song in the fic is Long Live (Pirated Version cuz we're waiting for Speak Now TV).

#aokaga #aomine #daiki #kagami #taiga #seirin #touou academy #kuroko no basket #kuroko #tetsuya #hyuga #junpei #imayoshi #anime #yaoi #fanfic #new #netflix #basketball #gay #OTP

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miscellaneous-obsession · 3 years

Note

Story of any kind of Lady Dimitrescu x Reader but have Miranda in it?

Back to our usual schedule of fics, here is one that took a bit to write! I went with full on angst and fluff so you have been warned... and will be again like twice :)

Unending Nightmare

Warnings: Graphic violence, details of injury, blood and gore, general feeling of anxiety, panic, despair, Miranda being horrible as hell and not suitable for minors.

It seemed almost surreal to regain consciousness in the main hall, her body lounging on one of two settees that sat perfectly aligned to the table in between. Alcina's spine cried in anguish with an unnatural contortion, prompting amber eyes to flutter open, blinking comically in rapid succession to disperse the remnants of sleep that clouded her vision. Rising to a sitting position relieved the strain she experienced, with subsequent stretching of limbs resulting in audible pops.

As her gaze panned briefly across the room, everything appeared untouched, even lipstick-stained cups that sat atop of matching saucers, evidence of her impromptu afternoon tea shared with her wife. A smile saw her slackened jaw tighten with the memory, her mind reliving the moment vividly as she gracefully angled her legs as to touch the ground. However, the sole of one heel didn't make it, landing upon the novel still open to the bookmarked page in which it was discarded as she succumbed to sleep.

However, as the matriarch moved to collect the piece of literature, a piercing scream laced with agony carried through the endless corridors, starling Alcina from her reverie. A sound from such a distance shouldn't have been able to travel, nor should the crying wails and sobs that followed. A note of familiarity within the voice struck a chord in the countess as her mind sought an answer. All the while, fear began to steadily crawl along her spine, wrapping tight like a snake, slithering into her heart in an attempt of manifestation. Shakily she brought her hand to her lips, eyes widening as she recognised the perpetual weeping.

The safety the castle once afforded her dematerialised before her very eyes as fragments of reality appeared to settle into place. The pleading whimpers almost quietened into non-existence, much like the fire that began to dim. In what light remained, Alcina took note of the disorganised chaos that made itself known, how furniture had been shoved aside, vases broken in the wake of a predator, even the blood that marred the marble floor.

Instinctively her claws unsheathed, sensing the danger that posed as a threat to her family. However, as the matriarch took a step closer, intent on examining the trail of crimson destruction, she staggered backwards. The scent of iron in the air was unmistakable; a smell she was well acquainted with and often so enticed by became reclusive as it hit her olfactory receptors. Someone dared to touch... harm what was hers, somewhere in the place they called home, her wife lay injured.

Grappling with the panic and horror that strove to run rampant in her mind, Alcina frantically called aloud for her daughters. But even when beckoned, her solitude persisted; never once upon summoning had her girls elected to disobey or ignore. At last, the illusion of elegance and composure shattered, leaving the countess in what she deemed an unsavoury, feral state, desperate to find and protect what she claimed to be her own.

Alcina all but marched to the cellar growing increasingly fretful with every step she took as she was forced to strain her ears to catch sound of the almost silent, pained murmurs. Ignorant of her own wellbeing, she pursued her wife in heels with an unnaturally fast pace across the uneven, damp terrain, paid by a loss of stance on more than one occasion. Upon rounding the corner in what could be deemed a dishevelled appearance, the matriarch's heart stuttered, skipping a beat involuntarily at the lurid sight before her.

Laid on a mortuary table, gasping for breath, was her beloved, blood pooling beneath her quivering frame from a freshly inflicted incision site as her body seemingly rejected what was both forced and foreign. Once vivid blue irises were almost consumed by blacked pupils, a natural response to the accumulation of adrenaline created as unwavering pain gripped her body. Teeth had long pierced both tongue and lips, allowing more blood to bead in droplets to go unused and wasted, following gravity to the drain so conveniently in place on the stainless steel table.

The growl unleashed from Alcina's throat was unrivalled; her desire to cry out extinguished as she pried her gaze upward. Standing mere inches from her wife's side was Miranda, in a laboratory coat almost befitting of her former self. In hand was an empty jar, fluid swishing with the gentle jostles of the deities movements. A worn label, lacking adhesive, clung to the glass, almost faded to the human eye, but two letters confirmed the unthinkable.

"You've arrived in time, my dear; your pet's future is dependent on this very moment."

Unable to refute the truth in Miranda's words nor bring solace to her wife, she attempted the latter as it appeared the more achievable of the two. With claws retracted, unwilling to cause more harm, Alcina cradled her wilting wife's face as delicately she could muster. She blinked several times over the next minute, refusing to let the tears she felt building fall as she honed in on the ever slowing heartbeat. Hushed apologies and whispered declarations of love were shared, albeit one-sided, in some hope that her beloved heard.

Desperate for her wife to avoid an inevitable future as a mindless moroaicǎ, she continued to track her declining health, choosing to strike as the paled woman took her final breath as a human. Before the transformation could ensue, Alcina made the decision to end what would begin within the coming minutes. Her choice is emboldened upon catching Miranda's dismissive and callous opinion, "Another failure, unsurprising."

Just as her claws were sat poised to cut and render the moroaicǎ useless, her body jolted awake, sweat beading along her brow from the horrifyingly realistic dream her mind had conjured. Swiping a hand to remove what clung to her skin, her eyes blindly searched the room devoid of light. A shaky but relieved sigh slipped past her lips as her hand came to land on and subsequently caress the top of her wife's head.

As calming as one's breathing regulations could be, it didn't replace nor best physical contact with the woman she loved. With arms outstretched, she enveloped her wife, drawing her atop her chest, listening and attempting to match the rhythmic beat of her heart. During such extrication from her place under the covers, bleary eyes opened a fraction in confusion, head tilting to mirror jumbled thoughts.

"Alci?"

"Forgive me, dragă mea, go back to sleep."

Feeling the minute shake of a head, the countess peered down, acknowledging the look of concern that replaced serenity. A hand of supple skin rose to gently gloss over her cheeks, gathering what tears had fallen with the pull of gravity.

"What is troubling you so, beloved?"

Unable to recount most of the tale, Alcina spared her wife from gruesome details, summarising the dream to one line, "It appears my mind attempted to convince me I had lost you."

A contemplative hum resonated directly below her ear, the vibration of which tickled the countess' neck as her wife nestled comfortably in her hold. "Nothing in this world could part me from you; I love you too much to bear separation in this lifetime."

"And if we had no other choice?"

A tutting sound emerged in the dark, an almost dismissal of such a notion. "Then I'd have lived a life knowing I had a woman who loved me and three beautiful daughters to succeed me."

"Poetic... only divulging such a divine talent and way with words now. But I fear you forget that you were the one, with an open heart and mind, who reintroduced my capability to love another outside my darling girls, a trait I thought had been long lost to my mutation."

A keening whine of appreciation caught her ears, further emphasised as featherlight kisses were pressed along the expanse of exposed skin, her wife opting to include areas of her jaw within reach.

"It appears we were both lucky with the hand fate dealt us." After a beat of silence, a tired voice reiterated what had been murmured in the last moments before their slumber, "Te iubesc Cina... te iubesc."

Those wise words and impromptu reaffirmation soothed the ache left by the dream, eradicating the pain like a salve. With practised ease, the matriarch responded in kind, "Și eu te iubesc," before succumbing to the sleep her body so desperately craved.

-----------------------------------------

Both were jolted from sleep only hours later when the covers were unceremoniously pulled back and bodies pressed against them in urgency. Muffled giggles and quiet hushes saw eyes open, only to narrow imperceptibly in faux annoyance, prompting sheepish grins to spread across their daughter's lips. Half-hearted glares quickly faltered, softening into smiles, giving all three the go-ahead to bury their chilled frames in between and around the couple.

Following their lead, Bela too extricated her body, albeit with an audible whine, from beneath the covers. Soon the countess grew amused at the trio's antics as they pleaded with an array of tactics for her wife to join them for their morning routine. Reluctantly Alcina released her wife from her grasp, seeing her subsequently tugged out of bed by the girls. The four ran from the room as a game of tag began, allowing the matriarch to muse as she mapped the softened footfalls of her family throughout the wing in which they resided.

Without warning, her peace was disturbed by the shrill ring of the ornate rotary phone that sat in the adjoining room to her chambers. Donning a robe to retain some modicum of decency, Alcina took her place at her vanity, a tremor running through her hand as she picked up the receiver.

"Mother Miranda."

"Ah Alcina dear, I trust you aren't busy."

Before the matriarch had a chance to respond, Miranda continued on a tangent of her own, "Now, I called to discuss business regarding your wife; her repeated test results have revealed something rather... interesting."

From the moment that phrase was uttered with such an insinuating tone, Alcina could no longer focus. The countess' heart dropped and found herself wishing that the echoing laughter of her girls and beloved could remain forever constant in the castle walls.

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darter-blue · 3 years

Text

I'm afraid I have been talked into more of this fluffy nonsense. So I'll just leave this here for you all - and know that there are four more chapters to come.

Part one, two and three on tumblr - or read it on ao3 here

~~~~

Steve is being led through a sea of bodies by a smiling Bucky, a Bucky who keeps looking back at him over his shoulder, his eyes alight with warmth and laughter that Steve can almost taste.

It’s infectious.

He wants more.

He lets Bucky hold him tight, happy to be held and grounded by the touch. All of the noise, the sweat, the coloured lights, have him on edge, enough that he sighs with relief at the sight of the doors ahead of them.

His shoulders relax and his jaw unclenches as they move out into a more open area. Steve doesn’t question it when Bucky drags them further. He let’s Bucky take him wherever he wants to go. Steve is game. Steve is more excited about the next few hours than he has been about anything for the last few years.

That’s probably sadder than Steve has the capacity to think about right now.

So he doesn’t.

He pushes it to the back of his mind, where all his less than helpful thoughts are relegated, and he focuses instead on the softness of Bucky’s hand around his hand. On the way the waves in his hair bounce as he rushes across the casino floor.

He focuses on the way Bucky’s body moves so fluidly, so gracefully. Of the shape of his legs in his jeans, the denim is light and loose and well worn. Steve wonders about why he chose them, for comfort, for style, convenience? He wonders about the softness, the casualness of Bucky’s entire outfit. His shoes are scuffed, but the leather is a dark enough tan that they’ve been polished recently, his t-shirt is threadbare, his jeans are fraying at the hem.

He wonders how much of that is a choice and how much is because that is all Bucky can afford.

It reminds him of his life before the serum.

He shakes those thoughts away.

Steve watches the way Bucky takes care to steer clear of people, the way he apologises to the few that he has to weave past, the way he smiles at them, laughs at his own rushing feet.

Bucky radiates such a calm sort of comfort, even in his enthusiasm, even through the excitable nature of his hurry, that people seem eased by the very fact of his presence.

Steve is sure he could bask in the glow of it for years and never want to move.

He’s so busy contemplating what it might be like to have actual years to spend with Bucky, what sort of heaven that might be (whether his sins would even allow his access - no, no, push those thoughts away) he doesn’t realise they’ve slowed down until they manage to come to a stop.

And Bucky spins around, lets go of Steve’s hand, throws his arms in the air and cries, ‘Ta-da!’

Steve looks behind him, at the section of the casino that Bucky has led them too, a neon sign over the wide doorway that reads ‘Wedding Chapel’ and his heart skips a beat for the second time that night.

Thor’s Asgardian liquor has really done a number on him.

Or maybe it’s just Bucky.

‘Oh no,’ Bucky says, smile fading, arms falling, ‘do you hate it?’

Steve is still so shocked can barely move his head to shake it, but the look on Bucky’s face - the way his expression is drawing in on itself, into something unsure, into something upset - has Steve reaching out to grab both of Bucky’s hands in his own.

‘I don’t,’ he says, looking Bucky firmly in his beautiful steel blue eyes, ‘I absolutely do not.’

Bucky looks back up at Steve and raises an eyebrow. His lips lift at the corners in the beginnings of a grin.

Steve’s fingers itch for his pencils, to capture the perfect charm of it.

‘You absolutely do not hate it?’ Bucky asks, looking over at a small crowd of guests as they stumble out of the chapel, singing and drinking from colourful plastic bottles, dressed in matching t-shirts that say ‘Elvis said we do!’ and ‘Viva las Witness’.

Steve shakes his head and pulls Bucky closer.

‘You think… I mean it’s pretty crazy, right?’ Bucky says, biting his lip.

Steve does shake his head this time. Wants to chase away any further doubt from Bucky’s face. ‘I’ve never seen anything that made more sense.’

And Bucky’s eyes widen, his eyebrows rise. His smile is back in full force, lighting up his face in a way that clutches at something deep in Steve’s chest.

‘I don’t think you’re crazy, Bucky. I think you’re beautiful.’

Bucky ducks his head, but leans closer into Steve, pushes against Steve’s hands and lets his weight rest there.

Then he looks back up at Steve from under his dark lashes, a more lethal move than Steve has seen on any battlefield, ‘Do you think we’re like those particles?’

Steve isn’t sure at all what he means by that, and it must show on his face, because Bucky huffs a soft laugh, pushing further into the resistance of Steve’s hands as they hold him in place.

‘Quantum entanglement,’ Bucky says, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling and then back at Steve, ‘Like once upon a time, when we were all just particles, yours and mine, our particles, we vibrated in unison.’

Steve smiles at the sincerity with which Bucky is telling his story, but doesn’t interrupt.

‘That the matter that makes us who we are, it was all part of something bigger. Something vast. And that’s how we know each other?’

‘From when we were nothing but particles?’

‘We’re still nothing but particles.’

Steve laughs and rolls his eyes, exaggerates a flinch when Bucky lets go to swipe a backhanded slap at his bicep.

‘Sorry, you sound like a friend of mine,’ Steve says.

‘Well you must have smart friends, Steve-Steve Rogers.’

‘I do,’ Steve agrees, fondness creeping into his voice, ‘very smart. Tell me again, why are we like Quantum Entanglement?’

‘I think, way back when everything was just a dense collection of particles, that you and me, we, our particles, they danced together. And now they recognise each other.’

And Steve has to hold his breath at the truth of it.

Something inside of him recognises something inside of Bucky. It longs for him. It’s drawn to him.

He couldn’t think of any more perfect explanation than that they’re just pieces set adrift, coming back to the whole that they once were.

‘We should do it again,’ Steve says quietly, ‘Dance together.’

‘We already did,’ Bucky whispers back.

Steve shakes his head with a chuckle, ‘You are trouble, aren’t you Bucky Barnes.’

‘Good trouble?’ Bucky asks with that charming grin.

‘Very good trouble.’

‘The kind of trouble you want to keep?’

‘Forever,’ Steve says with no hesitation. ‘Forever.’

‘Then let's go,’ Bucky pulls back and shifts his weight, leans into the doors of the chapel to pull Steve with him.

‘Lets go.’ Steve says, and follows Bucky inside.

This is, without a doubt, the greatest night of Steve’s life.

It honestly never occurs to him to think otherwise.

#stucky #steve x bucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #my writing #accidental husbands #soulmates #bottom bucky #cap steve #shrunkyclunks

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septicace-writes · 3 years

Text

Loophole

Summary: Billy Lee is away on a trip and you’re needy. Mike helps out but you get caught. Billy Lee x reader, Mike (Hellraiser) x reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: sex, dub-con to be safe, slight degradation, voyeurism, cheating (kind of)

a/N: This has to be the most elaborate piece I’ve written so far. And it’s a rarepair but I hope people will still enjoy. And I’m just gonna tag @hope-to-hell because A) this obsession is your fault and b) I think you might enjoy this.

1.7k words

Billy Lee is a busy man. Sure, he's carved himself a life where he can do whatever he wants, more or less, but it comes at the cost of leading his people. And he doesn't call it a cult, they're more like a big family. And he's the head. Their chief. He's in charge and with that comes freedom; and responsibility. And time away from you.

But he wouldn't leave you all alone. No, not after you've tried to run more than once. Not after he's had to follow you across half the country to bring you back. So, he leaves you with his right-hand man.

Mike is young, tall, dark, wild curls on his head and icy blue eyes. He's all harsh angles and scars and his smile will freeze your blood. He had come to them beaten and bloodied and half dead and unable to speak, but even then, he fought and thrashed like a wild animal, or a rabid dog. So that’s what they called him. Dog.

He got better, wounds healing over, finding his voice again, and immediately challenged anyone's authority. He, quite physically, fought back against the nickname and now only the chief still occasionally uses it. It's a surprise Billy Lee didn't kick him out as soon as he was healed enough. The chief doesn't take kindly to challengers. But they had their one big fight, teeth and claws and knives, rolling through the mud and wrestling and then - he let Mike stay. Let him rise through the ranks. Put him to use keeping people in line, his personal attack dog. Nobody would dare call it that out loud, but he has a soft spot for the boy. It’s the only explanation for how Mike hasn’t lost his head yet for shamelessly staring at you every chance he gets. Billy Lee let him have his choice in partners, but you were the exception. Even Mike in his ruthlessness understood not to mess with that boundary, but it happened anyways.

And it so easily could've ended in a disaster - for you and even more so for Mike. Billy Lee had been gone for almost a week, leaving things in Mike's care; including you. You were under strict instruction not to leave your room, to let Mike know if you needed anything. And not to touch yourself. And you had been good. So good. And so fucking horny. With no idea when the chief would return you cracked.

Mike, please

You know I can't

Says who? He said I can't touch myself but you're not me. And he did say for you to take care of me.

It's not like you're not worried about it. You only trust Mike on the account that Billy Lee trusts him. His hungry eyes made you uncomfortable more than once. But you need and maybe this'll be enough of a loophole for Billy Lee to let it slide.

He gets you off on his fingers the first time, methodical, learning your body and doing his best not to derive his own pleasure from it. Then, again, later the same day.

The next day, you beg him to eat you out. Your hands tangled in his hair, pushing and pulling, wanton moans escaping your lips when

Get off her

Your heart rate spikes as your hands drop to your sides. You hadn't even heard the door open. Mike is scrambling off the bed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and standing at attention. This may be the most distraught you've seen him, but he's hiding it well even now. Except maybe for the bump in his trousers.

What the fuck is this?

And his voice is quiet, calm. And it scares you more than if he had yelled the words.

I- You did have your excuse ready to go but seeing the blond man stand looming over the bed, suddenly the words get stuck in your throat.

Chief- but Billy Lee cuts him off with a look.

No, no. She gets to explain.

For a moment you consider blaming Mike, but you do want to try your best to not bar him from further exploring this. From just these three times he had potential.

Billy Lee is still staring at you, waiting for an answer. When you go to sit up and cover yourself, he gives a single shake of his head. You've played this game before. He will stay silent and not let you move until you explain.

You said not to touch myself. Your voice is only slightly shaking. And I haven't. But I needed. Sir, I needed. And so I asked Mike to take care of me. You always say for him to take care of my needs when you're gone.

Billy Lee turns to Mike, who is still standing in the same position, not betraying just how fucked he thinks he is.

And what is the second half of that request, dog?

Tend to her needs but leave her wants and whims to you He recites almost automatically, the order drilled into him.

And do you think, Mike Billy Lee almost spits the name that my little dove wanting to come is a need or a want?

Need. You pipe up against your better judgement, unwilling to let Mike take the fall for your escapade.

I didn’t ask you, did I?

Want, chief Mike sounds a little sheepish, but he holds his head high and stands his ground.

So you agree that this is outside of your duties, dog? A nod from Mike.

And what are we gonna do about that

There are a few beats of tense silence

Well- You know there has to be punishment. Billy Lee starts pacing and you feel your whole body shake in anticipation.

For you he turns towards you, still unmoving on the bed. For you it’s easy. He runs a hand up the inside your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps. You get one more today and then you are not going to come for at least a week. His fingers deftly avoid your slick center and travel back down the other leg. And you will be on your best behaviour or I will dig out the cage again. All you can do is nod.

As for you, dog, you’re lucky I understand it’s difficult to resist a begging pretty little thing. And I do recognise that I may have left her unattended for too long. You’ll get a chance to prove yourself so listen closely. I want you to fuck her. Like she so desperately wants. Make her shake and cry and come. If you do a good job, maybe I’ll add this to your duties when I’m gone. And to prove that you understand the boundaries, you are not going to get off here, tonight. Are we understood?

And Mike- Mike who has been standing there stoically all this time, hiding just how scared he is that he’ll get kicked out. That Billy Lee was going to beat him to a pulp and leave him on a roadside somewhere. He wouldn’t say it, but he did like the family. And he even enjoyed having found his match in the chief. Knowing there was a person he had no power over. Though he’s not ready to admit that to himself. And anyways, none of this changes that he is elated at the chance he has been presented.

Billy Lee situates himself in his armchair, facing the bed. He lazily starts palming himself and gives an impatient nod to Mike when he still hasn’t moved. Better make it good. And that’s all it takes.

He gets back between your legs, picking up where he left off before the interruption, and from the first lick you are gone. Your hands automatically find their way back to his dark curls. He groans into your pussy and the vibrations make you moan.

I believe I said to fuck her. Billy Lee would sound almost unaffected to anyone else, but you know him better than that. You know he’s getting off on this just as much as you. And it makes you brave.

Please you whimper, pulling Mike’s hair. You lift his head and pull him in for a kiss, your own taste on his lips driving you on even further. His hands frantically shove off his trousers, letting himself get lost in the frenzy and – for a moment – forget that he ought to be careful. He gives himself a few quick strokes before prodding at your entrance. Your hands flying to his back and clawing into the muscle as he slowly breaches your hole.

Fuck. Please. I need-

But he keeps the first thrust slow, letting you adjust once he bottoms out. From the side you hear a deep, familiar groan. You look over and see Billy Lee, his cock out, stroking himself to the sight of you. And just that moment Mike starts moving in you, forcing your attention back to him. A devilish grin on his face he lowers his head to take one of your nipples between his lips. It’s a lick and a suck at first but then he simultaneously bites down and gives a harsh thrust into you, coaxing a yelp from your lips.

Your legs wrap around his hips, instinctively trying to keep him as deep in you as possible, while your nails scratch angry red lines into his back. Mike picks up his pace, seemingly getting faster with every sound he draws from you. He growls when you try to sneak a hand between your bodies. Pinning your arms above your head, he brings his own fingers to your clit and rubs. It takes a second for him to find a good rhythm, but then he can feel you clenching. There’s a coil rapidly tightening in your core and you buck your hips to meet his thrusts. The tension snaps and with a scream, your orgasm washes over you. Mike fucks you through the aftershocks, and as your head clears you sense just how much he is holding himself back, keeping to his orders. Your eyes shoot to the armchair, where Billy Lee is still stroking himself. His eyes blown black with lust.

With a hiss Mike pulls out, unfinished. He gives you a tight smile and looks over to the chief as well. The blonde gives him a nod Go get yourself sorted. We’ll talk tomorrow.

Mike hastily puts his trousers back on and rushes out as Billy Lee gets up and turns his attention to you again, cock still in hand.

My turn.

Part 2

#billy lee x reader #mike (hellraiser) x reader #billy lee smut #mike (hellraiser) smut #chris hemsworth smut #henry cavill smut #chris hemsworth fic #henry cavill fic #bad times at the el royale #2nd person

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onemoresomething · 3 years

Text

unchained melody

a matchablossom ghost au I GUESS

i partially blame @teaisolde for this

also on ao3

It was hypnotising, almost, the way the clay spun atop the wheel. Round, and around, yet somehow this structure, essentially made of merely dirt, and water, stood tall, barely wavering. Kaoru could make it into anything he wanted, if he focused hard enough; he could make it beautiful, and useful; something to be treasured.

He often found himself in his pottery studio at odd hours. When inspiration hit, or when a project was past due, or he was struggling to sleep.

Tonight was the latter.

He would dim the lights, keeping just enough directed towards the wheel so he could see what he was doing. Although, some nights it hardly mattered to him. Some nights, for Kaoru, the end product was not important. Some nights, he simply craved the feeling of wet clay moving beneath his fingers.

Like tonight.

A song that Kaoru recognised, despite not understanding the foreign lyrics, played softly over Carla’s speakers. He liked to have music playing while he worked, filling the empty corners of his studio. Somehow it felt like the melody was cursing through his body, travelling down his arms, his fingers, into his creation on the table. Each song made one of his pieces unique, endowing it with a story that Kaoru could never describe with words.

He marvelled at the way the pot he was currently shaping (or was it a vase, he couldn’t decide) was able to stand, narrower in the middle than it was on top. To the inexperienced eye, it must have looked as though it was about to topple right over. But as Kaoru delicately reached a hand through the mouth, moulding the curves with his skilled fingers, he could feel how perfectly balanced it was.

Kaoru heard a soft set of footsteps behind him. Despite his large build, Kojiro was surprisingly light on his feet. He always took care when entering Kaoru’s studio, especially when he was working, conscious not to distract him. Kaoru loved that about him.

A quick glance over his shoulder in Kojiro’s direction let the other man know that his presence was known, that he could relax. Speak.

“Love,” the deep voice from behind him said, still weary from sleep. “What are you doing up so late? It’s almost 3am, you know.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Kaoru replied. He could feel Kojiro’s gaze on him, watching him as he let his fingers slide down the side of the vase (it was a vase now, he had decided).

“Another nightmare?” Kojiro asked, slowly approaching, as if Kaoru were a frightened animal he was trying not to scare off.

“Mmm,” he hummed, casual in his response. Nightmares were a regular occurrence for Kaoru, not something he considered worth fussing over. He heard the light scraping of a stool on the concrete floor, and leaned back to kiss Kojiro chastely on the lips as the other settled in behind him, before returning back to his work. “Did the music wake you?”

“No,” Kojiro replied, keeping a little distance between them. “Rolling over to find my husband missing from our bed woke me,” he explained, and then added after a pause, “You could have woken me up.”

Kaoru just hummed another reply. He could feel the frustration exuding from his husband in hot waves - Kojiro hated when Kaoru didn’t let him take care of him.

“You notice Adam’s eyes at ‘S’ tonight? They were all over you,” Kojiro said, clearly an attempt to get a reaction out of him. But enough time had passed for Kaoru that the mention of their former friend no longer had the effect on him than it used to.

“What? Are you jealous?” Kaoru mocked, unable to hide the grin from his lips, receiving a cheeky poke to his ribs as punishment that made him jump in surprise. And then after a moment of thought, added, “He's not looking at me anymore. He doesn't see me at all.”

He sensed Kojiro stiffening behind him at those words. Perhaps his words sounded nostalgic, or full of regret to his husband. But that wasn’t really it. The only thing Kaoru regretted was how long he had let the memory of Adam reign over him. So to ease Kojiro’s mind, he added, with a smile in his voice, “Anyway, he's not my type.”

The stool scraped closer on the concrete, and then there was a large hand creeping around his waist, coming to rest firm and grounded on his stomach.

“Mmm? And what exactly is your type?” Kojiro asked, giving his belly a gentle squeeze. The man pulled himself closer, breath fanning out hot against the back of Kaoru’s neck, making him squirm. The unexpected movement caused Kaoru’s hands to shift, the action sending the pottery slightly off centre as it continued to rotate.

“Muscle-brained gorillas, apparently,” he answered, berating his husband with a playful slap to the wrist. But that didn’t seem to deter Kojiro, whose hands slid up Kaoru’s forearms, until they were hovered over his own. He could feel static electricity in the infinitesimal space between their skin, and suddenly he was torn between not wanting his creation to be destroyed, and wanting desperately to be touched.

“What are you doing?” Kaoru asked, even though they both knew it was a warning.

“I suddenly feel inspired,” Kojiro whispered against his skin.

It took just a moment for Kojiro to distract him, with a press of hot, wet lips to the back of his neck. The kiss sent shivers down Kaoru’s spine, and Kojiro was cunning enough to take the opportunity to close the space between their hands. Kaoru whined as the force of the movement sent his vase (no longer a vase, he supposed) toppling over, collapsing back into a clump of clay, just as he had started with.

“Clumsy gorilla,” he chided, but without any real anger.

“I hope it wasn’t a masterpiece,” Kojiro chuckled, against his skin. He shuffled even closer still, pressing his warm, solid, naked chest against Kaoru’s back.

“Not anymore, it isn’t,” he replied, and then wetting his hands, and entwining their fingers around the shapeless clump, added, “But you can help me fix it.”

He proceeded to guide Kojiro’s hands over the wet clay, instructing him to just “let the clay slide between your fingers,” until both their hands were covered and messy.

Kojiro was humming, deep in his throat, as their hands moved together, and he was pressed so close that Kaoru could feel the vibrations in his body. And his hands started roaming, up his forearms, over his wrists, tangling their fingers, and Kaoru had never imagined that his craft could be this intimate before.

Then there was another hot kiss placed against his neck, then another, and another, until Kaoru was squirming in his lover’s embrace, desperate for more. He turned his head, finally allowing Kojiro to capture his mouth, breathing him in.

It was hot, and wet, and messy. And there was clay everywhere, on everything, every inch of bare skin as Kojiro devoured him and groped him with his large, powerful hands. But Kaoru didn’t care, because that’s what they were. Their relationship was messy. They were dirt and water. And sometimes they toppled over. But sometimes they could be strong, and balanced, and beautiful.

Breaking away to breathe, Kaoru took in Kojiro’s flushed, handsome face, and thought to himself that if anything were to happen to his love, he really was not sure how he would ever survive it.

“I love you, Kojiro,” he said, bringing a clay covered hand up to rest against the other man’s cheek. And the other man smiled, so glorious and dazzling that Kaoru thought no other smile would ever compare with it, and simply replied:

“Ditto.”

#idk should i put this on ao3 #i don't think it's long enough #also i'm concerned at how quickly i wrote this #someone send help #matchablossom #matcha blossom #sk8 the infinity #sakurayashiki kaoru #kaoru sakurayashiki #kojiro nanjo #nanjo kojiro #joe x cherry blossom #joecherry #sk8 fanfic

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calmsweetcreature · 3 years

Text

Fraternizing

A/N: Here’s my first Mikey Fic!! Lemme know the kinds of fics you want to see for the boys and I’ll make a start, I’m thinking a Luke Fic next so lemme know!

Warnings: Angst/Smut/Fluff

Word count: 5.4K

The party was heaving with bodies everywhere and as I squeezed my way through to the kitchen a hand came down hard on my shoulder.

“It’s the little mouse, what are you doing here?” Johnny Macintosh was a real piece of work, he was one of the most well known frat guys on campus - namely for how he treated women and how much beer he could put away at parties. “Always thought you were too square for parties like this, did you get lost on the way to the library?” His words were a wet whisper against my ear that made me shiver with how uncomfortable I felt. I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and walked through the gyrating bodies towards the kitchen, until again a hand came down onto my shoulder and I spun around to give Johnny a piece of my mind only to be met with my roommate and best friend Julia.

“Hey Y/N I found you! You having fun?” her words were slurred, and as she raised a red plastic cup to her lips a body crashed into her from behind sending a cherry red drink all down my white top.

“Oh s-shit, Y/N I’m sorry!” Julia reaches for my top and I push her hand away. Her heart was always in the right place but Julia always took the phrase ‘let loose on the weekend’ a bit too seriously. She dragged me out most weekends but it was never long before she left with some guy, not to be seen again until the next day.

“It’s fine, just go and sit for a bit okay? I’ll come find you soon, I’ve got to try and clean this off before it dries!” I pushed my way through and into the kitchen, grabbing some paper towels and wetting them under the faucet, patting the red liquid stains off of my top.

“I bet you regret wearing white to a frat, don’t you?” A lazy drawl came from behind me and I clamped my eyes shut in frustration. Michael-fucking-Clifford.

Me and Michael had been butting heads ever since I had started college, he liked to tease me in everyway possible and I fucking hated him for it.

“You could say that, although I think I regret coming here at all now.” Your words came out more viciously then you had intended and a hand dropped on my shoulder to turn me around.

“Now now Kitten, don’t be like that.” His lips were pouting but there was a twinkle in his eyes that led on to just how mischievous he was being. My eyes narrowed as a growl left my throat at the term of endearment he had so graciously given to me. After hearing Johnny call me mouse for the longest time and listening to me verbally bite Johnny’s ear off every time, Michael had decided that this was no mouse but a Kitten with claws, which is the only thing he had called me since.

“What do you want Michael? I’m not in the mood today.” I keep scrubbing at my top, the cloth not removing the red drink stain but instead adding a large wet patch, making the top see through and revealing the pale pink lace bra underneath. Michael scowls, reaching behind me to grab a towel, patting the top dry.

“You do not want to walk around this house like that Y/N, not with the likes of Johnny here.” His eyes were dark, the dabbing motion of his hand getting slower until his hand is slowly dragging the towel over my chest, the side of his fingers trailing over the swell of my breasts.

“Mouse!” Johnny’s voice is carried from the other side of the room and Michael’s hand moves away so fast it’s like I burnt him.

“We’re starting truth or dare in the other room and I reserved you a seat!” He pushed his way through the kitchen, pushing freshman out of the way until he is stood directly in front of me.

“I’m not interested Johnny.” His eyes go to my top and a dark grin spreads over his face.

“Shame little mouse, I think everyone would like to see more of you.” His eyes linger on my chest for a moment before he saunters off into the crowd. The intensity of his gaze makes me almost fold into myself, and I stare at the ground, wishing it could swallow me up.

“Ignore that guy kitten, he’s a prick,” Michael’s words are hushed but I can hear the anger in them which makes my eyes meet his in the crowded room. It’s like the music and the chatter stops, the only hint of the pounding music is the floor vibrating under my feet. I blink, shaking my head.

“Like you, you mean?” He lets out a snarl at my words and throws the towel he’d been grasping at my chest.

“Go fuck yourself then Little Mouse” He sneers, walking away from me.

“Michael wait!” I call, following after him. I walk into the lounge to see a huge circle of people, Michael going and sitting across the room.

“Changed your mind then mouse? I saved you a spot next to me!” Johnny pats the floor next to him and I can’t help but sigh knowing that I didn’t really have a choice. I timidly sit myself next to Johnny and I can feel Michael’s eyes on me from across the circle.

I keep my eyes low on the floor, my arms across my chest to hide the still slight transparent patch on my top. The game begins and I soon realise this isn’t the same game that I remember from high school. The rules are that all truths must be answered or you must streak across campus but the forfeit for not completing dares were that you must do a double shot of vodka or a line of coke.I was not prepared to do any of those things so I knew I would have to be extra careful.

“Mikey, truth or dare?” One of the girls in the group asked him with a twinkle in her eye as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger. You didn’t want to judge another woman and label her a bimbo but you weren’t totally sure how she got into college - it definitely wasn’t through academic means, you knew that.

“Dare.” His eyes met the girls and she giggled, her eyes blazing from either alcohol or drugs - I couldn’t tell which.

“I dare you to take a body shot off of me.” Michael rolls his eyes but nods, clearly having had enough of this dumb game already. I couldn’t help but frown at the unsteady feeling in my stomach at the thought of watching Michael do something intimate with a random girl. The feeling intensifies when the girl strips off her top leaving her in a bra and skirt - causing all of the boys and a few of the girls in the circle to whoop and holler.

I stare as another girl wets a line leading between the valley between the breasts of the girl (you now knew to be called Lucy) and sprinkle salt across it before pouring a shots worth of tequila in her bellybutton, finishing with a wedge of lemon between Lucy’s teeth.Michael manoeuvres himself until he is leaning over the blonde, his eyes catching mine as his tongue slides across her skin, the eye contact not stopping as he sucks the tequila from her belly button and not even as his mouth hovers over hers to suck up the lemon. There was a darkness in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore and as much as I didn’t always like the man, a shiver was running through my body that was setting me alight.

He sits up throwing the leftover lemon across the room. “I fucking hate tequila.”

Lucy leans up, looking after Michael longingly, “Hey Mich-”

He cuts her off, sitting back in his spot in the circle. “Put your fucking shirt on Lucy.”

A hurt look crosses the girls face and she grabs her clothes, leaving the room.

“Fucking savage bro, you going after her? She’d probably follow you to bed easy” Johnny asks Michael, who shakes his head before taking a long swig of his beer.

A slew of truths and dares go around the group, from being asked to pretend butt-dial parents and fake sex noises to chugging a bottle of ketchup. I was about ready to stand up and leave the game when Johnny pointedly stares at me, pointing in my direction.

“Mouse, truth or dare?” His grin is sickening and I close my eyes, dreading what was to come. Before I can open my mouth to answer he interrupts me. “You’re taking too long, you get a dare.”

“Johnny that’s not fair, I-” He cuts me off again.

“New rule little mouse, dare it is.” Chuckles go around the room and I cringe a little, suddenly realising how much of the group is made up of Johnny’s minions. From the corner of my eye I see Michael roll his eyes and that makes me sit up straighter, thinking that he’s judging me for being a whimp.

“Fine, bring it.” I falsify confidence, hoping no one can recognise the nerves on my face. I’m not supposed to be here, I’m the quiet girl who doesn’t spend time in frats - this game being one of the reasons why.

Johnny strokes his face as if thinking before he smirks, leaning back against the couch he is sat in front of.

“You have to sit on my lap. And kiss me.” All of the guys in the circle crack up apart from Michael who pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. The girls glare at me jealousy and I stare at Johnny incredulously.

“Johnny what the fuck?” I stare at him in shock and he grins, a sly laugh leaving his lips.

“I could always cut you a line princess. Your choice.” I stare at the ground, sighing before moving, sitting on Johnny’s lap as close to his knees as I can get without falling off him.

“You didn’t say how long for so thirty seconds is your limit.” I keep my words pointed and he rolls his eyes but nods nonetheless.

The group cheers as he puts his hand on the back of my head, pulling me in and kissing me. Now - as much as I didn’t like the guy, I had to admit he could kiss. His tongue slides across my bottom lip and I don’t let him in, that is until he pinches the skin of my thigh and I gasp, his tongue entering my mouth and wrestling with my own.I count to thirty in my head before I move my head back, but his hand clasps my head and keeps me in place as his other hand goes to the bottom of my back, pushing me further into his lap. I put my hands on his chest and push but to no avail, I breathe deeply through my nose pushing against him as hard as I can.

While most of his friends start laughing I can hear some of his friends calling his name.

“Johnny man, it’s time.”

“Uh dude you should probably stop now.”

“Get your hands the fuck off her Coleman.” I can hear Michael’s voice over the rest and I push with both hands at Johnny’s chest. His hands move to my shirt as he pulls away breathing heavy. I hear a ripping noise before I feel myself getting pulled off of his lap as I’m pushed behind a tall body. I look down at my ripped shirt, my lace bra out in the open, I push my front against the tall boy in front of me that I now realise is Michael as I catch my breath.

“Awh Mouse I was enjoying that.” Johnny wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why’d you ruin my fun Clifford, want a taste?”

Michael tenses in front of me and I put a hand on his back, stroking my thumb until I feel his body relax slightly. I couldn’t even tell what the dynamic was between us in this moment but all I knew was I felt safe behind him.

“No man, I'm good.” Johnny smirks at his words but the smile drops from his lips when Michael utters “I like my women when they’re willing.”

Johnny stands up, his chest puffing out. “Fuck you man. Hey mouse, don’t panic - you’re a shit kisser anyway, thought your tits would make up for it but they’re shit too.”

Michael takes a step forward and I put an arm around his waist, “Michael leave it, please.”

He stills, his arm resting on top of mine before he growls under his breath, turning to leave the room with me trailing behind him.

“Michael it’s fine, I’ll just go back to my room.” He leads me up the stairs, his hand holding mine as we walk through the house.

“Y/N there is no way in hell you’re walking back through campus with that rip in your shirt. I’m getting you another shirt and then I’ll walk you back.” He pulls you through a door with a ‘KEEP OUT’ sign across the front, you bite your lip as you take in the decor. Black bedding adorns the bed, a grey rug on the floor with a wall of guitars and band posters everywhere.

“Nice room.” You murmur, picking up a photo from a cabinet and observing the picture where Michael has his arms around three other guys.

“That’s my best friends - Ash, Cal and Luke. We’re in a band together.” He turns and rummages through a drawer by his bed, looking for a shirt. I run a finger over the photo, tracing over Michael’s grin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that,” I whisper, thinking about how most of mine and Michael’s conversations had been little bickers.I smile at the photo of the grinning man, laughing with his friends. The darkly dressed, scowling man you’d come to know looked so different.

“Why would you, it’s hard to give you a smile when you’re irritating me all of the damn time.” I turn to look at him when a black ball of fabric hits me in the face. I stumble back, hitting my head on the door and sliding until I’m sat on the floor. A yelp leaves my throat at the sudden fall, but the sound is muffled by the tee.

“Shit!” I pull the shirt from my face to see Michael kneeling in front of me, a concerned look on his face. “Y/N, I didn’t mean for that to happen, are you okay?” His hand goes to the back of my head, and while the touch makes me flinch, I know there’s no lasting damage.

“I’ll probably have a sore head tomorrow but yeah I’m fine.” I laugh softly at the worry on his face and he rolls his eyes, his hand not moving from the back of my head.

I look at the tee and back to Michael. “Liberty’s? You work there?” The dive bar just off of campus was not a place you frequented often, but most of your friends did - if not for the live music then for the rowdy atmosphere that was sure to get your blood pumping.

“Yeah, it’s where my band plays most of the time - I DJ sometimes and Luke and Cal who are in that photo you were drooling over work the bar most night and Ash works the door.” I blush at his words as he stands up, walking over to a mini fridge in the corner and grabbing two beers.

“I was not drooling, don’t be a jackass.” I change into the tee, it swallows me and becomes kind of like a dress on my figure. I grab one of the beers and sit on the edge of his bed awkwardly. “Thanks for the beer?” My words trail off into a question as I look at him, trying to figure out what is going on in this boy’s mind.

“One for the road. That fucking dick downstairs made my buzz disappear.” My fingers play with the hem of the t-shirt, trying to muster up the courage to say what I needed to.

“T-thank you. For what you did downstairs.” I keep my eyes low, not sure whether to say anything more.

“Don’t mention it, you shouldn’t have fucking joined that game, Johnny is a messed up dude who sees you as fruit ripe for the picking.” Michael’s words get angry and I can’t help but watch as he clenches his hand into a fist on his leg before taking a long drink.

“And what do you see me as?” Embarrassment floods through me as I hear a twinge of hope in my words. It’s only now that I’m sitting so close to him that I realise how bright his eyes are, how the stubble on his chin makes him look older then he is and I can’t help but internally shiver as I imagine that stubble grazing my neck.

“I did see you as an annoying spoiled brat who always wanted her own way. I saw you as rude, bitchy and irritating.” His words hurt and it must have been the drink making me that little bit more sensitive because I could feel tears filling my eyes at his words.

I nod softly, setting my beer on the floor. “Don’t worry about walking me back, I’ll be okay.”

I stand from the bed, walking towards the door. I knew that we had always bickered but there was a part of that felt like it was just part of the way we spoke to each other, it was never that I genuinely didn’t like him, but he obviously didn’t feel the same.

“Y/N wait.” I could hear him call after me but I didn’t want to hear more reasons why he didn’t like me. I flew open the door and stepped back out into the booming noise of the party. There were bodies everywhere and the beer was making me feel hazy as a hand clasp my wrist.

“Michael, I-” The room starts spinning when I see Johnny looking down at me, sneering.

“Where’ve you been Mouse? You left me high and dry in front of my boys.” He shakes his head, pushing me against the nearest wall, his arm resting above my head as he towers over my small frame. “You can make it up to me though,”

“No Johnny I was just going home, it was part of the game.” I fake confidence but my voice cracks slightly.

He presses against me, one hand trailing up of Michael’s tshirt, pushing it up slightly. “Awh c’mon Y/N, don’t be so frigid.” His mouth starts lowering towards mine and I turn my head away.

“Johnny, no.” I push against his chest and he tenses, pushing further into me as his mouth connects with my neck. I let out a small cry and push against him more, when suddenly his body is pulled off me and lands with a thud on the floor, another person led over him as punches are thrown at his face.

“She said no. Take no for a fucking answer you fucking creep.” I stand pressed against the wall, my chest heaving as I watch Michael pummel Johnny into the ground.

“Michael get off of him! Mate stop!” Two of the frat boys shout before they come and pull Michael away, leaving Johnny groaning on the floor holding his nose.

I unfreeze as Johnny stands unsteadily, pointing towards me.

“You’ve got fucking problems with this chick man, last week you fucking hated her and now what? You’re defending her honour?” Johnny spits out his words, blood flying from his split lip as he walks towards Michael. “You can fucking have her, she’s a frigid bitch anyway.” He pushes past Michael towards his room, some of his minions following after him.

Michael walks over to you slowly, your eyes on the bloodied knuckles of his hands. He reaches for my hand and I flinch slightly. His eyes get a hurt look in them and goes to move his hand away when I clasp it in mine, gripping it tightly but being careful not to hurt his hand. We look at each other for a moment, silent words passing through our eyes.

“Come back to my room for a minute, please? I just want to talk.” His words are low but pleading and I nod softly. It’s only when he turns that we notice all of the eyes on us. I blush, following after Michael as he drags me softly towards his room, locking the door behind him.

“That’s not to keep you in by the way, you can leave whenever. I just want to keep those assholes out.” I nod softly, holding myself as Michael moves to sit on his bed. “Y/N, kitten, please sit down.” Michael had always used that name to tease me but there was a softness in his words that warmed my heart.

“Firstly you need to know that Johnny won’t bother you again. He’s pretty coked up now but I’ll let him know tomorrow that if he even looks at you that a broken nose, split lip and black eye are the least of his worries.” His fingers move to my chin making me look in his eyes. The intense gaze he was giving me was sending butterflies to my stomach.

“Secondly what I said to you before was a dick move but you need to know that I said those things in the past tense, because I don’t see you that way anymore and I don’t think I ever really did. Fuck Y/N I don’t know.” He lifts his cap, running a hand through his messy hair before putting the cap back on and rubbing his eyes, groaning.

“And what that fucker said was a lie because I’ve never fucking hated you.” He stares into my eyes and I know he’s telling the truth.

One of his hands cups my cheek, and I hold my breath in fear of scaring him off. His forehead presses against mine and I can feel his breath against my lips.

“Have you ever hated me?” His words are hushed and I blush at how close our mouths are.

“Oh there’s been times where I’ve definitely hated you.” Michael smirks, a dark laugh leaving his lips before they’re pushed against mine and suddenly everything disappears. Just his kiss was sending a thousand volts through my body and it was suddenly like I couldn’t get close enough to him. Our faces moved against each other as our tongues wrestled. His hands gripped my face as mine clenched his shirt. We pull away for air and a small whimper leaves my throat. We both sit in silence, breathing in unison.

“Michael… could I stay here? I don’t want to be alone.” His eyes widen at my words and his mouth drops open playfully.

“Y/N how forward of you!” I blush and slap him on the chest.

“Not like that! I just want to talk to you, we’ve never just talked.” For the first real time since I’ve known him, Michael smiles - really smiles and puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest. He feels warm and in his arms I feel safe, almost like I don’t want to leave.

“I’d like that, Kitten.”

We both climb into the bed in our clothes, talking about anything and everything from Michael’s favourite music and where I grew up. I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep but all I knew was that just before I did I felt Michael kiss my forehead.

***

The light shone through the window, casting over the dark room and highlighting the arm around my waist. Somewhere through the night we had pressed up against each other and our legs were tangled as Michael spooned me. The T-shirt I was in had ridden up to my waist, Michael’s arm hot against my skin. I blinked slowly, letting myself wake up peacefully and my eyes adjust to the small amount of light in the room. I take time to remember everything that had happened at the party, left with the knowledge that Michael really does care about me and had saved me from Johnny’s ways.

I shift slightly in the bed, becoming aware of one of Michael’s hands resting on the skin of my thigh and I stretch out my back only to accidentally press my backside against his hips. His arm wraps tighter around me and his fingers spread out across my stomach. Somewhere during the night I had shed my skirt and was dressed only in his long t-shirt. I bite my lip trying not to laugh out loud and wiggle against him again. His fingers dig into my hips and I feel his face nuzzle into the back of my head.

“Kitten. Quit it.” But something bold awakens in me and I continue the movement, circling my hips back and revelling in how tight he holds me close in reaction.

“Y/N.” His voice is a growl of warning but there’s something electric about our bodies being so close. I know I’m pushing my luck but feeling his body react to me gives me all kinds of confidence.

His fingers trace the edge of my underwear and I shiver, fully rocking my ass back against his hardening dick.

“You feeling needy this morning? What happened to just talking?” His words blow hot breaths against my ear and I let out a breathy moan as his hand searches lazily over the lace of my panties, searching for my clit. He knows he’s found it when I let out a short gasp, and chuckles darkly.

“You need something?” His hand leaves my body and travels up towards my jaw, tilting my face up so that his lips are pressed against my ear. His grip is forceful but not painful and the dominance in his movements makes me whimper quietly.

“I just want to feel good Mikey.”

He groans in my ear and leans back from me, his hand on my hip.

“Turn around, please?” I shift my body until I’m facing him and he pulls me even closer, hooking my thigh over his hip until he is pressed up against me, grinding directly against my heat. I rock against him slowly, his half awake eyes and lazy grin making him look so fucking hot that I can’t help the whine that leaves my lips. I lean forward, brushing my lips softly against his.

He leans his head closer to mine to fully press his lips against my own but I pull back. He smirks and waits for me to lean forward before trying again but I pull my head away again, teasing him.

His hand goes to my ass and smacks down, pulling me into him and kissing me forcefully. I giggle against his lips and wrap my free arm around his neck, kissing him with everything I have. Michael rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, kiss hands pushing down on my backside and grinding up so I can feel every inch of his hardness.

“Kitten you’re going to make me nut right here if you’re not careful, looking so fucking beautiful in my clothes.” I sit up until I’m straddling him, blushing at his words.

“Are you going to go back to not liking me after this?” I take each of his hands in mine, entwining our fingers as I rock my hips forward at a steady pace. “Because i’m not that kind of girl, Clifford.” My tone is teasing and he pulls me down until I’m laying flat on his chest and kisses me deeply, murmuring against my lips.

“I have a funny feeling things aren’t going to be the same again Kitten.” He pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. “Look I’m DJing tonight and my band might play a set. Come and watch us? We can grab food after and see what happens?”

I rest my arms on either side of his head, “I’d like that.” Our lips meet again and I feel myself falling sideways as he rolls us over so that he’s on top of me.

“I want to make you feel good.” His words are whispered against my neck and he kisses down to where my neck and shoulder meets, biting down. I arch against his chest, pulling him closer. Our hips move against each other again, rocking to create as much friction as possible. I could feel how thick he was against my lace covered core and it made me want skin to skin contact - as much as I can get.

I wrap my legs around his waist and push my hips up but I feel his teeth graze my neck before biting down and I yelp out quietly.

“Don’t think for a second that you’re in control here Y/N.” One of his fingers slide under the lace of my underwear and starts tracing figure eights around my clit. I gasp out, my eyes sliding shut as his bulge continues to grind against me, sensations flowing through my body.

“You want to know something Kitten? Eyes on me.” I meet his intense stare, his free hand gripping my hip to steady my movements. His fingers speed up their movements and my eyes start to glaze over as little pants leave my mouth.

“Everytime we used to have our little spats I’d imagine putting my hand on the back of your head and shutting you up with my mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing up your words. I imagined what that bratty mouth would feel like, what you’d taste like. Whether you’d kiss like a princess or a dirty girl.”

His words caused my whole body to shiver, heat rising through my body and making my head spin.

“You going to find out or keep it to your imagination?” My words come out whinier then intended but I get the exact reaction I wanted as Michael growls under his breath and forces his lips against mine roughly, his tongue sliding across my bottom lip before sucking my tongue and biting down.

His hand pushes the rest of our clothes out of his way before hiking one of my thighs high against the bed and slowly pushing into me. I arch my back against him, panting softly as I start to feel oh so full.

“Fucking beautiful.” His words are whispered between us and our eyes connect as he pulls out softly before pushing all the way in. It’s delicious and hot and we both groan and the feeling. Every negative word passed between us melts away and all that is left is two people connecting in the closest of ways.

Our hips rock together, both of us searching for our highs, the small grunts and gasps filling the space between us our eyes staying locked on each other.

Michael’s forehead presses against mine as he grips my hand and pushes it against the mattress.

“Mikey.. I… I” my words are gasped out and Michael presses his lips against mine. “You close baby?” He presses his lips against my neck and sucks harshly, pressing deep inside and grinding his hips and my head spins. Something bursts deep inside me and I throw my head back, a silent scream leaving my mouth.

“Oh fuck, so tight…” A groan leaves Mikey’s lips and he pulls out, releasing over my stomach. A giggle leaves my lips as he flops down next to me with a sheepish grin. He reaches for his shirt, cleaning me up softly.

“You going to let me call you Kitten from now on?” His hand strokes the side of my face and I muzzle into it.

“Only if I can call you my puppy dog?” His face scrunches up and he frowns and me playfully.

“Fuck right off.” His words are harsh but the glint in his eyes is warmer then it’s ever been.

“Woof woof,” I tease before a screaming laugh leaves my lips as he rolls back on top of me, his lips travelling to my stomach as he blows raspberries and tickles me.

I don’t know how long we led there but all I knew was I could spend forever lost between these sheets.

🎆

Let me know what you think!❤️

#5sos #5sos smut #ashton irwin #calum hood #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin smut #luke hemmings #luke hemmings smut #michael clifford #michael clifford smut #5SOS imagine #5SOS AU #5SOS fic

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