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sunflowergyeomie · 3 years

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can you handle it?

sypnosis: jeonghan is a real pain in the ass, we all know that. he always seems to get you to do things you never agreed on doing, you try not to fall for them though. what if one day you accidentally fall into his trap and give in, without knowing at all?

pairing: yoon jeonghan x gn!reader (vagina bearing)

genre: established relationship, fashion design student!au, architect!au, smut (18+ only)

word count: 2.9k

warnings: profanity, m!dom, degradation, lots of cum play, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, pet names, size kink?? if you squint

a/n: bcos the irl girl version of jeonghan (aka my devil angel twin) @shuajeong told me "there aren't any fics of jeonghan lately", thus ✨this is written purely for you and your pain 😘 i have to say though, this isn't my best work :( i kept going back and forth and i rewrote and changed things at least three times so 😖😖 (i'm lowkey done with it so i'm sorry i tried, i really did) please forgive me.

Challenge?

Oh, it’s a challenge, alright.

Annoyed is what it is, lips pressed tightly together as you sink in the indescribable feeling. That’s what was currently happening seeing how there is a huge load of cum in your panties – an ignorant aftermath of your quickie with Jeonghan this morning before he drove you to class.

He even had the nerve to question how long you could stay like that for the entire day. You took that as him asking for a challenge and having been with you for a while now, Jeonghan knew you were never one to back down from them. Having basked in the afterglow of sex sure made you think anything was possible – or more accurately speaking his dick just made you dumb.

Now that it’s almost noon, you’re absolutely starting to regret the choice you’ve made, especially when you’re sitting halfway through your second lecture for the day, simply feeling that load threatening to spill out from the cotton panel, onto your inner thighs and slowly ooze down your legs.

Multiple calls of your name put a halt to your thoughts. A hand waves across your face while your eyes focus and refocus as the silhouettes come into sight. Your friends, Mingyu and Minghao are both staring at you, confusion etched across their faces, anticipating an answer from a question one of them probably asked. But in all honesty, you couldn’t recall the subject matter, nor did you give a shit about their issues because your main concern at this time is to get the hell out of there. “Oh, huh? Oh yes, sorry, yes, I’ll absolutely do that.”

A little laugh escapes from Mingyu’s lips while Minghao frowns. “I said.. What are you thinking about?” Mingyu asks, “You have a weird look on your face.”

“Are you not feeling well?” Minghao chimes in. “We can take n-“

“I’m fine, guys. Just a little tired,” You brush off, not wanting to go too deep into whatever you were currently feeling. It’s not that the guys weren’t close to you. In fact, they grew to be one of the closest ever since freshman year when all three of you showed up in the same pattern drafting class, wary looks on everybody’s faces in a new environment. Since the fashion department itself is small with only a few hundred students enrolled, it also meant that classes were taken with familiar faces, rarely is there a fashion student you haven’t seen before. Not to mention you were always being grouped in numerous projects and that’s how the three of you came to be. Both of them knew of your relationship with Jeonghan, of course, but there’s just some things that are better off left unsaid even if they are your best friends.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the both of them stealing glances at you every now and then. Even though they didn’t buy your excuse, Mingyu and Minghao knew better than not to bug you about it so throughout the whole three-hour lecture, you could just sense their concern emanating off their bodies. Adding on to your growing anxiety, making you more on edge, terrified that at any moment they would catch a glimpse of whatever dirty secret you were holding in – quite literally. Pulling out your phone, you quickly sent a text.

[12:03 PM]

you: I can’t take this anymore.

hannie: what’s wrong, princess?

You groaned, exasperation coating your breath. Was he playing dumb?

you: you know what I mean, han.

hannie: and what about it?

hannie: if I recall correctly, weren’t you the one who practically begged me to cum inside of you? Was just doing what you asked me to, princess :)

Scoffing in disbelief, you ignore his message, tossing the device straight into your bag, now furious at yourself for agreeing to it.

Stupid dick.

You weren’t even that horny this morning.

The cement walkways on campus greet the three of you as you step through the warm breeze. The sun shining through every leaf on the tall oak trees above you signal the firsts of many beautiful days now that summer is just around the corner. The bright weather is a big contrast to your dampening mood as your feet slowly drag along the blocks, leaving a gap between you and your friends while you try to keep up. You weren’t too keen on walking too fast right now. One wrong shift and you could be at risk of having Jeonghan’s gooey, semi-translucent, and not-so-warm release pooling down from underneath your mound. The two paid no attention to you though, they’re happily chatting about lunch options and the next possible location for studying afterwards. Not that you were going to join them anyways, not until you get the mess in between your legs situated.

“How about donkkaseu?” Mingyu turns around to ask, head whipping back mid-sentence to look at you, only to turn around and see that you’re already gone. His head turns left and right, trying to find you in the crowd of students, squinting his eyes for even a glimpse of your backpack but you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where’d she go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Minghao gives him a pointed look. “Jeonghan.” He says bluntly.

Jeonghan works downtown, a full hour away from your university. He was a busy man, well-equipped with knowledge and never failed to take pride in his work, no matter what it was. Your boyfriend was a well-wanted individual – not only with people who desperately wanted to be in his inner circle but also in his field of work with the numerous clients fighting for a slot in his schedule. Jeonghan has never-ending project proposals, spending most of his hours reviewing alterations and redevelopments on his building designs – a perfectionist, you often say or an obsession as others might call it. Knowing how serious his job was to him, you made sure not to meddle in with his profession, seeing how much it irritated him whenever he couldn’t concentrate, but this time was different – and you couldn’t hold yourself back from making the journey. You bow as you greet the secretary at the front desk. She takes one look up from her screen and already knows who you’re here for, immediately telling you of your boyfriend’s whereabouts while you nod back in thankfulness.

Pushing the heavy doors to Jeonghan’s office, the first thing you notice were his eyebrows deeply furrowed upon his face, a definite telltale to the attentiveness of the task in front of him. A few coworkers were surrounding him, each hovered over what seemed to be like another one of his drawing plans. At the click of the doorknob, Jeonghan’s head perked up when he saw you enter. A smile threatens to pull at his lips, but he bites them to prevent the joy from appearing. He’s been waiting for you all day. Having expected you to cave in earlier so he could have an excuse to take a long break. The current deal he was working on was getting to his head even though he’s gone over it a couple times already. He just needs a reset, a breather of some sort, … a release. Jeonghan fakes innocence however when he asks why you’re here. Simultaneously, his brain has already got his fingers wrapped around the string – pulling once, twice, three times, officially starting the internal mischievousness in him. A devious idea accelerating right before your very own eyes.

You furiously start making your way towards him, hair flying in all directions, nostrils flared in annoyance, your cheeks flamed red from built-up anger since the early morning you got to school, and the wrinkle between your eyebrows. You were a hot-tempered mess, you knew that but god, all he could think about was how beautiful you look. The way your eyes are rounded with the curvature of your nose bridge, adding on to the natural tint to your soft lips. Your lips that pout ever so slightly whenever you want something, your lips that taste like a mixture of yourself and that artificial strawberry-flavoured chapstick you apply every morning, your lips he so badly wants to feel against his own.

Your voice cuts through, interrupting his trance. “Excuse me, can I speak to you privately for one second?”

“Of course.” Jeonghan grins, dropping the pen as his hands start pushing his body up from the plush chair, quickly dismissing his staff with a wave of the hand. They take a hint as one by one, each of them starts leaving. He stands up, arms already going around your waist to pull you close, “Hi baby, how was your day?” He asks, head tilting as his hands are already reaching up to run his fingers through your hair.

You open your mouth to spew words, anger bubbling in letters as they boil up to the back of your throat but all of which dies down when the fire is turned off. Blocked off after the door is shut behind the last person when his demeanour takes a turn and switches a whole 180 degrees. His plan finally comes into action as his acting skills gear up. Licking his lips, his hands drop as he takes a step closer to you, hovering over your tiny figure. He’s finally got you where he wanted you in the first place. His eyes peer down from the lenses of his wired glasses, “Don’t you know better than not to interrupt me while I’m working?” He pauses. “What do you think my staff will think if you’re here for too long?” The back of his fingers gently trails down your face, almost feather-like as you try to press your face against his palm, leaning more into his touch.

“Guess you couldn’t keep it in, huh? I always knew you were a little slut.” Jeonghan tsked, “Was my cock not enough that you needed a second filling? It’s only been a few hours, darling.”

He starts walking back to his desk, hands going into his pockets as he leans against the edge. It shouldn’t have intimidated you, the way his eyes bore into yours but you gulped anyways, a feeling of excitement stirring in your lower abdomen as you clenched around nothing. You opened your mouth to retaliate, only for it to be shaped like what seems like a silent ‘o’. One of his eyebrows raise, a silent gesture for you to come.

Out of habit, your legs start moving obediently on their own until they reach the fronts of Jeonghan’s dress shoes. Tracing the outline of his long, toned legs hidden underneath the carob brown material of his trousers, you couldn’t help catching onto the small details of the garment. The modern leg-lines seamed in to elongate his legs, waistband wrapped around his torso showcasing his slim but strong build, the button with its holes as imaginary eyes and a crossed thread disguised as lips silently screaming ‘open me, open me!’.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to tear your eyes away from his lower half to look at him. “I thought you came here to say something, but I can practically see the drool coming out of your pretty little mouth, staring at my cock.”

“I-“, He spins you around, positions changed now that you’re the one leaning against the desk. Jeonghan dives his head to capture your lips with his. You’re taken by surprise as a gasp escapes from your mouth while he takes that as a chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your bottom lip; full of need and desire, desperate to let out his frustrations. All your effort is focused on keeping up, molding your mouths together. Your anger is now replaced with lust. His hands are moving down to grip your ass.

Your breath hitches when his lips start trailing down your jaw, gently nibbling the soft skin on your neck before travelling down the valley of your breasts. He doesn’t bother trying to take off your top, opting to unbutton the first few, just enough to expose your lacy bra. Slipping underneath one cup to carefully knead your honey soft skin before latching his mouth onto your nipple, sucking gently but firmly. You whine as he hoists you up and places you on the surface, his face never detaching from your soft and full chest as he quickly pulls your pants off, leaving you in just your soaked panties.

“Maybe it was a good idea to leave my cum in you,” Jeonghan’s fingers hook onto the waistband. He smirks before pulling them down completely, stopping mid-thigh. “Easier to prepare.”

A trail of your slick follows as his digits spread your pussy, using his middle finger to slowly drag up your wet slit. His other hand is gripping your thigh when he reaches down in between, scooping the leftover cum from the previous session and forcing it back into your pussy. You watch with wide eyes only to have them roll back completely when he finishes by stuffing them all the way into you, resulting in a loud moan.

“P-please”

Jeonghan chuckles, satisfied by your reaction. He had you beckoning at his every move yet you were sure the satisfaction still wasn’t enough for him, not just yet. He pulls his fingers out to strip himself of his own pants, popping his member out. The hand with the fingers that were just inside of you is now rubbing all over his cock, using the little beads of precum along with a bit of your slick to pump himself.

Jeonghan’s cock is pretty, like the boy himself. He’s not too big or too small but he knows his angles and he knows how to use them right. Every time the two of you get intimate, which is quite often, his thrusts are sharp, clean and reach to the most inner parts of you – something that leaves soreness inside of you for days. But that doesn’t seem to matter whenever the two of you are having hot and steamy sex five days out of the seven weekly.

“You better stay fucking quiet.”

One hand is gripping your waist for extra support while the other is slowly guiding his length into you. The growl in his voice sends another wave of arousal between your legs, the wetness starting to spill and gather down your thighs. His eyes diverted down to pay attention to the way his length was disappearing inside of you. Each stroke covering his manhood with even more of your juices.

“F-ffuck, baby.” He curses under his breath. “You’re still so tight.”

His voice was breathy, almost like a whine before he picks up his speed, splitting your folds with a sloppy rhythm, expecting to chase both your highs before his coworkers come barging back in. Although the thought of getting caught in such a compromising position arouses him, Jeonghan couldn’t risk letting anyone seeing you in your most vulnerable state. Not when you have all the right curves, exclusive only for his viewing.

At some point, his hands start pulling you into him to meet his every thrust, your tits bouncing as you start feeling the delicious new angle he’s ruining you from. The tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix with every stretch. The familiar feeling of tension starts to build as your eyes squeeze tighter, your orgasm is approaching faster and faster. You’ve never wanted to scream his name out loud so badly when he slams once, no, twice into you, releasing the coil sending intensifying waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. Your tight heat clenching and unclenching around him causing Jeonghan to groan, “Shit.”

“Cum in me.” You insisted weakly. He gives in as he presses himself balls deep, cock twitching as he unloads inside of you, cum shooting in spurts coating your walls in white. The groan emerging from the back of his throat muffled as he quickly smashes his lips onto yours to conceal it. Your muscles move on your own, hiding your own whimper as your lips move together in unison. His body slumps over yours while he rests his head against your shoulder, pressing a light kiss as a way to say thank you.

In the intimacy of the moment, your arms are thrown around his broad shoulders, subconsciously pulling him closer as the two of you try to catch your breaths. When he lifts his head up, his doll eyes are already staring into your glossy ones. A tender smile spreading across his face, pecking your lips one more time before he slowly pulls out. Straight away, the emptiness is evident as his warmth disappears, your hole gaping while he looks down to appreciate the work done on your ruined pussy.

You feel your panties being pulled back up, now snug on your hips as he lets go of the elastic waistband to hear it snap back on your skin.

“Guess you have two loads to keep in now.” A devilish look covering every inch of his handsome face.

“Jeonghan!” you lunged at him. He cackles maniacally, successfully dodging while you attempt to jump on his back. The blood in your veins starts boiling again, both hands reaching up to cover your face when you realize your mistake for the second time today.

Jeonghan’s dick really did make you dumb.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan smut #jeonghan imagine #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan one shot #jeonghan one shots #svt jeonghan

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lonely-lost-soul · 3 years

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Under the Floorboards Part XI:

(Technoblade x reader) First Part / Previous Part

Shimmering lights sparkled above you, your dress was a deep scarlet that billowed around your feet like a halo. The corset around your waist felt tight as you leaned backward spreading your arms wide like you were asking for a hug from the universe itself. The ballroom was vast and empty, only soft music could be heard behind you, soft violins, and harps. You took in the warm lights above you, your diamond wedding ring shone brilliantly off the candles as you began to hum. Blood covered your masquerade mask, neck, and hands, a bloody sword laid by your feet, long since falling out of your hands. Hands traced the curvature of your figure and soft lips landed on the juncture of where your neck met your shoulder blade. A smile came across your lips as you breathed lightly, “Billiam.” His hands traced soft circles on your hips, the butler watched from afar, his brown hair covering his glowing red eyes. Karl watched in mild terror as Sir. Billiam whispered something in his wife’s ear, your grin only served to widen till your cheeks hurt, you brought your hand up to cup his cheek. Your eyes met with Karl’s and he took a few steps back, he couldn’t believe that all this time it was the mild-mannered wife, in the ballroom with the sword who killed the party. Sir. Billiam kicked the sword up and caught it in his hands, you leaned against your lover's chest as he held the sword against your throat, red rubies trailed down your neck in droplets. The violins picked up in a loud roaring crescendo, “Praise be the egg,” you whispered as he sliced your neck wide open swallowing your mouth in a kiss.

“Praise be the egg, my dear.”

You woke up in a cold sweat, it clung to you like a second skin as you sat up. Your hands came to cover your neck where it had been cut in your dream...nightmare? You couldn’t quite place a name on it, Aether and Technoblade both stirred beside you. Technoblade sat up on his forearms and turned his head to face you, you were breathing heavily. He watched as you brought your wrist up to your line of sight, three tally marks were etched into the skin, your jaw dropped onto the floor.

Technoblade reached over Aether to snatch your wrist and get a good look at the marks, three cannon lives. You had three, he gaped at you

You were intertwined in the twisted workings of the Smp, DreamXD had smiled upon you and your household.

“Is it supposed to be itchy?” You asked while you carried Aether upstairs trying to ignore the buzzing underneath your skin, Technoblade frowned at his wife, a mixed feeling churning in his gut. On one hand, he was relieved you had more than just one life, but on another hand now that you’ve caught the eye of DreamXD...you’d never be free to live a peaceful life. “Cause it’s really itchy,” You whined while sitting Aether down on top of Steve so you could scratch at your wrist.

“I don’t remember. I think mine was,” Technoblade gently removed your nails from your skin. “Don’t scratch at it, all you’ll do is irritate the skin, I’ll grab some ointment.”

“Thanks, Tech,” You kissed the corner of his lips and he smiled weakly at you, for that was all he could do in his current state of turmoil. He opened up the first aid kit and came back over to your place in the kitchen. Aether was sitting on the countertop lightly nibbling on a muffin. Technoblade stood beside you as he picked up your hand, he pressed a feather-light kiss to your new lifeline before he gently rubbed the hydrocortisone on your irritated wrists.

“Better?”

“Much,” You sighed in relief gazing at the lines with mild interest. Technoblade wanted to draw you away from whatever you were thinking,

“I got a letter from BadBoyHalo.” Technoblade piped up grabbing a pot of coffee, “He wants to meet up with the both of us, I have a feeling it has something to do with the egg.”

“Egg?”

“You’ll see.” He groaned, “I have a feeling he’s going to show up sometime today. I’ll bring Steve as a backup just in case,” Technoblade sighed watching you glance over at Aether, eyebrows furrowing together. You looked back over at him,

“We can’t let him know about Aether.”

“He won’t.” You let out a breath of relief and kissed the top of Aether’s head, he smiled up at you and made a happy sound. “We’ll keep him safe under the floorboards if he can keep quiet he’ll be okay.” Technoblade ruffled the top of Aether’s head with his hand, “You’re a good kid right?” Aether nodded his head rapidly not wanting to let Technoblade down, “Thanks, kid.” Technoblade caught your fond smile and flushed a light pink, “what?”

“You’re attached.” You hummed wrapping your arms around his waist, he grumbled under his breath and pushed you off, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” He sighed as knocking sounded on your cabin door. “Go hide Aether, I’ll distract BadBoyHalo.” You nodded picking Aether up into your arms and kissing the top of his head, Technoblade opened the door an eyebrow cocked. “New outfit?”

BadBoyHalo smiled a wide smile at the blade, his new black and white robes billowed from behind him as he stepped into Technoblade’s abode. “Yes! You noticed, do you like it?” He chirped fondly stepping back a little as Steve bared his teeth. “Is that a polar bear?”

“He’s Steve. It’s (Y/n)’s and I’s emotional support polar bear, he’s a good boy. He’s very good at following commands, he’s a great attack bear.” Technoblade tossed a fish Steve’s way and he caught it in his mouth tearing it to shreds in a matter of moments. BadBoyHalo’s nose scrunched up in distaste,

“That’s...um nice.” He cleared his throat before clapping his hands together, “where is your lovely wife?” He tilted his head to the side smiling a tight-lipped smile.

“She’s finishing up getting dressed. She’ll be back here in a second, slept in,” Technoblade waved the demon man off. Steve’s nub of a tail began to wag as you climbed back up the ladder, “Here she is now.”

“Hello! I’m Bad it’s very nice to formally meet you, Mrs. Blade!” Bad grinned reaching out to shake your hand, you took with a smile.

“Pleasure, and (Y/n)’s just fine. I’m more than just Technoblade’s eye candy.” You winked teasingly at the tall man who looked shocked,

“I never meant to assume-”

“You’re fine.” You reassured, “I was only teasing it’s no problem.” You smiled warmly as Steve nudged your elbow, “Hi big guy!” You cooed kissing all over the bear’s fur, he rumbled deep in his chest. Bad looked shocked at the bear’s complete compliance to your affections, “So! Where are we off to today?” You hummed as Technoblade pulled you close to his side, eyeing Bad suspiciously.

“I just have someone I want to introduce you to is all.” Bad hummed fondly, “I want to see what you think of it, I think all of you will get along great.” He praised his close friend fondly, and you smiled,

“We’d love to meet them, we can bring Steve right?” You looked up at Technoblade innocently,

“I’m not sure if that’s-”

“Obviously.” Technoblade scoffed called Steve over to him, he walked over with a gruff huff as Technoblade placed a lead on him. “Okay, we’re all ready when you are,” Technoblade nodded as BadBoyHalo blinked in mild shock,

“Um...okay!” He cleared his throat, “follow me then I suppose!” He headed outside the home and as you all left Technoblade caught sight of Ranboo. The halfling was holding a grass block in his hands and Techno motioned for him to follow. As the group of you made your way into the hole that was once L’manburg, Bad talked and talked about how wondrous his friend was, and how excited they were to meet the both of them. The entire way there Technoblade would destroy these red vines while urging you not to touch them, you were confused but listened without argument.

Even though you listened without argument, you couldn’t help but be drawn to touch them, they seemed to be whispering to you softly, wanting you near. You pushed the thoughts to the side, trying to block out those whispers, however, it was much more difficult than you anticipated. Your mind drifted wondering if this is how Technoblade felt daily, you understood him a little bit better at that moment. The raspy voices called Sir. Billiam’s name, the name meant nothing to you but made your head pound and your heart hurt painfully. You jolted feeling a hand grasp your shoulder, you were met with the concerned face of Technoblade. Unbeknownst to you, you all arrived at Bad’s friend’s hideaway, “You alright?” Technoblade whispered into your ear,

“I...Yes.” You responded as Technoblade squeezed your shoulder once again, he wished he could’ve brought Steve in with him to comfort you. “I’m alright Tech, we shouldn’t keep Bad waiting.” You entered the red room with your husband following close behind you, your eyes widened in horror seeing the entire room coated in thick red vines. There in the far right corner sat a giant pulsating egg, the voices grew louder urging you to reach out and simply touch the vines.

“Don’t touch them,” Technoblade told you almost like he could read your thoughts, the demon scoffed at Technoblade’s protectiveness. Bad crossed his arms in front of his chest but didn’t argue. The Blade picked you up in his arms just to be extra safe and carried you over to the egg, before gently resting you on the solid cobblestone floor. Your stomach churned with anxiety as Bad smiled brightly motioning to the egg, introducing you and Technonlade to his so-called friend. You were barely paying attention to what BadBoyHalo was saying, a voice entered your mind, it poked at the sides of your brain, trying to find any available crevice to slip into.

‘Lady (Y/n) I haven’t seen you in decades.’ It purred in your mind stealing your breath away, ‘You’re just as beautiful as I remember you being, and still married to a descendent of Sir. Billiam I see. Not even death could keep the two of you apart.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You thought pupils shrinking, ‘Who’s Billiam? Who are you?’

‘I go by many names the one most familiar to me is The Egg. I can grant and honor your deepest desires, my dear, I see all. I know all. I can help you get what you want most in the entire world.’

‘Oh do you?’ You mentally scoffed, ‘Jokes on you I don’t even know my own desires.’

‘Don’t you wish for Tommy to come back to you? For everyone on the SMP to be at peace. For the children not to suffer, to raise Aether in a safe environment free from government and its posion? Have other children with your husband, raise them well?’ You felt your cheeks turn bright red at the thought,

‘How did you-’

‘I know all my child.’

“Princess?” Technoblade grumbled beside you, pulling you against his side, “Keep your focus on me alright.” His eyes narrowed at an innocent-looking Bad, “What are you trying to do to her?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Bad hummed drumming his fingers gently against the egg, “She’s talking to the egg! It’s offering her the world just like it’s going to do for you! It only wants to help.”

“We don’t need anything else, especially not from some overgrown chicken egg. We’re fine.” Technoblade snarled at the demon and the egg the voices were demanding blood and the egg’s promises were drowned out by the voices. He was getting a migraine as his patience ran thin, Bad looked a little nervous at the way Technoblade’s teeth grit against one another.

“Techno…” You whispered quietly leaning against his side, You tried to reassure him but the way the voices urged for blood didn’t sit well with him, especially now that Bad had caught sight of Ranboo as well. Technoblade didn’t want to be forced to choose between Ranboo or you, he’d avoid that scenario at all costs.

“Just stay by me and don’t touch the egg or anything.”

“But-” Technoblade shot you a stern look, worry flickering across his face, he didn’t like that but, not at all. “It’s not all bad…”

“WHAT!” All four of them shouted, wait four? When did Captain Puffy get here? The only one overjoyed was Bad as he clasped your hands within his own.

“I’m so excited to hear that!” He exclaimed pulling you away from Techno who bared his teeth at the demon. “Come closer, you just have to touch it!”

“Oh fuck that!” Puffy snapped shooting an arrow right in between you and Bad, distracting you just enough so that Technoblade could snatch you back in his arm. “Bad you can’t just use the egg to manipulate people to join your side! Especially not (Y/n)!”

“Language!” Bad scolded the pirate his eyes narrowing, “I’m- We’re-” He motioned to the egg, “Aren’t manipulating anyone! The egg showed her something she desired, something she needs, and that it can help her get!”

Technoblade’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, red seeping into the corners of your eyes. He couldn’t imagine what you might want enough that he couldn’t give to you. A selfish part of him was hurt that he couldn’t provide enough, couldn’t make you happy enough so that’d you’d listen to an omlette. Still, he wasn’t just going to hand you over, he gripped you tighter,

“Look just, just give me one more chance to convince both of you!” Bad gushed, “All of you, follow me. You too little spy.” Bad pointed a claw-like finger at Ranboo who shrunk in on himself. He stepped over the vines motioning for all of you to follow, reluctantly you all did so, Puffy put a hand on your shoulder while Technoblade hovered close.

“You alright girly?” Puffy whispered to you, the red was still swimming in the corners of your eyes. “You can get through this okay?”

“I’m alright Puffy. I just have a killer headache.” You spoke with a strained smile, “Everythings just all muddled, I keep seeing flashes of...someone who looks like me in a striking red gown. I just…” You groaned rubbing your eyes causing Technoblade to turn to look over at you, you sent him a weak smile back. He growled under his breath, not mad at you just mad at Bad, he knew that you were hearing voices. He knew how difficult that was from personal experience you just needed to hang on a little bit longer, then you both could sleep the day away with Steve and Aether. When Bad brought all of you to the other egg-like structure he wanted to run his sword through Bad’s chest, fuck not bringing Steve along.

Bad tried to argue against the bear coming into the meeting area, he simply vetoed that by simply ignoring the demon man’s protests. Ranboo was silently hovering around you, everyone seemed to be on high alert as their nerves increased. Even in your delirious state, your hand interlocked with Ranboo’s claws giving it a reassuring squeeze,

“It’ll be alright Ranboo,” You reassured as Bad smiled at the both of you, “Trust me. If anything goes wrong Techno will protect us.” From behind you Technoblade’s shoulders relaxed considerably, he knew he would protect you, for now, that was enough for him. Bad went on and on about the egg, sliding in a few casual threats about Ranboo and even (Y/n). Technoblade was desperately trying to keep it together, the voices roared for blood after all no one threatens (Y/n) and one of his only friends. He watched as Bad gripped both the shoulders of his wife and Ranboo, a sinister smile on his face.

“After all Techno, it would be a crying shame if something happened to Ranboo and (Y/n) wouldn’t it?”

Technoblade’s pupils turned into slits as steam exited his nose, he grit his teeth. “Don’t touch them,” He hissed viciously even Puffy who was beside The Blade pulled out her sword. Technoblade decided to follow her lead and just as Technoblade pulled out his sword, the floor below you and Ranboo gave out. You let out a startled yelp as you grabbed onto Ranboo, as you fell, you held him to your chest you wouldn’t let him get hurt. As your head make contact with the stone ground you were out like a light.

An elegant figure stepped out of the large master bedroom, her hair pulled back, her slippered feet padding against the hardwood floors. Moonlight shone in through the large windows illuminating your features, you stepped out onto the balcony where your husband stood. A glass of whiskey in his hand, he twirled it absentmindedly, his loose pajama pants sat low on his hips. Your arms wrapped around his waist and rested your chin on his shoulder, he tensed only briefly before relaxing in your arms.

“Beautiful night Billiam.” You responded casually pressing a kiss to the side of his neck,

“Can’t sleep my dear one?” He asked, voice rich much like the taste of honey, as Billiam reached up and brushed his thumb against his wife’s cheek.

“I could say the same thing to you,” You shot back with a sad smile as he clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. “Are you at all worried about the masquerade tomorrow?” You asked softly as he turned around to face you, he grabbed your hands brushing his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Are you?” Billiam asked tenderly as you looked away in shame, “It’s alright if you are. You don’t do this often, but the egg is pleased that you want to take part.” Billiam’s eyes flashed a deep scarlet, but the love in his eyes was still the same.

“I know and I’m honored.” You exclaimed passionately, holding your hands to your heart, your own eyes were a deep red color. “I want to help the egg grow and thrive!” Billiam smiled fondly and kissed your lips softly,

“I know you do. So relax, the masquerade will go off without a hitch. All you need to do is follow the butler’s and my lead.” You nodded obediently a tired smile on your lips, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Come with me?”

“Of course,” Billiam gave an elegant bow, taking your hand within your own and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to your knuckles. You giggled sweetly before placing a hand on your lower back leading you back to the bedroom. The both of you slipped into the satin bedsheets and fell asleep side by side. As the morning rolled around, Ranbutler woke the both of you up and requested you both got ready earlier than expected. Billiam waved him off as the both of you getting ready for the masquerade ball he was throwing that evening. You slipped on your deep red dress, there was a slit up the leg and a low cut neckline. You had diamonds adorning your ears and a neck, your high heels were also littered in silver sparkles that almost made you the same height as your husband. A crow-like mask was chosen as your main accessory for the ball, “You look gorgeous.” Billiam spoke from behind you, his fingers trailing down the slope of your neck you smiled shyly, “almost ethereal.”

“Thank you, my love.” You turned to face him, you couldn’t deny he looked pretty dapper in a suit himself. “You clean up rather nicely too,” You giggled flattening out his lapel and pulling him close to press a kiss to his lips. He hummed against them before pulling away,

“I have to check on the preparations for tonight, wait for me?”

“Always.” Your husband walked out of the room whispering something to his loyal butler who nodded, Ranbutler looked over to you and you sent him a small smile. He gave you a little bow and you shushed him softly allowing him to rise to his feet. “Checking on the egg I presume?” You smiled as the butler gave a stern nod, both your eyes flashed a deep scarlet, a loud knock was heard on the front door of the mansion. “Someone’s early,” You pursed your lips heading out of the room, heels clicking against the floor, the butler following behind you. As you stood at the top of the steps, you saw your husband talking to what you assumed was an early guest to your masquerade. He was handsome, brown hair curling all over the place, odd goggles adorned the top of his head. Your husband immediately called him poor and you had to hide your laugh behind your hand. You stepped down the steps hand gently touching the golden railing,

“Billiam, my love, don’t be rude.” He turned to face you just as the guest’s eyes widened,

“(Y/n)?”

“Oh? Have we met?” You titled your head to the side with a fond smile,

“No. You just...you look like an old friend.” He cleared his throat holding out his hand, “My name is Karl.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” You took his hand as he pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, Billiam let out a soft grumble of displeasure.

“He’s a youtube streamer.”

“No way!” You gasp in awe taking Karl’s hands, “That’s wonderful you have to tell us all about it!” You gushed fondly as Billiam placed a gentle hand on your back, his mouth moved in the shape of your name but you heard nothing in your ears. Your brow furrowed as you saw your name again, suddenly you felt like you were drowning, people shouting your name. Your eyes snapped open as you took a deep breath in, you were being pulled from the water. Hair stuck to your forehead as you coughed, water dripping down your head. You recognized a shape wrap you up in a tight hug, they were saying something but everything was muddled.

“Billiam?” You croaked out and the figure pulled away raising an eyebrow, they cupped your cheek tenderly,

“Heh? Who? Princess, it’s Techno.”

‘Techno? Who was Techno? Your husband!’ You sat up taking in a gulping breath, your eyes turning back to their normal (e/c) color and not the sudden scarlet. You looked around, Ranboo was shuffling in the corner holding a grass block, Puffy was beside him a gentle hand on his back. You looked around and you seemed to be in some sort of stark white church, a bell was in the corner and purple stained glass windows littered the walls.

“Where are we? What happened?”

Techno ran his fingers through your wet hair detangling it, “You were briefly corrupted by the egg. But Puffy knew how to snap you out of it.”

“You didn’t kill Bad did you?”

Technoblade grumbled under his breath, “I wanted to.”

“I wouldn’t let him.” Ranboo murmured, “You’d be upset.”

“I would’ve been,” You licked your lips nervously as you heard Technoblade grumble behind you.

“He would’ve deserved it,” You hit him lightly as he rested his chin on top of your head, “What? He would’ve, the Egg hurt you and that Egg is his best friend. Therefore you getting hurt is his fault so I will spill his blood.” Technoblade hissed, “And we’ll make an omelette out of that fucking egg.” He snarled looked up at Puffy who sent him a nod and a smile,

“I’m glad to know you’re on our side in this Techno,” Puffy smiled kneeling to sit beside you, “You too (Y/n).”

“Obviously.” You said swiftly, trying to cover up any hesitance that slipped into your tone, while the egg’s corruption was washed from your mind, his promises still held tight. “Sorry...I just have a killer migraine.”

“That’s completely normal, make sure she gets some bed rest,” Puffy told your husband handing him a little bottle of the holy water. “If she’s starting to slip, this will help,” She reassured and you smiled at her gratefully. “You’ll be back to normal in no time cutie,” Puffy beamed kissing the top of your head fondly.

“Thanks, Captian.” You praised and she hummed,

“Anything for you,” Puffy hummed standing back up to her feet, “I know first hand how scary the egg and its power can be. Living far away will help, try not to bring her back here for a while.”

“I won’t.” Technoblade nodded picking you up in his arms, you nuzzled against his neck and closed your eyes tightly. He squeezed you tightly, “don’t scare me like Jesus you’re a liability.”

“I’m sorry, trouble just seems to follow me around.” You spoke softly, sneaking a little peek at the lives on your wrist. You still had all three,

Good. You weren’t going to let some egg take one of them, not again.

The woman in red appeared once more in your mind and the man who looked suspiciously like your husband, beside her. He spun her around and dipped her, before pressing a passionate kiss to her lips. As they stood up they both disappeared into an array of golden sparkles, you opened your eyes and Technoblade was staring down at you. He looked concerned, his sharp red eyes peering into your soul. Technoblade led Ranboo and Steve back to your shared property, you were halfway asleep by the time all of you stepped into the gates.

“We need to talk about what happened.” He murmured to you as Ranboo and Steve hovered around nervously. “Alone preferably!” Technoblade cleared his throat, Ranboo jumped up smacking his head on the doorframe, and nodded,

"I'm glad you're okay (Y/n). Genuinely,"

He said smiling sadly before slipping out of the house. Steve huffed out a snort and made his way down to Aether, to entertain him while the adults talked. You rubbed your eyes and sat down on the couch by the fireplace, trying to warm yourself up. Technoblade slipped off his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders to keep you warm while you talked. “What did the egg promise you?”

You looked ashamed, ears turning pink, lying was something you and Technoblade never did. There was a mutual trust earned and respected and you weren’t going to betray that trust, “That it could end all the pain everyone’s been experiencing. That it could help the children finally be at peace and get the freedom they deserved, that we wouldn’t have to worry about people hunting us down. That we could raise Aether and be a family together without worry.” Your voice was soft, refusing to meet Technoblade’s eyes.

“Do you think I can’t protect you both? Is that really what you think?”

“That’s not fair Techno! That’s not what I mean!” You looked up at him and he didn’t look happy, “I just want everyone to be at peace here! Kids shouldn’t be suffering or put on pedestals! I know you’re perfectly capable of protecting us. What if we have more kids? Will Dream eventually get to them too?”

“I’d never let anyone touch them, you know that.” He hissed eyes narrowing, “You need an omlette to promise you protection? Don’t argue, because you slipped under its control, you did. So some part of you agreed.” Your mouth snapped shut at Technoblade’s words, your eyes narrowed and you refused to look at him. “Why am I incapable of keeping you safe?” His true feelings bubbled to the surface, you heard the slight crack in his voice. You looked back up at him, his hands were balled into fists, your furrowed brow unraveled. You reached out and took his fist in your hand, you gently rubbed the fist as it slowly relaxed in your hand. “I love you, and I’m failing you.”

“You’re not failing me,” You said softly “Not once have you failed me. You saved me from Dream, you saved me from the egg today, hell you saved me in general. I’m your wife and I’ll always love you.” He gave your hand a tight squeeze, “I just wish everyone would feel as protected as I do with you.” You admitted quietly, “even though Tommy betrayed us...He’s still a kid you know? I can’t help but feel guilty, I could’ve done better.”

“You couldn’t have. You’re not his mother.” Technoblade scoffed, “I’ll be the first to remind you about how stubborn he is, stubborn and loyal. If there’s anyone he’s always going to stick to it's Tubbo, even if we showed him kindness.” He watched you nod his head before he leaned forward to plant a kiss on your forehead. He watched your brow furrow as Steve lumbered back into the room holding Aether by the back of his overalls. You smiled over at the sight as Steve dumped your son in your lap, he made a happy squeal and buried his head in your chest.

“I missed you too Aether, did you have fun today?” He gave a happy nod reaching into his front pocket to pull out a little drawing. It was a stick figure drawing of you and Techno both holding his hands, on top of Aether’s head in the drawing was a scribbled on crown. They were both labeled something in Piglin, Technblade made an embarrassing sound as Aether squealed happily. “What? What does it say?”

“Mom and Dad,” He spoke weakly pinching the bridge of his nose and he watched your entire face light up.

“Yes! Exactly! Good job Aether!” You praised pressing kisses all over his face, “I’m your mom, and Techno’s your reluctant father!” Techno clicked his tongue in distaste at the situation, but he couldn’t lie looking at your happy expression, and Aether’s pure joy it melted his facade.

“Yeah, good job kid. Go hang it on the fridge,” Technoblade urged shooing him away and he ran into the kitchen excitedly.

“You didn’t deny it.~” You teased biting your lip fondly, “You Aether’s dad now?”

“That depends does that make you a MILF?” Technoblade questioned with such a casual deadpan it made you burst into hysterical laughter. You nodded your head rapidly as he pressed a fond kiss to your lips. “Remind me never to say that again, if I ever do please run the nearest sword through my body.”

“Will do, you absolute idiot.”

You turned to look over your shoulder at Aether who was sticking his drawing on the fridge eagerly. Technoblade took in your features, watching you look so calm even with your still-damp hair. He adored you, every single inch of you, from your wondrous brain to your beautiful body. He watched as you snuggle into his cape before turning back towards him,

“We have to protect him with our life. If anyone ever lays a hand on him they won’t live to see the next sunrise. I’ll make sure they burn and water the land with their blood.” You hummed fondly closing your eyes, that shouldn’t have turned Technoblade on as much as it did. He cleared his throat trying to calm himself and the voices down. They wanted to pin her into the couch and devour her, he cleared his throat once again, now was not the time nor place. Especially not with his supposed son in the next room, he swallowed thickly. He couldn’t believe that he was beginning to consider the zombie piglin in the other room his son. He couldn’t believe the voices were considering Aether his son. The urge to protect the child and keep that smile on your face was strong, and he couldn’t help but bend to its pull. That’s when a thought occurred to him, a smile spread across his features, there needed to be people willing to fight the tyranny you were concerned about, something to make sure anarchy always remained supreme.

They needed a syndicate.

A wide smile spread across his face as he kissed you passionately, you let out a small surprised sound.

“What was that about?”

“I have an idea.”

Sic semper tyrannis. ~~~

Tag List: @iamsuchasimp, @victory-is-here, @pastelmoonwitche, @ignat1usaquar1us, @boiled-onionrings, @Natalie-is-a-wall@alovestruck-fool, @mack4676

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

Hey! Could you do a Regulus fluff with the prompt 17. “This reminded me of you.”

from a boy, to a man

regulus black x fem!reader

summary: regulus finds his way back to you after destroying the horcruxes.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: mentions of self harm (bleeding, scratching, scabs), insinuations of depression, mentions of anxiety, self hatred, poor mental health/not taking care of ones self, angst-fluff

a/n: amelia amelia i wanna kiss u thank u sm for helping me baby @fives-cup-of-coffee

dark stygian swirls. the infinite markings submerged in his pallid sickly flesh that had healed prolongingly into a lustre of peach. but the black branding lay delineated, every curvature, every edge lay as detailed as when it had first been cursed into his complexion.

the relevance of scrubbing his nails against the dermis until it scalded the nerve endings in his left forearm had become insignificant. the carmine scabs fading over time but the reminder of his baleful past prompting his memory.

the branding was the only thing that could make him clutch his arm in a bashful sense. yet the only talisman evoking his senses to remain his strong demeanour was the minuscule silver-plated band that lay on his thumb tightly.

jewelry. it was your familiarity.

necklaces, rings, earrings, they all somehow coordinated with you, your essence. something complimentary to you complexion, soothing important to your family as they were heirs.

when strolling the corridors you received the compliments, it was rather flattering. it was something people began to notice over some time, but you never had owned a bracelet. it was common to own bracelets such as heirlooms but you had never received such an entity until the age of eleven.

august 28th, 1971

the sun was fading into the familiar evening hues of feverish vermillion and a slow fading shade of apricot blending into the sky. the prelude to dawn at its beginning while you gaped at it intensely, the fresh pricks of grass hitting your bottom under the shell-pink dress you had been dressed in as well as the small gusts of wind looming through the air as a small reminder of where you had been rather than slipping into your mind into an abyss of daydreams.

the wind began to increase, hitting the delicacy of your skin. the little nips at your skin producing a small shiver from the curvature of your spine to the muscles in your legs. the moment was serene, like something you read about in fairytale books about a princess awaiting her prince, almost silent. until a faint boyish voice had interrupted the tranquillity.

“’ve got a gift for you.”

your body slightly sprung at the sound interrupting the deep prolonged silence. You began to crane your neck behind you, a short boy awaiting for you to glimpse at him, your eyes were met with deep aquamarine irises that swirled in the hues of virescent green and cerulean blue. a small twinkle found carved into his irises in them at your attention.

“regulus,” you muttered, viewing as the boy sat next to you with something particularly large clutched in his hand.

he held up a gold circlet with intricate detailing that had been engraved in the brass item. as well as an emerald gem placed directly in the centre. the main focus of the bracelet, if you will. your brows began to force together into a pronounced frown, your optics glancing from his digits clutched around the object to his features, his shell-pink lips fixed into a quirk as well as a small gleam of virtue flaring in his irises

“what’s this for?” you began to query, taking the rather dense manacle into your palm and staring at it for a moment. “it’s a bracelet, i know that you don’t have any so i got you one.” he retorted faintly, a small sense of pride and adoration swelling in his belly. but he wasn't of age to particularly identify those feelings yet.

“think of it as a present, before school starts.”

your face steadily began to upturn at his endeavours, a scramble of letters trying to escape the cavern of your mouth in a enliven venture to thank him for his doting thoughts about you.

the memory becomes a slow fading blear as recollects his thoughts and narrows his eyes in a sneer at his maimed reflection. the caliginous imprint taunting regulus through the obstruct mirror, his hand beginning to clutch over the mantle flesh ensuing the laceration that had been flung under the downpour of searing water minutes prior.

he recollected every detailed moment of that night, the way your eyes glimpsed at the bracelet every couple of seconds in elation. even at eleven years old in a floral shell-pink dress, in the distance you looked so angelic. he didn't know as an eleven-year-old boy and now only loathed himself for realizing so much later in life.

following his departure, he had glimpsed down at the silver ring that was clung onto his thumb that you had gifted following the bracelet, a ring he had to move around several fingers till it fit perfectly again. this incident similar to a parallel between scenarios. the small band holding himself together in a way that couldn't be understood by another.

the girl he had loved, adorned, the girl that was now a woman who had let him weep into her shoulder, the woman who made sure that he would take care of his body to keep it in a healthy state, the girl that was now a woman that would cheer for him amid his quidditch games till her throat was raw, the girl who was now a woman whom he still had loved wasn’t there to clutch onto his arm and whisper to him that everything was going to be alright.

the subconscious that laid embedded into your skull was subsequently pivoting in rapid twists till it was firmly knotted without anymore pondering to be completed. the footprint of where the boy had once been subtly faded without a trace as to where, the boy who grew into a man with mangled black tendrils that sat in entangled twists, the man with a structured jaw whilst he was old enough to spew out curse words to his mother, the boy who was now a man who you loved had vanished beneath your fingertips without a trace.

the man that was once a boy had taken a vow that potentially concluded his life and vanished for, ‘your safety,’ as he pronounced before departing from your vapid figure. the last i love you escaping from his lips as a final message in case it would be the last time you would hear it from him.

then you became alone, all fucking alone.

he huffed whilst pacing almost becoming nauseated, crackling at his knuckles due to the submerging coarse of anxiety running thickly through his blood. it was enough to swivel into the crevices of his spine and sprawl into his brain like sporadically placed letters in an intense game of pool, his mind configuring ways on how to address you after almost a year of his blatant absence.

the minuscule of a second he had after the duration of his completed mission, regulus had ventured to find almost every piece of detailed information that had been absent in his mind for the last ticking days where he hadn’t spoken to you. almost as if he hadn’t played the recurrent memory of you laughing at his foolish jokes in the slytherin common room in the deep hours of the night following a few hushed whispers, in a recurrent loop to the point where he could recall every faint characteristic that you had worn with pride.

your thumbs were absentmindedly twiddling in an abyss-like daydream, similar to the ones you had as a young girl, the collision of decrepit wood and firm knuckles splintering the perpetuating silence that had sunken depressingly into your flat. a look of puzzlement contorted onto your features, you paused and speculated as to whom was at your apartment as you weren't used to having such visitors.

opting to leisurely trudge to the door in exhaustion, the door had revealed regulus arcturus black with an ivory box clutched in his hand and a nervous grin quirked on his lips. you stopped, taken back for a moment. a revelling thought peering into your conscious mind to ultimately shut the door closed and pretend this moment, the moment that you had dreamed of till the early hours in the morning wasn’t occurring. instead, grappling at his hand and pulling him into a close-knit embrace till you could feel like hast respires in his chest along with the palpitating beats of his trembling heart against your sternum.

he sighed in relief, his hands melding into the curvature of your waist. the tension in your frame gradually disentangling from the days that had surpassed without the boy who was now a man, a man with a sallow complexion and sickly carved features stood in front of you with now a tearful grin that was almost quivering awaiting forgiveness that he was frightful he would never receive.

“what have you done to yourself, regulus?” your hands melded into the sharp curvature of his cheeks, the balmy embrace of your hands warming his figure like a camper that had created fire without months of warmth. his optics began to gape at the floor of your flat, ignoring your question with the clearness of his throat.

“nevermind me, this reminded me of you.” he clarified while bringing the box into your viewpoint. “regulus.” you pardoned him but taking a grasp on the box and setting it down on the oak-wood table with a small ‘clink.’

“what’s happened to you— why didn’t you come back for me?”

“i was scared, i didn’t want to leave you. i promise you that, i just— i didn’t want to come back and you would hate me.” regulus confessed with a stutter, a mild nervous tic he had obtained when he was young. as well as when he ventured to drag his slender fingers between his swoop of curls but found it rather difficult as they were mangled together.

you frowned disquietly. the boy that had endured your whines, and your tantrums as to when a fifth-year hufflepuff had ticked you off rather irritatingly. the boy who was now a man, whom you had loved, and he knew you had loved. continued to think that you had hated him when that had been opposite.

"I don't hate you, reg. I never have, I don't think you can hate the person i love the most." his hands fell back in place to the contour of your waistline, the palms of his hands steadily dragging themselves in a comforting motion while your fingers delicately pushed into his hair.

“your hairs a mess, reg,” you observed with a sated smile, the smallest of a chuckle escaping his lips after his mouth had almost been sewn shut by voldemort himself. the thought of regulus laughing could’ve turned heads now because of how unusual and unfamiliar the sound was. but it was the same child-like giggle he expressed on the hogwarts train several years ago.

“yeah,” he chuckled again, louder this time. he felt the small indulging swirls coming up from his eyes, the downpour of tears almost cascading down his cheeks before he brought his digits to slide them across his sockets, “brush it for me? like old times?”

he wasn’t sad anymore, he didn’t feel dejected, he didn’t feel the urge to lay in a bed that was poorly made with creased sheets and never get up again, the tears threatening his face were delightful ones. they were tears of elation, that the girl who was now a woman had remainingly loved him.

he was home, an unfamiliar concept now wrapping him in an unyielding enclasp. regulus was home.

he sat upon a bench, looking at a reflection no longer splintered with guilt, or narrowing eyes. his eyes moved in an upward motion, his irises seeing the way you languidly dragged a brush through his tuffs and a small smile quirking at your lips.

“i love you, too. i didn’t want you to think i forgot.”

taglist: @fific7 @kittykylax @wisedreamcatcher @ronbrokemyheart @amourtentiaa @five-cups-of-coffee @serenitywilderness @i-love-scott-mccall @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @90steaology

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professorsnape394 · 3 years

Text

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Four: The Three Broomsticks

A/N: This is the fourth part to my fanficiton ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 1733

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

The following days transpired just as the day before had done; a lot of potion brewing and a little conversation. However, more notably Severus Snape was actually participating in the conversation for once. Aria could not yet say she had seen a pleasant side to the man, however he was acceptable to converse with at the very least. By the end of the third day he no longer pretended to busy himself with textbooks and he actually elected to help with the potion brewing for once. Being able to talk to the Professor and ask him any questions helped her a great deal in learning the correct procedures. She felt herself being more at ease around him, and soon enough they had developed their own way of working together, that she found quite enjoyable. Even Severus had become accustomed to the woman's presence in his classroom as she pranced around the cauldrons, laughing every now and then at his sarcastic comments he hadn't entirely meant to be humorous.

Aria had been lost in thought as she stirred the final potion to completion. "I was thinking." She said cautiously. "It's pretty hard finding things to occupy myself at nights, there isn't much to do here, except aimlessly wandering the halls. How do you feel about maybe taking a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend, have some dinner, maybe drinks? It would make a change from the elves cooking, although I admit they'd be pretty hard to beat."

"I appreciate the offer Miss Dumbledore. However you know how I feel about spending time with Mr. Hagrid, I doubt a change of setting would convince me, especially with the addition of alcohol." Severus spoke, his tone softer than it usually would at such a request.

"Hagrid wouldn't be there." She hastened to add. "He mentioned he has business out with the castle grounds. I just figured since the two of us would be here anyway, it wouldn't make any sense for us to sit alone."

"You may have forgotten, Miss Dumbledore, but I like being alone. I eat alone every night, and I do not wish to simply be your back up plan, now Hagrid has left you to do the same."

"I don't mean for you to be a back up plan Sev- Professor Snape. I just think it might do us both some good. After all haven't we been getting along better these past few days." Aria wanted to get to know the man more, she felt they had got off on the wrong foot and the way to fix this was spending more time together, and hopefully they would even become friends at the end of it all.

"You haven't been as disagreeable as I expected you would be, I will admit. This does not change my previous opinion." He stated.

"At least consider it." She pleaded.

With a sigh Snape flipped another page. "I'll consider it." He agreed, continuing reading his book, no longer interested in conversing with the young witch.

The next few days dragged in more than ever. Aria enjoyed keeping herself busy and was not used to having this much free time. The only thing keeping her sane was her passions for drawing and nature. She chose to combine the two and spend her days outside, sketching the beautiful landscape she found herself in. She preferred to opt for portraits, capturing the essence of humanity in her sketches, but trees were fine too. She shrugged.

Sunday morning eventually came around and Aria chose to tackle something she had been putting off ever since her arrival at Hogwarts. A small pile of letters had accumulated on her bedside table, ignoring each one as they came in. She immediately recognised the scrawled writing on the envelope and could not face opening them. Every second day she received a letter and it broke her heart knowing what lay within. Reading each one carefully, she knew she could not face writing the response the sender desperately awaited. Instead she scribbled a small, generic reply, making sure to include that she would be too busy to write often due to her crazy schedule. This of course was a lie as she had virtually nothing planned for the next couple of weeks until term begun. Aria did not want to face even reading any more letters as long as she remained at Hogwarts, and so she swore to herself she wouldn't no matter how hard she knew it would be.

A firm knock echoed through her quarters just as Aria sent her letter off with beautiful brunette barn owl. "Come in." She called curious as too who would be calling on her. Shocked to see Professor Snape striding into her private chambers, Aria couldn't help but question his presence there.

"I've had time to think about your offer." He stated blankly, visibly out of his comfort zone.

"And?" Aria pressed.

"And I suppose there would be no harm in joining you for one meal. After all, as you say, we both will be here alone, we may as well keep each other company."

"Fantastic!" His colleague gleamed, jumping up from her position on her couch. "Just give me some time to get ready and I'll meet you there? Say six oclock at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Six is fine with me. Don't be late." He warned, leaving the room just as quickly as he came.

Aria entered the Three Broomsticks at five forty-five, ensuring Snape had no reason to reprimand her once again for her tardiness. It stunned her to find the sallow skinned man already sitting at a booth, firewhiskey in hand, patiently waiting on her arrival. She couldn't help but smile to herself as she watched him tap out a rhythm on the side of his glass as he took yet another sip. She wondered if it was out of impatience or nervousness, either way she thought it slightly endearing to see.

Hearing the click of a familiar set of heels quickly approaching him, Severus Snape looked up from his glass, almost needing to hold back the urge to smile, but managed to keep his composure. He rose to his feet, holding out a hand to greet the fellow Professor, instantly cursing himself for such a foolish action. "Sit." He commanded, motioning to the seat across from his own. "I'll get you a drink."

"Oh no, there's really no need Professor." Aria insisted, shaking her head, causing her beach-like waves to brush over her exposed shoulders. "I'm afraid alcohol doesn't agree with me at the best of times." She admitted.

"Correct me if I am wrong, Miss Dumbledore, but as I recall it was you who suggested a meal and drinks. Or did I mishear you." Snape asked, feeling almost foolish, having already down two glasses of Firewhiskey.

"I did say that didn't I." The young Miss Dumbledore blushed. "I apologise, sometimes I just cannot stop myself when I speak, I often forget the consequences of drinking, which as it happens is the ultimate consequence of drinking." She chuckled.

The older man shot her a small look of disdain, not at all as amused as she had expected him to be. He let out a small grunt of dissatisfaction, and proceed to down the dregs of his drink.

It took a few more awkward moments of silence and Severus being slightly more irritable that Aria had wished for before the two finally settled in to a rhythm of conversation. Soon enough it came time to eat and Aria took it upon herself to call over the waitress. As he ordered Aria watched as Severus made no effort to look up at the woman serving him. It crossed her mind that maybe this was a deliberate attempt at ignoring her voluptuous breast and curvature of her hips. However, on the other hand she considered that maybe he truly was not interested as she thought back to their conversation a few days before.

"She's stunning." Aria couldn't help but observe. "You should go for it, chat her up, she might be into the dark, brooding, intellectual type."

"As I told you before, Miss Dumbledore, dating it not top priority for me. If you find her so attractive why don't you, as you say, 'chat her up'." Snape replied sarcastically, not expecting the woman to take him seriously.

"I might just." She said, finding her eyes following the waitress back to the kitchen for a moment or two. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous as the witch watched the woman walk away from their table, though he was not sure why.

"So tell me Professor Snape." The young Professor began. "What are the other Professor's at Hogwarts like? Who am I took look out for? Who's my competition." She grinned, wriggling her eyebrows menacingly.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." He hummed in response.

"You know." She shrugged. "Who are you close with? Will I have to fight them for custody of you." She laughed, although the Professors expression did not change. "What I'm trying to say Severus is, I'm new here, besides yourself and Hagrid I know no one. I'd like to consider us friends, though you may have a different opinion. I was simply trying to express my nervousness at being the new girl. I was hoping you'd be able to help me settle in, introduce me to your other friends and colleagues that is." She sighed.

"You do not seem to understand my disposition, Miss Dumbledore, that which I feel I have made abundantly clear. I am not one to socialise. I am not one to make friends. I am here to teach and teach alone. I do what your grandfather asks of me and that is the extent of my relationship with the staff. They understand how I am, and respect that. I do not bother them and in return they do not bother me. You have been the first to struggle with this concept, Professor." He struggled to grant her the title.

"I didn't realise." Aria stuttered slightly, not understanding how she had not caught on. "I had simply thought you had a vendetta against me, due to my position here at Hogwarts. I didn't realise you shut yourself off from everyone. I apologise for any inconvenience I have caused you." The tone of her voice softening, becoming almost a whisper-like volume. She was embarrassed she had forced him out of his habits and brought him to the Three Broomsticks to clear the air. She realised now it had been a pointless act. This man had been stuck in his ways for over a decade and she would not change that a fortnight into knowing him.

"I am here, aren't I." Severus stated, trying not sound as harsh as he previously had. "Had I truly despised you I would not be wasting my time here with you. I have come to the realisation that if we are to work in such a close proximity to each other, it would be best if we maintained at least some level of civility with one another."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Professor." She replied shyly, remaining silent. Immediately Severus regretted opening his mouth. He didn't entirely hate her company and in fact he had found himself starting to enjoy the evening. It took him a minute or two to gain the confidence to speak the words aloud, but he figured the pay off was worth the sacrifice of a small amount of pride.

"Will you stop fretting woman." He demanded. "I was just beginning to find your constant rambling tolerable. If I wished to spend the evening in silence, I wouldn't have made the effort to accept your invitation to come here tonight. You have managed to entice me thus far, do not spoil what may be your one chance at a friendship with me."

"A friendship?" This piqued her interest.

"You know what I mean. A working relationship. A tolerance. A chance for me to accept your position as my apprentice." Snape corrected himself, fumbling over his words.

"Mmmm." She smirked, taking a small sip of butterbeer. "I'll just pretend a friendship is off the cards for us then, Professor. Although I don't recall you mentioning trips to Hogsmeade as an exception to your reclusive personality." She raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Despite his annoyance at her persuasive abilities, and daring comments, he was glad he had convinced her back to her previously inquisitive self.

Both choosing to ignore any reservations they might have about their 'non-friendship' the two spoke for hours with ease. With each empty glass of fire whiskey Severus Snape found himself relaxing more into the conversation, his reputation becoming a distant memory. It was the first he had allowed himself to truly relax in possibly the whole of his life.

It seemed in one evening Severus had gotten to know all there was to know about Aria's life, although strangely she mentioned nothing regarding her family and Snape chose not to pursue the subject. He loved listening to her talk, she was a rambler, rarely needing any interjection from him except the odd mumble here and there and that's the way he liked it. He was a listener, he loved taking in new information no matter the subject. Most importantly it meant he did not have to share anything about himself, unless the woman specifically asked, and even in those rare occasions, she knew better than to pressure him when he chose not to provide an answer.

Aria told him of the schooling she received in Ilvermorny, her school in America. She told him of her job working in a local alchemists after she left school. She confided in him of her dream to become a professor, or an auror even, really she was just desperate to make a difference in someone's life and her dream would not succeed by spending the rest of her days working in a dingy old shop. "And that's why your grandfather brought you here?" He questioned, the topic piquing his interest. "You told him of your dream to teach?" "I guess you could say that." She agreed, not wanting to raise any more questions than necessary. "He didn't bring me from America though, if that's what your meaning. I was already here. My mother sent me to school in America to protect me, with all that Wizarding War carry on and what with me being a Dumbledore, she didn't want to put me in any more danger than I already was. She remained here with my father however and I visited on the holidays." Snape raised a single brow at the mention of her mother and father but changed the subject completely, seeing the woman being to shy away slightly.

"It's getting late." Severus observed. "I should walk you back to the castle before it gets too dark."

"That would be nice" Aria smiled, rising from her seat.

The couple made their way back to the beautiful lit up castle as the sky turned a deep shade of blue above them. They continued to speak all the way down to the dungeons, this time Severus participating just as much as Aria. The Potions Master escorted his apprentice to the door of her quarters, the two of them swaying awkwardly not knowing where to go from here.

"You can come in for a drink... if you'd like." Aria hesitated to ask. "Although I'm not sure I have anything alcoholic, so tea might need to suffice."

"I appreciate the invitation, but it's been a long day for me, I'm afraid I must retire for the night." Now they were back in the familiar castle grounds Severus felt as though he had suddenly returned to his body, and the events of the night lingered at the forefront of his mind, a deep feeling of regret developing in his stomach.

"Very well." Aria agreed, feeling slightly uncomfortable herself. "Good night, Professor Snape."

"Good night, Miss Dumbledore." He spoke softly, rocking anxiously the balls of his feet, waiting for the woman to disappear into her quarters. With a simple nod and one final smile from Aria, she vanished from his sight. The sound of the door closing echoed through the halls, ringing in Severus' ears, and suddenly he felt more alone than he ever had before.

Aria stood with her back to the door, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. As much as she enjoyed the evening with her mentor, the intense awkwardness that occurred at her door, got her thinking about the man on the other side. Her intention was to get to know the man better, and though he did not confide in her much, she felt she had achieved that, maybe more than anyone ever had.

Why had he allowed her to get close to him when he claimed to distance himself from the world?

This thought circled her brain for the rest of the night.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel

#severus snape #severus snape imagine #severus x oc #severus snape one shot #Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction #severus x reader #severus x y/n #alan rickman #potions master #potions masters apprentice #dumbledore #dumbledores granddaughter #severus snape x reader #severus snape fluff #severus snape smut

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momentofmemory · 4 years

Text

FICTOBER 2020 - day thirty

Prompt #27: “Give me that.”

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker

Words: 1326

Author’s Note: Set post endgame pre ffh, Peter’s acting weird—but different weird from his normal weird. MJ’s determined to find out why. Fluff, MJ POV.

>> light me up

MJ’s pretty used to Peter doing weird things.

In fact, ‘Peter doing weird things’ is pretty much the reason she started paying attention to him in the first place: the sudden dropping out of extracurriculars, skipping classes when he’d rarely even been tardy before, zoning out in the middle of decathlon on questions even Charles could get right.

(That, and he’s cute.)

(Maybe.)

(A little.)

But regardless, Peter tends to reserve his weird behavior for getting out of school activities—so when he all but vaults over her to get into their arts classroom before her, she can be forgiven for being taken a little off guard.

“Peter, what the—” MJ freezes when Mrs. Pats glances in her direction—“fudge?”

He’s hastily taking down one of the photographs hanging on the wall, and trying very hard to ignore her.

Naturally, she walks directly up to him and tries to snatch the photograph away.

“MJ!” He’s faster than she is, to an obnoxious degree, and stuffs it into the folder sticking out of his backpack just in time. “What’re you—hi?”

“Hi,” MJ says, like they didn’t literally just walk to class together. “What’s with the photo?”

“Photo?”

It’s times like these that she has to question her ‘Peter Parker is Spider-Man’ calculations, because wow is he bad at lying. “Yeah. Photo. The one you just put in your bag, genius.”

“Oh. That one.” He shoves the folder deeper into his backpack. “Mr. Catz likes to display his favourite class photo of the week as like, a motivation for us to do well or something.”

MJ glances at the corkboard—sure enough, ’Photos of the Week’ is spelled out in multicolored foam sticker letters across the top.

“Huh,” she says. Then she nods towards his backpack, which he’s been not-so-surreptitiously sliding behind him. “So is it yours, or you just stealing some random freshman’s pic?”

“Mine,” Peter says, clenching the straps a little tighter.

The clock in the back of the room ticks away the seconds of their free period, Mrs. Pats dutifully grading assignments in the corner. Peter doesn’t offer anything further.

“Great, so.” MJ clears her throat. “You gonna show me what you did to earn a spot in Mr. Catz’s heart, or—”

“No.”

The rejection is so abrupt MJ barely has time to parse it before Peter’s brushed past her, walking to the far side of the room and pointedly taking out his sketches for the still life study that’s due on Wednesday.

MJ stands stock still.

A year ago (six years ago?) it probably wouldn’t have stung as much. But ever since the Blip, she, Ned, and Peter—and really, most of their class from Before—had hung out a lot more often. There’s nothing quite like a worldwide disaster to force people together, and while she wouldn’t’ve chosen it, acting as a full-fledged member of their group had been—nice.

Except, apparently she isn’t one, since he’s determined to keep something as simple as a photograph a secret from her.

His mistake. If there’s one thing that’s sure to get her to figure something out, it’s being told that she can’t.

MJ slinks to over to the seat next to his, feigns that she dropped something, and then deliberately leverages her backpack so that it swings off her shoulder and crashes into his—

Spilling its contents out all over the floor.

“Ha—”

He’s still definitely faster than she is, but she has the added benefit of surprise this time.

She snatches up the folder and flips it open to the offending photograph before Peter can fully register what’s happening.

“Wait, no no no—” Peter lunges to grab it from her, but MJ swings it out of reach (one of the many benefits of being tall). “Give me that!”

"Nope,” MJ says, darting to the opposite side of the table. “We’re going to find out exactly what was so important you could show it to your class but not to—”

MJ freezes mid-sentence, because she’s finally registered the subject of the photograph and—

And it’s her.

She’s sitting out on her fire escape, legs crossed, head tilted just slightly up and laughing at someone out of frame. Her posture is relaxed, nestled comfortably in the lower left third of the composition, and light from the setting sun spills across her face. It’s shot in tight focus—only her face and hands in full clarity, the rest a soft blur.

It’s the sort of photo that would’ve been taken quickly, the moment there and gone in an instant, but not on a whim. It would’ve been captured by someone paying careful attention.

“MJ?”

Her eyes flick up to meet his.

“Michelle, I’m—I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I didn’t think he’d choose it; I just submitted it because I thought it turned out well enough for a grade. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I can just—we don’t have to—”

He trails off, pleading silently with her to say something.

MJ rests her hand on the table, tracing the curvature of her smile with her fingers. She remembers the night he must’ve taken it.

They’d been at her apartment—her, Ned, Betty, and Peter—going over interior and exterior angles, congruency, and transitive vs substitution properties for the hundredth time, in anticipation of the Geometry test on Monday.

It’d been a good night. To feel like she was part of a group; to have just a moment to be a normal teenager instead of a survivor of a world-ending event.

And apparently, Peter had thought so, too.

She clears her throat against the rush of emotions that brings, not the least of which is the heat that floods her cheeks.

“The background’s a little overexposed,” she manages, squinting at it like she’s looking closer, when honestly it’s an attempt to mask the hopeful smile she wants to make instead. “And I—I mean, your subject—it could use a little more light on the camera facing side, probably. A reflector would help with that.”

She hands the photo back to Peter, and he accepts it wordlessly. She doesn’t miss the crestfallen look that passes over his face.

She swallows.

“But, uh. If you’d used that, you probably would’ve lost the candidness of the shot.” She bites her lip, then takes the plunge. “And it… you wouldn’t have wanted to interrupt a really fun evening.”

Peter lights up with a speed that astonishes her. “Yeah?”

MJ very, very willfully does not smile, because she’s already given away too much. “Yeah. You know. As best as you can get spending a Friday evening on math homework.”

Peter laughs, and he sounds relieved—and hopeful? Maybe she’s projecting. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s great, I just—I mean, I took it without you knowing, and I didn’t want to make you feel weird.”

It definitely, definitely makes her feel weird. And exposed. And—

Seen.

“It’s fine,” she says. “It was good enough from a technically standpoint for Catz to be impressed. And, um.” She shrugs and looks intently at her shoelaces. “…You can tell you put a lot of care into it.”

A pause.

Then: “It’s easy when my subject’s pretty great, too.”

MJ jerks her head up at that, but Peter’s already walking back over to the board and she doesn’t feel like broadcasting her wtf does that mean across the room.

Instead, sits back down in her chair and watches as he clips it back to the string. It’s definitely still weird seeing a picture of just her in their classroom.

Weird enough that she might have to adjust her ‘Peter Parker likes Michelle Jones’ calculations.

She grabs a pencil and starts working on her still life studies, deliberately not looking up when Peter comes back from his task to join her.

But if she happens to scoot her chair just a little bit closer to his, well.

It’s just because there’s better lighting.

#fictober20 #fanfiction #michelle jones #peter parker #spideychelle #spiderman

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lupinlongbottom · 4 years

Text

Burning Bridges pt. 2

Neville Longbottom x Reader

Summary: First day of school! First day of fighting! Wait what? Neville convinces (Y/N) to chat with him, explain what had been going on for the last five years. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: some swearing, angst if you squint idk

A/N: i’m not good at angst. i’m also not good at plot? dunno. trying hard, my dudes. i have like, 6 plot points i want to hit but this chapter hits none of them. filler? idk. angst? who’s to say? enjoy!

Part 1 ... Part 3 ... Part 4 ... Part 5 ... Part 6 ... Part 7

It had taken nearly all day to get her classroom in order. McGonagall wasn’t joking, the previous Potions Master, Atticus Barclay, was a bit of a hoarder and a terribly messy one at that. To (Y/N)’s knowledge, Slughorn had retired only a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, leaving a rather necessary spot to be filled quickly. Not exactly the wisest choice, she noted. (Y/N) finished dusting the final shelf, turning the label on the fluxweed jar outward.

“Atticus you swine,” (Y/N) groaned, stretching her back. “Honestly, any worthwhile Potions Master would’ve taken much better care of their workspace…”

She took a step back, admiring her handiwork. No more did the dungeon feel like it had in her school years. (Y/N) had opened the curtains, allowing the little bit of sunlight to filter in. A few waves of her wand allowed ivy to grow, following the curvature of the ceiling, dangling ever so slightly. Felt homey. Inviting. A barn owl rested on (Y/N)’s shoulder, nuzzling her face slightly.

“Hello, Edgar,” She smiled, petting him gently. “You like the place? Seems more my style, no?”

The barn owl sputtered a response, flying over to the window.

“I know you want to go fly, but I haven’t got any letters to send,” (Y/N) sighed. “As usual. You can make laps around the castle, right?”

Edgar’s black eyes bore into (Y/N)’s, almost as if he was cross. No, (Y/N) decided. Her owl, best friend, was cross.

“If you want me to send a letter so bad, I could convince myself to send mum one. I know how much you love flying through Bristol to get to her,” Edgar stood silent. “Right. I’ll think about it,” (Y/N) turned to her owl. “Maybe I should cast a warming charm in the winter…”

“(Y/N)!” Neville smiled, practically running into the Potions classroom. He sat down next to (Y/N). “Got here early, as usual it seems.”

(Y/N) grinned widely at her friend. “Never late, to Potions at least. I want to pass my O.W.L’s somehow.”

“If anyone had to worry about not passing their Potions O.W.L, it wouldn’t be you,” Neville laughed.

“You flatter me, Longbottom,” said (Y/N), watching a wisp of her breath escape her lips. “You’d think Snape would put a warming charm on this room when snow’s on the ground, right?” She rubbed her arm slowly, trying to warm up.

“You’re cold?” Neville’s eyes widened. “You should’ve worn your cardigan! I tell you that every time we have class.”

“You know I like the look of vests much better,” (Y/N) teased, moving her hand to her nose, pinching it lightly. “Besides, someone jinxed my jumpers. Shrink every time I touch them.”

“Again?” Neville brought his voice to a whisper. “You’ve got to stop letting them bully you like that…”

“You’re one to talk!” (Y/N) quipped, giggling slightly. “I tried enchanting my chest to keep them out, but maybe I need to try something different.”

“In any case,” Neville stood up, walking behind (Y/N). “You should at least be warm in your favorite class.” Suddenly, (Y/N) felt a slight weight on her shoulders. Intrigued, she glanced down to see a familiar gray cardigan. Gryffindor cardigan. Neville sat back down, sans jumper, his cheeks dusted pink. From the cold, of course.

“Snape’s going to dock at least 10 points from Gryffindor when he sees you not wearing the proper uniform,” (Y/N) said, fighting back the biggest smile from her face.

“It’ll be like any other class, then,” Neville shrugged, moving to fix the jumper now atop of (Y/N)’s shoulders, wearing it like a cape. “Y-you can keep it, if you want.”

“What? No, I can’t keep it! It’s—”

“Keep it until you can un-jinx your jumpers. It’s bloody freezing.”

“On second thought… the cold builds character.”

It had only taken three outfit changes for (Y/N) to finally settle on a pair of matching robes and a hat, mauve in color. They were once her mother’s, passed down in hopes (Y/N) would make better use of it at Hogwarts.

“I guess she’s right,” (Y/N) hummed, readjusting her hat. “Don’t you think I look just ghastly in hats?” Her head turned to the barn owl, sitting on his perch adjacent to the full length mirror. The owl cooed. “Exactly right. I do look like my grandmother. Always the observatory owl, Edgar,” (Y/N) glanced at the clock. “Shit! I’m going to be late!”

Flying out the door, (Y/N) hardly had the moment to recognize the figure exiting his door as well. The two collided, knocking both parties to the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” (Y/N) blurted, grabbing the wall to steady herself upward. “Are you alright?”

“Been better,” Neville groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Oh, Professor Longbottom,” (Y/N) readjusted her robe, reluctantly offering her hand.

“Thanks,” Neville forced a smile, his lips drawing a fine line. He took her hand, fingers lingering for a moment too long. He pulled away at the realization. “Running late?”

“Old habits,” she shrugged. “I see you’re not exactly punctual tonight either.”

“Gran sent me an owl, had to reply before I forgot,” said Neville, smiling at the thought. “Wished me luck on my first day.”

“That’s sweet of her, how is she—” (Y/N) stopped herself, coughing lightly. “Well, by any means it’s not wise for the two newest professors to be late on the first night.”

“Of course not, that’d be barbaric. I doubt McGonagall would let us hear the end of it,” He laughed, expecting a response. Nothing. “Is that your hat?” Neville pointed to the mauve pile to the left of her.

(Y/N) glanced downward. “So it is,” She gently leaned down to retrieve it, placing it again on her head. “Is it on straight?”

“Isn’t it a circle? How could it be on straight? Is there a wrong way to wear a witch hat?”

“I’ll go check my mirror then—”

“You look spectacular,” Neville grabbed (Y/N)’s hand, stopping the witch from re-entering her room. “We’re running late as it is, come on.”

The run to the Great Hall wasn’t the most graceful, but years of practice and memorization of the hallways of Hogwarts allowed the two to arrive just before the rest of the students. McGonagall eyed the two of them down, almost disapprovingly.

“I see you two made it,” she said, slightly sour. Her eyes glanced down between the two wizards, noticing their hands were still intertwined from the run. “I do suggest, however, that you keep any and all personal relationships between the two of you absent from the students,” (Y/N) realized what she had meant, immediately pulling her hand away, almost angry at the lack of warmth.

“Oh, we’re not—”

“Students tend to gossip,” Minerva smiled, glancing down at (Y/N). “I would assume you of all people would know that much, Professor (L/N).”

“Yes, Headmistress.” (Y/N) responded meekly, dipping her head down, eyes disappearing from the brim of her hat, hopefully covering the growing pink in her cheeks.

Neville laughed. “Sorry for that,” his hand moved to fix his rather perfectly gelled hair, a strand had flown loose. “I had to stop you from going back into your room somehow.”

“You didn’t have to grab my hand, I know my way around the castle,” (Y/N) huffed, marching up to the faculty table that sat in the front of the hall.

“You didn’t let go, though,” Neville smiled slightly, if only to himself.

(Y/N) found one of two empty seats, thankfully not next to one another. The wizard that was sitting in the seat next to hers was unfamiliar to (Y/N). His dark brown hair was tied together with a gold ribbon, the hair touching nearly the bottom of his robe hood. He looked young, maybe a few years older than (Y/N), slight wrinkles dancing the corners of his violet eyes.

“Is this seat taken?” (Y/N) asked, smiling gently. The wizard shook his head.

“Of course not,” He hummed, gesturing for (Y/N) to sit down. “I must say, I can already tell you’re going to be better company than Barclay.”

“This was his seat?” (Y/N) asked again, finally settling into her seat. The students had started filing into the hall, sitting at their respective house tables.

“He smelled of murtlap bile and cigars half the time,” He hummed, looking at (Y/N). “I enjoy your perfume much better,” the wizard sniffed deeply. “Mint. Slightly musty.”

“It’s not perfume,” (Y/N) flamed. “I hardly wear any. It must be my toothpaste, or potions ingredients.”

“Alright Minty,” the wizard laughed, enjoying his new nickname for (Y/N). “I assume you have a name?”

“(Y/N) (L/N), Potions Master,” She nodded. “You are…?”

“Lancelot Knight, Muggle Studies,” He shook (Y/N)’s hand. Firm, almost constricting.

“Lancelot…Knight?” (Y/N) fought back a laugh.

“Most people call me Lance, I actually prefer it,” He laughed. “My parents, bless their hearts, really had it out for me I reckon.”

“Strong name,” (Y/N) hummed. “Nice to meet you, Professor Knight.”

The first years had finally filed in, ready to be sorted by the ever elusive hat. (Y/N) had to fight back the tears each time a student was claimed to her house, like a proud mother. She had never met these kids, but was sorely excited to do such, to teach them. As the dinner went on, (Y/N) tried to memorize every moment she could, raking in her first night as a professor.

Neville had been staring at (Y/N) for quite some time. He really didn’t intend to. Why had she been trying to ignore him? All he wanted was his friend back. They were practically best mates years ago, what happened? Surely their fight couldn’t have left scars that deep on (Y/N), right? He swallowed hard, crossing the now empty hall over to the mauve-clad witch.

“(Y/N) I really think we should talk,” He started, smoothing his robes. Neville caught the eye of the wizard sitting next to her, he looked like he hadn’t taken a proper bath in weeks. “Please. Hear me out.”

“Professor Longbottom,” (Y/N) sighed. “I really don’t see—”

“Please. Just one conversation and then you can go back to ignoring me,” Neville pleaded. “I need closure. We need closure.”

“Closure?” (Y/N) stood up. “Closure to what? If the last five years were any indication to what sort of relationship we could possibly have—”

“We don’t need to be friends,” Neville felt particularly bold, cutting (Y/N) for the second time. “We don’t need to go back to where we were before, but I want to at least… I don’t know. Clear the air.”

Lance laughed. “Wow. The tension in this room is… pliable. Could run a knife through it,” He stood up. “I dunno, Minty. I reckon you should give plant-boy a chance, at least a walk in the moonlight.”

She groaned lightly, feeling both sets of eyes digging deep into her. “One lap."

Neville’s ears perked up, grinning lightly. “One lap?"

“Around the grounds. Clear as much air as you need,” She stood up, pushing her chair back hard. “You can meet me in the courtyard, I don’t think I could stand another minute in this hat.”

“Right,” Neville fought back his growing grin. “See you in a few.” He darted out, practically running to the teacher’s wing.

Lance laughed again. “Ex-boyfriends can be a pain, can’t they? Been there, done that,” He flattened his kerchief. “Though, ex-girlfriends are much messier. ‘Bout fifty-fifty, really.”

“He’s not my ex-boyfriend,” (Y/N) stated matter-of-factly.

“Right,” He smirked. “Whatever the case, I hope you enjoy your walk, Minty.”

(Y/N) took her time returning to her chambers. Neville could wait a moment, he could wait a thousand moments. She knew he would. Was it unfair of her? Perhaps. She tried not to dwell on it, as she really needed to change into something less constricting.

Filtering through her dresser, (Y/N) had found the black trousers she had been searching for, but was distraught on a top. “It’s a windy night, better wear something warm…” she mumbled, opening her jumper drawer. She owned too many sweaters for one person, as they were her favorite thing to wear. The scratching wool felt comforting, warm. “I know I have that blue one in here somewhere…” Flinging through her collection, her hands stopped, reaching a gray one, the trim gold and maroon. (Y/N) allowed her fingers to trace the messy stitching underneath the tag.

N . L

“Stupid,” (Y/N) mumbled, throwing the cardigan to the side, revealing the blue jumper she had been searching for. “Edgar, what do you think?”

The owl clicked his beak twice, floating down to the discarded cardigan.

“Eddie…” (Y/N) strained. “No, I’m not going to return it! Not now, anyway. It’s been seven years,” Edgar stared at his owner, fluffing the jumper with his talons. “Well don’t ruin it...” (Y/N) whispered, clawing it out of the owl’s grip. She folded it gently, placing it on her nearly empty counter, next to an old Honeydukes box. An old gift. (Y/N) hesitated for a moment, almost begging herself to pry it open.

“I shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer,” she decided, pulling the blue wool over her head. “Like a plaster, rip it off quickly.”

The moon was almost full, only a sliver missing from the round figure, allowing the entire courtyard to shimmer in its light. The fountain still babbled as always, water tricking down to the pool below. Neville focused on his reflection as well has he could, his hair still neatly gelled back. Well, as neat as it could be.

“She’s taking a long time…” Neville hummed, twirling a finger in his reflection, distorting the water. “Is she trying to pull a prank on me?Never going to show up? No,” Neville clicked, shaking his head. “Shut up, Longbottom. She’s your friend—was your friend.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said (Y/N), finally entering the courtyard. “Couldn’t decide on a jumper.”

“Miss wearing uniforms?”

“All the time,” (Y/N) groaned. “Never have to worry about what to wear, always put on the same thing.”

Neville smiled, standing up to meet (Y/N) in the middle, hands again in his pockets. “You look nice, as usual.”

“Trying to butter me up?” (Y/N) smirked, teasing the Gryffindor slightly.

“Compliments never hurt,” he shrugged. “Thank you, for agreeing to this (Y/N).”

“I only did it because Professor Knight was listening to our whole conversation, it would’ve looked poor on my part if I didn’t”

“So that bloke’s name is Knight?”

“Lancelot Knight, if you can imagine.”

“His parents must’ve really had it out for him.”

“Must’ve.”

Silence.

“Well? We should get walking,” (Y/N) began to leave the courtyard, headed towards the open fields surrounding the castle.

Neville followed suit, allowing (Y/N) to stride at least five steps ahead. Her hair was pulled into her signature low ponytail, wrapped neatly with a bow. Neville could count on one had the amount of times he had seen her without her bow, her hair down. One of them being at the Battle of Hogwarts. It was in a pink ribbon, just like the one she was wearing now. Somehow it fell out in all of the commotion.

“Do you ever get tired of your bows?” Neville asked, almost absentmindedly.

“We’re not here to discuss my hair choices, Professor Longbottom,” said (Y/N), not turning around. “If we were, we’d start with your horrendous use of gel.”

“Horrendous?” Neville choked. “My Gran loves it when I gel my hair back!”

“Your Gran needs better spectacles,” (Y/N) slowed her pace, allowing Neville to get closer to her. “You used too much of it.”

“I’ll tone it down,” said Neville, fingers now trying to mess up his hair. “(Y/N), I’ve missed you,” she didn’t respond. “I know that you probably think that I’m the dumbest bloke to walk these grounds after the way we left off, but I just wanted you to hear that.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

“I know you’re lying, (Y/N).”

“You don’t know anything, Longbottom,” (Y/N) quipped, allowing herself to turn around just once. “You don’t know how badly I needed a friend that day, how badly I needed someone to care about me.”

“I see we’ve dropped the formalities,” said Neville, noting her lack of their shared title. “(Y/N), I didn’t know what you needed. You can be really good at avoiding conversations… or people.”

“You…” (Y/N) fought back the tears, trying hard to give herself the restraint she had years ago. “You never asked!"

“How was I supposed to know?” His voice rising.

“How were you supposed to know, what? That my dad escaped from Azkaban? That-that he joined the Dark Lord again? A man I had never met in my life?” She felt the hot tears stream down her cheeks. “You knew all of that!”

“I didn’t know he was there! The battle was a bit hectic, loads of people were dying, (Y/N).”

“Including him! My own father!” (Y/N) seethed, her eyes forcing themselves to meet with Neville’s. “My own father died and I never got to meet him, never got to say hello, let alone goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t know at the time, I was—”

“Preoccupied with Lovegood. I know.”

“That’s a bit uncalled for,” He quipped. (Y/N) sat with her knees tucked under her chin. Neville’s tone softened. “You’re hurting right now. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, then, I mean,” He sat down next to her. “But I’m here now.”

“That man,” (Y/N) continued, as if Neville wasn’t staring her down. “He was the reason I tried so hard to be good. To be everything he wasn’t. Kind, caring, loving,” she wiped a stray tear. “Why did it hurt so bad when he died?”

“I don’t know,” Neville admitted. That was a question only (Y/N) could answer. He felt like she knew that. “I found out when reading about the dead. Your dad’s name stuck out. I sent an owl—”

“I know.”

“What? I thought you said—”

“I lied,” (Y/N) chuckled airily. “I got them. All of them.”

“But why would you lie?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, hugging her knees harder. “I never opened them.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” another shrug. “I was being dumb. I wanted so badly to cut you out of my life for good. To forget that I ever—” she stopped.

“I know I wasn’t the best of friend in that moment,” he rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m damn well trying now. I know we can’t get back to where we were before, but I want to at the very least give it a go,” he sat down, gingerly, as to not disturb (Y/N). He pushed his arm to the other shoulder, resting his head atop hers.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) whispered, leaning into his touch, enjoying the embrace.

“Do you think you could start calling me Neville again? As a step in the right direction?” (Y/N) nodded wordlessly. “Good. I’ve missed it.”

“My father dying…” (Y/N) loosed her grip on her knees, opening up slightly. “Isn’t the only reason we fought.”

“No. I guess not,” Neville knew exactly what she was talking about. He couldn’t find the words to express that day, that argument in full. “ We can pretend it is for now. We should talk about it. Another day,” he smiled lightly.

“Another day,” she repeated. “Neville.”

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai , @missihart23 , @biatheintrovert , @luna-xxxxx , @chocolaterumble, @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy , @steve-thotgers

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with!

#neville longbottom #neville longbottom x reader #harry potter x reader #neville longbottom imagine #harry potter #plant boy #neville longbottom x you #it's not great but had to get this shit out of the way fam #oh boy do i have thoughts for these two #burning? slowly you betcha

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no6secretsanta · 3 years

Text

Day off.

Hey, it’s me, Apricot! I was so happy when I received the e-mail that you were my giftie @marykedoesart . I hope you like it!! <3

(from ApricotMori_ (twitter))

- Oh, boys! It’s such a shame you have to go, but don’t forget to come back soon, alright, Shion? And Nezumi…

- Yes, madam?

- I know how happy you make my son and that brings me joy all the time, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me… Stop buying those muffins near your home and come visit me. I’ll give you fresher ones for free, alright?

Karan’s voice was sweet and caring, filled with that tender mother-like tone she has always had. Yet there was a little drop of anger noise between those words. She was smiling widely, her eyes were hidden by the curvature on her lips, and she was caressing Nezumi’s cheek. However… Shion was aware of how those words pierced Nezumi’s cool mask and shattered it.

That’s how her mother was like, a kindhearted woman, but also a strong one who would not accept anything but the best for those she appreciated dearly. And, yes, her muffins were the best around the city, and, yes, she appreciated Nezumi a lot. Shion would sometimes joke about how she just quitted on being his mother, because she put Nezumi under her wing. How could she take for granted that he tasted somebody else’s muffins?

“Elyurias was scary, but your mother has some guts”, Nezumi once admitted to Shion, so Shion couldn’t help but laugh at the image exposed right in front of his eyes.

Nezumi’s façade was somber and he was frightened because he couldn’t just play a stage to run away; Karan knew him better. She would immediately perceive it.

- Mom, it’s been my fault. He never eats them, it’s me who asks him to go and buy some when I have to work until midnight… Stop scaring him.

- Oh! So Nezumi, are my muffins still your favorite ones?

- Of course, my dearest lady. They always have been and they always will be.

Nezumi bent down with his right palm against his chest, as elegant as someone from the realms.

He never lied; it was nothing else, but the truth. He wasn’t picky with food, but when it came to muffins that weren’t Karan’s, he would find all the excuses: too dry or not sweet enough, or whatever else. Those were the only exception.

They shared their farewells. The two boys started walking downhill with paper bags full of bread and Nezumi’s favorite desserts. The food was fresh, the smell was soothing, and it was still warm, so the bags felt nice against their torsos. It contrasted perfectly with the night that was starting to fall over them. As it grew darker, people would come back to their homes to get dinner, so the streets were kind of lonely except for the two figures that were walking and talking something unimportant, but still could steal some laughter; once or twice.

- If Your Majesty wants to, there’s no way this faithful servant could stop him… But, for real, Shion, the last time that didn’t turn out well.

- I’m not sixteen anymore… Besides, if I start rubbing my nose with yours again, you can now just kiss me.

- Hmph.

Nezumi smirked. “Who has given so much confidence to this hopeless idiot?” he thought while grabbing Shion’s paper bags.

A bell announced Shion’s arrival to the liquor store, an item a little too classic for that kind of business, but it was good that some places still had those old rarities.

The city that once existed inside big walls was no longer there. It turned out way better than Nezumi could have expected. It grew at a record rate and now tall buildings full of better and eco-friendly technology stood there. Poverty was a word that couldn’t be used; everyone could afford to cover all their necessities without any class distinctions. People were able to choose their path and chase after their dreams out of government influence.

After so many years, people that were from West Block and people that were from No. 6 had come to understand each other’s destinies. None of the citizens arbitrarily decided nor pulled the trigger of the lives each had to endure. It was all government faults and it had been clarified, cleaned, and restructured.

Forgiveness came; hatred and revenge was something from the past. When Nezumi first stepped into No. 6, he inhaled deeply; the fragrance of freedom, the sense of safety, and the vibes of certainty. It invaded him like air inside his lungs.

After more than 12 years later from that step, he still felt the same way. It was good. No, it was beyond good. Not the city conditions precisely, but to trust and rely on someone and received foremost from that someone. What a lesson life had given him. No. Nezumi didn’t believe in destiny or faith, the lesson was given by no one else, but Shion.

He still could only trust and rely only on Shion, and even if there was only one person to trust, Nezumi could also come with some more forgiveness about his past choices.

- Nezumi, mmh, why are you smiling so peacefully?

Shion came out with bottles of what seemed to be grape juice, but it was wine; the cheapest kind. He couldn’t be entrusted to do that task because he would go in and buy the one already known. Shion only had alcohol at West Block, that particular day, next to Nezumi. None of them had money to waste, so they accepted Rikiga’s gift: the cheapest wine and also the only one that could be found on those God forgotten streets.

Shion had opportunities to learn the names of other types and brands of alcohol at some fancy reunions he was invited to, but he didn’t try them. Not once. He wanted to preserve the flavor from the one that tasted like treasured memories.

- You’re starting to lose your sight sense. You are not getting any younger, Shion. You should go to the doctor to do a checkup.

- Hahaha. We are the same age, Nez-

- Whatever. Give me that bag, your doll prince hands will tear.

- I no longer have those hands. Don’t be silly, Nezumi. Better use your free hand to hold mine.

- Mngh… Gotcha, prince.

Shion found that abrupt answer: weird. It did not matter how pierced Nezumi’s tongue was, he would always let Shion speaks before giving a comeback. However, even if it was weird Nezumi was smiling so relaxed and he seemed to be lost in his thoughts. It had to mean he was letting himself be comfortable around the idea surrounding his mind. It was a good sign.

Nezumi still has a hard time putting his guard down, but he’s been able to do it lately, and that was what mattered… But still was an opportunity for Shion to tease him a little bit.

- Maybe you were thinking of me.

- You think too highly of yourself.

- I’ve learned from the best.

- You’re a fast learner with theory, but not an accurate one with practice.

- Remember your words, Nezumi.

- I always do.

They arrived home.

A small mouse, black and fast, had given his welcome and earned a piece of bread… There was no way that tiny friend would let Shion or Nezumi step inside if they didn’t greet him with some treat first. Maybe that little mouse stayed next to Shion just to have a life free pass to try what Cravat always did when delivering the letters back on the days they lived at the bunker.

- You spoiled him. Such an obedient mouse turned into a brat at the hands of another brat. What a tragedy!

Nezumi said and put everything in their kitchen while Shion took a bath. Later they just changed roles.

“They were still in the happier stage of love. They were full of brave illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered”

“I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside of me there will always be the person I am tonight”.

- Tender is the night, F. Scott Fitzgerald

- Remind me again why are we reading this book? When we finish it, you will be crying like a little girl.

- I don’t care. I pretty much just like listening to you.

- What am I going to do with that cheesy mouth of yours?

- I have some ideas, but we can discuss them later when we go to bed.

- Mmnh, mmnh.

- … And I wanted you to listen to that quote.

- You still are an airhead, jeez. Shion, we’re not 16 anymore. Shion, you’ve changed. And so did I. We became more mature; more adult-like. But your naive essence remains the same… Pretty much. Quite impressive if you ask me.

- Hey! That was meant to be cute all the way.

Nezumi was absolutely teasing him, having his small revenge for a couple of hours ago. He was more than charmed by Shion’s idea to spend the night. And… the cheesy mouth had been cute all the way. Yes. Nezumi still has a hard time taking sweet actions, but he, at least, could acknowledge them. Specially when they came from his unique airhead: Shion.

With a smile on his face and his body stuffed with good humor, he filled two cups with the crimson liquor and gave one to Shion.

- Yeah, yeah. Look if you try to bite me just once, this wine will end up as your personal hair dye.

- This hair you love so much?

- You’re right. Your pastel yellow pajama pants will be, then. Why do you have such a bad sense of fashion anyway?

- I don’t know, probably because I have no eyes for anything that is not you.

- For real, Shion? Are you trying to flirt with me that way? Tsk, tsk, it’s worse than Shakespeare.

- It still is the truth.

- Hopeless.

- …ly in love.

- Oh, shut up! You’re scaring Tsukiyo.

Contrary to his words, the mouse was having a good time with a few more pieces of bread. Tsukiyo cheep cheep-ed and it sent the two boys into a burst of hysterical laughter.

They hadn’t even tasted the wine, and they were already having a good time.

They wanted to remember something tasted and shared more than 12 years ago. Something that, at the time, brought them eases and some sort of comfort from everything that had been going on, and they succeeded. They succeeded at being two dorky teenagers when they deserved it. They teased each other, they fell on the floor and they laughed when life wasn’t being any good. By that time, alcohol was a small escape, more like an excuse because it was not the way to; kind of an accessory. By this time, as accessories just decor, wine was again unnecessary. It also turned out it wasn’t to their liking. The two cups just cooled down at the table when Nezumi thought of something that also made the two of them happy back on those days.

A dance.

With the widest smile, Nezumi took Shion and pulled him closer. Just like that day, Nezumi had a crave to feel Shion’s warmth against his.

- Let’s see how much your Majesty has improved.

- …

Shion wanted to say he never danced again after that day, but once again, as it always happens, he got lost in the pair of grey eyes that looked deeply into him.

After so much time spent together, Shion could, at least, recognize his silly grin and react differently than just standing there thunderstruck and unable to move.

Their feet waltzed around. Nezumi’s movement was elegant and even more precise than when they were 16 years old, and something melted inside Shion’s heart. “On his travels… he danced. There were times he was so carefree he would just… dance”.

Shion giggled and let the sudden twirls of his heart guided his steps. They had no music. The only rythm heard was their foot stepping here and there, Nezumi’s one, two, three, and Shion’s silly laughter.

- What is it, my stubborn child? Tell me so I can laugh with you. - It’s nothing, Nezumi. You’ve become better at this and I haven’t. That’s it. - I wouldn’t say that. I’m quite impressed by his Majesty’s performance. And Nezumi did start laughing at the unison with Shion. It was so easy to be together, so easy to enjoy their presences, to be gentle and kind to each other.

Nezumi’s heart was also melting while dancing. For similar, yet, somehow, different reasons. He was feeling some sort of happiness. There was still a long way for him to go through, but after so many years of hatred and guilt, he had slowly learned to move on from the darkness and let the light come into his life.

It was such a ridiculous way to explain it, but Nezumi couldn’t help it. Some things are just the way they are… and it was the most accurate way to express the process he accidentally went through on his travel.

He left for the sake of running away from a tumult of overwhelming feelings and as an unexpected consequence: he freed himself from chains that were holding him, blinding him and pining him down as some kind of martyr.

He wasn’t a martyr anymore. He deserved to make his own life choices and enjoy new experiences… He called it hope and hope brought him freedom.

Freedom brought him back to Shion.

Shion had also changed. At first glance, Shion would look like he had been sharpened by a knife, but then he would smile and make the whole world stop for a while. He turned calculative, strong, determined and even ambitious, but he was still the warm human being Nezumi met at 12 years old, he was still the warm human being who came back from hell.

Shion never lost his humanity. He found a meaning to this world while restructuring the city. A meaning he told Nezumi would rather keep to himself.

It was fine that way for Nezumi. But sometimes he would just wonder… or maybe he was just projecting his discoveries onto Shion: Shion also found freedom.

Maybe he wanted to experience all the shapes and shades of humanity that were attached to this lifetime.

- Would you life to travel this time with me?

- I’d love to.

Maybe such an intense, expansive, and complex experience was a good starting point to approach all the variating tones of life. Nezumi once had a taste.

-… and I love you.

- Shion you keep on being so cheesy.

-…

- But I love you too.

And as Fitzgerald would agree, even if the way they loved each other had changed, changed or would change, they’ll remember that somewhere inside of them they would always be the same as they were when they met… when they saved each other’s life and when they drifted apart, and, of course, when reunion came.

#no6 #no 6 #no.6 #no. 6 #no6secretsanta #apricotmori #apricotmori_#marykedoesart #fanfiction #submission

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mildredisabella · 3 years

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Assignment 3: Information Design

In this last assignment, I was tasked with creating an infographic based on a certain set of data. If I am being honest, I chose to do an infographic on Netflix because it was a mature company and because I was watching Stranger Things prior to this assignment which really gave me the inspiration. Conceptualisation

Before planning out what I wanted to include in my infographic, I went to Pinterest to do some quick searches for design inspiration and what I could potentially include in this infographic. Something that caught my eye was this infographic that I found had a mixture of words and pictures with Netflix’s signature colour, emblem and stats which gave me things to work with and potentially expand on that (Fig.1):

Fig.1: Netflix old stats: http://www.tommiemedia.com/diversions/netflix-by-the-numbers/

As the stats were a little outdated, I decided to make something similar and update it with the current stats.

Sketch

After getting the rough information down, I made a quick sketch on what I wanted to include in the infographic as shown below (Fig.2)

Fig.2: Sketch of Netflix Infographic

Firstly, I knew that I wanted to arrange my infographic in a top down, left to right manner which is why I had the big label of Netflix heading the infographic to give audiences an idea of what they’re looking at.

Next, I knew that I wanted to incorporate the Netflix logo and give some background information on the company. To show this list, I mainly did it in a diagram form so it is easier to absorb. To the right of it, I wanted to present the stats of the number of people (in millions) who are making use of the service in the different regions. To best represent this information, I decided to do it in a bar chart form.

Finally, from the 2/3 of the page down, I wanted to include some statistics on Netflix’s revenue, most streamed acquired series, most viewed original film, Popular Netflix Original series Viewership, most viewed Netflix movies in the US in 2020 and it’s competitors. These stats as a whole aim to tell the readers how well the company is doing financially, how they are doing against their competitors and what kind of content do people want to watch as well as how much they are averaging for the most popular original content that they have put out. This is so as to continue knowing their audiences and making content for them to enjoy which ultimately results in revenue for the company as well. Inspiration and Tracing

In my infographic, I was initially thinking about what I can use to symbolise the different aspects that I wanted and therefore, I decided to use a dollar sign for revenue, clapperboards for films, TV sets for television shows and for the competitors I decided to use versus (V/S) in the same colour as Netflix’s branding colours. After having the rough idea of what I wanted to portray in my infographic, I decided to use the trusty search engine google to look for images that I could trace and edit. Below are some of the inspiration pictures and samples that I have from google (Fig.3).

Fig.3: Images from Google

After acquiring these images, I traced them out on Adobe Illustrator and these are some of the drawings that I obtained (Fig.4).

Fig.4: Final traced images exported in PNG from AI

From Tracing to Colouring

After getting the drawings out, I wanted to colour them in to make it look more realistic and stand out from the background.

Fig.5: TV in AI

After tracing the TV using the pen and curvature tools, I selected the layer I wanted to colour in by tampering around with the fill and stroke icons. Afterwards I just repeated that for all the different layers and before I knew it, I had a TV straight out WandaVision in the first 2 episodes (Disney did it better though but I’m pretty content with the fact that I could actually draw). This similar process was repeated for all the visual elements that I had (Fig.6,7,8 and 9).

Fig.6: Dollar sign to symbolise revenue on AI.

For this sign, the original image was in greyscale and as I wanted my image to represent wealth. Hence, I went with the colour green as it is universally associated with money and coupled with the dollar sign, it instantly signals to the viewers that I will be dealing with numbers in the section below as well.

Fig.7 Clapperboard on AI

For this clapperboard, I purposely chose to leave the space there blank as I knew I was going to be dealing with 2 movie titles, The Secret Life of Pets and Extraction and therefore, I wanted to keep the space there so I can use typography (for the movie titles) to fill in the blanks. This was the same for the TV graphic that I had drawn as I was going to fill it in with the popular TV shows when I have laid it all out in the graphic.

Fig.8: Netflix logo on AI

Fig.9: Netflix full logo on AI

In the colouring for the Netflix logos, I decided to use the eyedropper tool to select the shade of red on the original Netflix logo as shown in Fig.3 and that was the colour I used to fill in the letters to complete the drawing.

From AI to InDesign

After getting all the visual elements that I needed for the infographic, I decided to open up InDesign to lay them out better for me to see and this was the final product that I came up with (Fig.10)

Fig.10: Infographic layout on InDesign

Fig.11: Infographic in PNG form.

In this layout, I have used a white background but adjusted the shade I have made some changes to the placement of the graphics (i.e. Competitors and Popular Netflix Original Series Viewership) and text as I lacked space if I stuck to my original plan and I felt that this layout worked the best. I kept the header the same and added a white rectangle with black text titled the Key Stats at the side and angled it up. The purpose for doing that was to allow the readers to know what they can expect from the infographic. I used a san-serif font (Helvetica Neue) and (condensed) bolded the letters in 24pt. This was to allow the readers to easily read the header and move on as I don’t want them to dwell too long on it. On the top left, I made use of the Netflix logo that I traced previously and added a white background and using the same san-serif font (Helvetica Neue) in 12pt so that I have more space at the bottom in the later sections. On the top right, I created a bar chart using the lines and shapes function on InDesign and purposefully chose the colour red and white to show a clearer distinction between the graphics. As red is the main colour of the Netflix logo and a colour that demands for attention, I decided to incorporate it into the graph so that viewers would give it equal attention like they do for the traced Netflix logo.

In the bottom 2/3 of the graphic, a 16pt serif (Garamond) font was used for the headers and for the other information (body text), I kept the san-serif Helvetica Neue text in 11pt. This is mainly because I wanted the body text to be easily read and it has thicker strokes which is easier on the eyes. The second reason was so as to save space as I had a lot of information to try to fit in as well as wanting to give the text more “breathing space”. I chose to use a white (#FFFFF) rectangle border around my texts so that they would stand out from the shaded white background. I kept the text in black because I thought it was elegant and classy as well as overall easy to read. Even though centre-aligned, as taught in the lecture, was a weak way to get readers to read the text, I still went ahead to centralise my header texts in the boxes as well as the columns of content in the centre using the align tool in InDesign as the left-aligned text made it look aesthetically unpleasing. When I had a solo text in the last line, I was also careful to not leave it hanging at the bottom as it was not supposed to be orphaned according to a rule in design.

Moreover, I also made the careful decision to put the icons in the middle of the texts (i.e. header, icon, description) so as to break them up so it didn’t look too chunky so that it was easier for the reader to absorb. For the V/S icon, I did it a little differently compared to the rest of the icons as the rest were traced on AI but this was solely using the Garamond font in Semibold Italic at 57pt. Initially the kerning looked a little too close to one another and a little uneven. Hence, I made the decision to give the V and S more breathing space by going to the VA settings on the right and adjusted that to 50.

Furthermore, to represent the part on Netflix users VS other streaming services (global), I decided to represent that in a table form as it was easier to understand and people could instantly see the figures which is the important part of that section.

Lastly, in the bottom left part of the infographic, I included the link to my sources in San Serif Helvetica Neue 4pt as it was not as much of importance but it was more for the reason that I did not want to be thrown out for plagiarism.

Challenges

Throughout this entire infographic process from conceptualisation to design to the final product, I realised my biggest mistake was not organising my layers as I was dealign with so many especially when it came to text because everything will go out of alignment if I accidentally selected something else by mistake which I will take on board with me for my future design assignment.

Apart from that, I also realised that the part addressing the key people in the company actually needed a lot of space which might have played in to the factor where I had limited space for the bottom 2/3 of the infographic and it may not be as neatly aligned. Therefore, I had to go through several adjustments and scaling options by expanding the width of the white text box and make the text fit before finally settling on the best option.

Critique

During the critique session, I received really helpful feedback such as:

Bolding the stats (i.e. 74 million) so that it stands out more from the background because these are important figures.

Improving on my visual hierarchy as the white background that helps the text stand out was pretty unevenly drawn. (alignment issue)

By putting all my texts in white boxes, it gives all the information that I have provided similar intensity and symbolises the fact that they have similar importance.

Post-Critique

Fig.12: Updated Infographic in InDesign

Fig.13: Infographic in PNG format.

To rectify the issues that were being brought up during the critique, I decided to bold the numbers at the side of my graph so that it stands out as I wanted to highlight the important statistics.

With regards to the alignment issues, I have tried to align or draw my white text box so that they will be the same width. This also includes the table as I have attempted to do the same by scaling it up so that it aligns with the width of the white text box. Afterwards, I centre-aligned it again so that it flows better.

Moreover, to address the critique on my information having a similar intensity, I decided to go ahead and play around with the colour by changing it to the Netflix red, E3051A. I have also increased the font size to 13pt and bolded the stats. Hence, all these elements work together to aid the important statistic stand out in the body text.

Other amendments

I realised that for the bar chart I was missing an axis titled region so I decided to add that in and shifted the graph down. At the same time, I decided to change the rectangle graph color from white to black as white was already used a header background option and i didn’t want to confuse the audience even more which was why I made the switch.

#nm3217

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hamliet · 5 years

Text

Xue Yang: A Tragic Study in How Not to Empathy

Or really, the two-way nature of empathy and importance of communication, in which Xue Yang gets an F.

Me: I’ll wait until the donghua’s second season to write on Yi City so I can use gifs.

Me five seconds later: I have major Yi City feels, too bad.

So let’s talk Xue Yang, who at first glance seems the series’ most repugnant character morally (besides perhaps Jin GuangShan). And yet he’s such a direct contrast to Wei WuXian, Jin GuangYao, and Jiang Cheng that on further reads I was struck by how desperate and sad his life was. Not that any of it excuses him, but his motives were not simply “evil for evil’s sake.” As we learn later on, pretty much no one in MDZ (and irl) is evil for evil’s sake, but Xue Yang is absolutely one of the more... chaotic and petty ones. That being said, Xue Yang’s actual motivations were not remotely petty at all.

(art here & elsewhere in this meta is official art from the audio drama; quotes are from the novel’s translation by exiledrebelsscans)

Let’s discuss Xue Yang in contrast to the other three characters from the Yi City Arc: A-Qing, Xiao XingChen, and Song Lan. All of these characters foil each other, but the most blatant similarities were between Xue Yang and A-Qing, two characters who professed to hate each other.

Both A-Qing and Xue Yang, early on in their introductions, fake blindness to garner people’s sympathy. Xue Yang pretends to be Xiao XingChen to Wei WuXian and the juniors; A-Qing is looking to steal money by stumbling into them under the guise of not being able to see. They both have unusual traits that save their lives: Xue Yang is uniquely talented and intelligent, and A-Qing has white pupils. And they both use their traits for, well, not ideally moralistic uses.

However, we know right away that A-Qing is a teenager trying to survive in the world. She’s poor, and doesn’t have a family. Xue Yang, we’re later told, comes from a similar background: a poor boy trying to find a way to survive. She uses similar logic at the beginning to what Xue Yang will later use to justify an atrocity: he hurt me, why can’t I hurt him back?

For A-Qing:

A-Qing leaped up three inches high, “He touched me! He pinched my butt, and it hurt so much, so what’s wrong with me taking some of his money? There’s only so little inside of such a big pouch, and he’s being a bully about it. He’s gonna die flat broke!”

Wei WuXian disagreed, You clearly had stealing intentions and bumped into him first, but now you’re saying it like he wronged you first. What a fraud argument.

For Xue Yang:

“...the wheels of the cart ground over the child’s hand, one finger at a time.”

Xiao XingChen couldn’t see, but Xue Yang raised his left hand at him anyway, “He was seven! The bones of his left hand were crushed, while one finger was ground into battered flesh on the spot! This man was Chang Ping’s father.

“...The YueyangChang Clan was only reaping what it had sown!”

I’m not attempting to morally compare A-Qing and Xue Yang, not at all, but instead to point out that their logic begins somewhere, and it’s in a similar vein at the beginning. The difference is A-Qing grows; Xue Yang spirals. It’s a highly childish form of logic they use--and A-Qing is seventeen, despite acting much, much younger. The story is encouraging us to see Xue Yang in A-Qing, a child hardened by the world who still desperately chases after connection; however, Xue Yang is older and more hardened by this point.

And the particular connection they both pursue is in Xiao XingChen. A-Qing continues to fake her blindness so that she can stay close to him. Xue Yang keeps his identity (and thereby his past with Xiao XingChen) a secret as well, so that he can stay with Xiao XingChen.

Although A-Qing was afraid, she couldn’t hide the truth any longer. She apologized and apologized, “I’m sorry, Daozhang! I didn’t lie to you on purpose! I was scared that if you knew that I’m not blind, you’d chase me away! But please don’t blame me for now. Let’s run away together. He’ll be back after he finishes shopping for food!”

Xue Yang had no way of knowing Song Lan would return someday and set in motion events that would reveal his identity--in fact, he pretty clearly did not know. As he tells Song Lan:

To be fair, the reason why I wiped out your temple was precisely because of him. It’s quite understandable why you took it out on him. In fact, it was exactly what I wanted... Well! Who was the one who said ‘from now on, we won’t need to meet again?’ Wasn’t it you, Daozhang Song? He listened to your request and disappeared after he dug out his eyes for you, but why have you come to him now? Isn’t this making it a bit too difficult?

What Song Lan said to Xiao XingChen--to never see him again, essentially to leave--was the exact opposite of what he wanted. I mean he then spends years searching for the friend who dug out his eyes for him. The reason he did so is completely understandable: it was the heat of the moment, he’d just lost his eyes, the temple he grew up in had been wiped out, and he said something he regretted (and which ties into MDZS’s theme of watching what you say). He was in pain, and he lashed out.

And we later see that Xue Yang, too, is in pain and lashing out, albeit in a waaaaay more extreme way. But if Xue Yang stayed with Xiao XingChen all those years just to get revenge on him by making him kill innocents, then why did he never reveal it until he had no choice? He probably didn’t just want to hurt Xiao XingChen, and he even notes that “recently, we haven’t went out at night to kill walking corpses, have we? But, a few years ago, didn’t we go outside and kill a bunch every couple of days?”

What he really wanted from Xiao XingChen he blatantly tells him in their last confrontation, when it’s too late for any of them:

“...Who was right, who was wrong; would an outsider be able to understand? Or, maybe you shouldn’t have even left the mountain in the first place. Your teacher, BaoShan SanRen, was indeed smart. Why didn’t you listen to her and obediently cultivate in the mountains? If you couldn’t understand the happenings of this world, then you shouldn’t have come!”

It was more than Xiao XingChen could bear, “… Xue Yang, you really are… too disgusting…”

Hearing this, the killing intent that hadn’t flashed through Xue Yang’s eyes for quite a long while had appeared again.

He laughed bitterly, “Xiao XingChen, this is why I hate you. The people that I hate the most are ones like you who say they’re righteous, who think they’re virtuous, precisely stupid, naive, dumb idiots like you who think the world’s better just because you did something good! You think I’m disgusting? Very well. Would I care if anybody thinks I’m disgusting? But, on the other hand, are you in a position to be disgusted by me?”

Xiao XingChen paused slightly, “What do you mean?”

...

Xiao XingChen’s lips moved, as though he was feeling somewhat uneasy, “Why are you bringing this up now?”

Xue Yang, “Nothing, really. It’s just really unfortunate that you’re blind. You dug out both of your eyes, so you couldn’t see those ‘walking corpses’ that you killed. They were so scared, so pained when you pierced them through the heart. Some even kneeled down and cried and kowtowed for you to let off the young and elderly of their families. If not for how I cut off all of their tongues, I bet they would’ve been wailing and shouting ‘Daozhang, spare us’.”

Xiao XingChen’s entire body started to tremble.

Even when Xue Yang was looking for revenge on Xiao XingChen, he was doing it to try and force Xiao XingChen to understand where he was coming from, to understand him, to empathize with him instead of judging him.

And this is where Xue Yang makes a fatal error. His inability to connect with people is because of himself, not because of them. To be honest with Xiao XingChen earlier would have required a vulnerability and a trust that Xue Yang simply did not have. He did not want to be the little boy desperately looking for his pastries again, the boy who lost a finger for two adults’ petty grudge.

“The child saw the man who fooled him to take the letter. He felt both frustrated and happy. He threw himself to the man as he cried, and said to him, ‘I brought the letter there, but the pastries are gone and I was beaten up. Can you give me another plate?’

And because of his inability to trust Xiao XingChen, he drives him away forever and shatters the man who did show him genuine kindness, tricking him into killing Song Lan so that Xiao XingChen will feel just as alone as Xue Yang feels. And then Xue Yang literally disguises himself as Xiao XingChen, trying to become him in a sense.

Following the limpid echo of the sword tumbling to the ground, both Xue Yang’s movement and laughter halted.

After a while of silence, he walked to Xiao XingChen’s motionless corpse. He looked down with bloodshot eyes, the twisted curvature of his lips gradually sinking. Wei WuXian didn’t know if he had accidentally saw wrong, but it seemed that the rim of Xue Yang’s eyes were brimming a reddish tint.

And Xue Yang then spends eight years trying to figure out a way to mend Xiao XingChen’s soul, supposedly so he can control him, but really also so that he won’t be alone. He tries everything to revive Xiao XingChen’s soul.

After he smashed everything the house, he calmed down again. He squatted where he had been and called out in a small voice, “Xiao XingChen.”

He continued, “If you don’t get up, I’ll make your dear friend Song Lan murder people.

“I’ll kill off everyone in the entire Yi City and make them into living corpses. You’ve been living here for such a long time. Is it really okay for you not to care?

“I’ll strangle that little blind A-Qing and leave her corpse in the fields for wild dogs to gobble her up.”

A-Qing shivered soundlessly.

Having received no reply, Xue Yang suddenly shouted out of rage, “Xiao XingChen!”

He yanked at Xiao XingChen’s collars, even though it did nothing, and shook it a couple of times as he stared at the lifeless face in his hands.

Suddenly, pulling Xiao XingChen’s arm, he lifted him onto his back.

Xue Yang carried the corpse toward the door. As if he had lost his mind, he ranted in a whisper, “Spirit-trapping Pouch, Spirit-trapping Pouch. Right, a Spirit-trapping Pouch. I need a Spirit-trapping Pouch, a Spirit-trapping Pouch, a Spirit-trapping Pouch…”

Xue Yang desperately wanted to not be alone (which Wei WuXian identifies as his own chief fear to Lan WangJi, and the need to connect is an important theme in the novel), but his complete inability to take responsibility stopped him from ever forming an honest connection that could lead to some kind of redemption. As he accuses Xiao XingChen’s dead body: “You forced me to do this!”

But it’s not true. Xue Yang did have choices, and A-Qing shows us this in that she told Xiao XingChen her secrets to try and save his life. But more than that, as we’ll later see with Wei WuXian and Jin GuangYao’s stories--what choices we have are in part gifted to us by society, and there are things out of our control. Was someone like Xue Yang who never received any kind of justice to respect justice? (Jin GuangYao is a distinct parallel here.) Was someone whose immense talent was the only reason he achieved any kind of recognition in society, the only thing that the Jin Sect saved his life for, the only thing that kept him from being another useless street vagabond, supposed to understand that he could rely on others for worth and justice instead of feeling like he had to do it all himself? (Jiang Cheng is a loose parallel here.) Was he supposed to understand that there was a way back, a way to redemption, when no one offered him one? (Wei WuXian is a parallel here.)

But there was, and these other three parallels--Jin GuangYao, Wei WuXian, Jiang Cheng--all find it to a varying degree, as does A-Qing.

Empathy.

Literally it’s the name of the technique Wei WuXian uses to get the truth from A-Qing. What Xue Yang was looking for was true empathy, but he did not extend that empathy to others except in ways that weaponized their best traits against them (Nie HuaiSang is a parallel here in the weaponizing best traits aspect). And that was his tragedy, and the reason he dies unredeemed after killing Song Lan and A-Qing and essentially Xiao XingChen--killing parts of himself, really.

Anyways I love all four of these characters and can’t wait to see them animated.

#mdzs #mao dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi #xue yang #mdzs meta #yi city arc #song lan #xiao xingchen #a-qing

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

Volition

She knew the word, and every letter that made it. It was an odd word: Volition. It never rolled off her tongue quite right. But when she spoke it outloud, it was like magic. Her blood would rise, and electricity would flow through her veins as if uttering any other spell from any other arcane tome.

Vo-li-tion.

It meant the will to act. Not desire, or want, even though both those things also drove her actions. But it was nothing as base as that. Volition meant will. It meant choice. And as Lirelle had told her some days ago, volition was what she was going to need in the coming weeks. For a choice needed to be made. To be a mother to Stenden, or to be her own woman. Neither could reconcile the other.

Her body was now both lithe and strong, after weeks under the instruction of Thanidiel Highdawn. Accelerated by both potions that restored her stamina and a tenacious drive to not be useless on the field of battle. Relriah had become a capable fighter and commander, even if neither role suited her personally. It was evident in the recent action during the Illithian counter-offensive.

“Lady Highdawn,” she called out once training for the day had concluded. “Thanidiel, might I have a word? It’s on something of a personal nature,” Relriah asked, figuring that the rapport they had established over the course of the campaign would give the paladin some insight on her dilemma.

“Aye?” sounds out - her voice always a drum that reverberated through a space. Even now after the hours some of exercises and drills, little strained her voice. But it never did, in these moments away from both Emberglades and Quel’Thalas in a way. When they were amongst those who held loyalty to Highdawn - those who were willing to toil and perfect themselves under her education - she walked and she spoke less like a lynx on the frayed boundary of striking, and more like a creature within domain.

Her back is turned even as her long ears flick towards the Lady’s direction, attention taken on briefly educating a younger woman who’s joined her ‘fold’ on wrapping a blister. Some native of these lands taken by the motley band Thanidiel had marched with and had attached, much like Relriah. In spite of all of the once-knight’s grumblings of distaste for being still looked to for leadership.

“I’m not quite sure where to begin, but I feel like something has happened to me,” she brushed her hair aside. Relriah recalled her conversations with Lirelle a few nights before. “Because, as we approach an inevitable victory given our numbers, the thought of this war ending has me on edge. As if I am afraid of peace, finally returning to the Glades - Of becoming the Lady of the House once more...”

The Lady’s voice trailed off as she waited for Thanidiel to finish up her aid to the newcomer. There was still that tensions that twisted itself in her chest. An apprehension of trading the star-filled skies of the present, for the four walls of the manor that was slowly creeping back into her life. Though she had promised Solendis that she would be his wife once more, she did not know how she felt about it. Not truly.

“I am afraid of peace,” is the frank and honest sentiment conveyed as she pats the youth’s shoulder with the bandage of proper tightness and about-faces to regard Relriah fully. Her way of establishing an immediate camaraderie in that department as she now starts to unstrap training armour in favour of the soaked woolen shirt underneath. “It removes me of purpose; my skill has never been in the tending of fields or roads like how the armies of these Northern lands operate. Even when I was younger than Stenden, I spent my time in the mountains ‘fore Eastweald in a constant war of our own with the Amani.”

“You sound like the Wintergales,” she comments as Thanidiel retrieves her cigar tin. “Before The Fall that is. When Amani raids still came from deep within the Cloudrends,” she says, noting the knight’s for purpose.

She starts to stride a short distance to the side, towards fencing where she had left her cigar tin. Plucking up one from within as she uncaps it with a steady slide of a knife and lights in a brilliant little ‘pop’ of arcane-flame. “Even the Wintergales have walls and towns to return and maintain, no? I cannot say I remember such ‘luxuries’ from my youth.”

Relriah notes the emphasis on the luxury of walls to return to, trying her best to form an image of Thanidiel’s past. But can’t. Relriah’s life had been nothing but walls.

Puffing the acrid first smoke out from her cigar, it fumes out into the air quickly, followed almost immediately by a longer one that rolls around her mouth and over her tongue. “It is not the responsibility of being a Lady that burdens you,” presses itself in a firm observation of the other’s character.

...marital problems?”

Relriah shakes her head. “No- Yes- Not really,” she says unable to grasp that feeling in her chest. “Solendis has never mistreated me, nor am I unhappy with our arrangement- But-” A fire seems to light behind her eyes. “He loves me- But never the way his brother did. By comparison it is cold, calculated. Punctuated by words like: Obligation and Duty.” Lady Emberheart paused, realizing she had spoken too much in her attempt to express her truth to Thanidiel.

Thanidiel starts to scratch at the corner of her azure-blue eye as she watches Relriah, that same pupil tracking the Lady just a beat slower than the furious fel-green other, “I took a man for a lover before. He grated me in a similar way - too cold to match up to my blaze.” Then she rolls her shoulder, an action that serves as both a shrug and as a way to loosen the previously unstrapped leather armour and let it all fall onto the soil. It seems as though she’s simply stomping right over the implications drawn between Solendis and Sederis. A quiet mercy, or more realistically, an apathy to such things.

“But if you are not unhappy with such an arrangement, then what it is that displeases you?”

Relief fills her when she hears her instructor’s reply, mercifully apathetic to her accidental revelation.

“Because,” Relriah replies. “I think something in me broke when I took the field, and the lives of others. It’s as if the longer I stayed on the battlefield, the more my heart rip in two. One belonging to Lady Emberheart. One belonging to…” She trails off, glancing up at the stars. “Me.” There were two of her now, and which would survive this war was still in the balance.

Thanidiel stares at Relriah for an eon of a moment - like a parent taken aback by some philosophical revelation of the child and knowing little of what to do with it. Even the cigar held at the edge of her lips has smoke suspend from it like incense. Then her brows start to furrow, that entrenchment already between them like a fault in the earth.

It is rare for the Phoenix Guard to voice much of anything that proximates near that ironclad heart of her’s, but yet here it is, barking out as the bemusement of processing what Relriah’s fucking problem was fades. Skipping over clarifications or allowing the other to expand her say further and going straight to the hamfisted solution.

“If Lady Emberheart is not you, then to force yourself to claim contentment with her arrangements as you do now is foolish. You are strong enough to be your own, so do so. That is what Sederis died for; what every Sin’dorei has died for.”

Relriah listens to her, and bows her head. She spoke true. The Phoenix Wars were fought primarily for their right to be their own people. Not to have their future dictated to them. In the same manner it had always been dictated to her.

“I am,” she nods speaking an affirmation to herself, “I am strong enough. But to choose myself is to forsake the life I knew and had grown comfortable with. Because I am no longer comfortable. There’s an energy now, that will not be satisfied with four walls of someone else’s choosing. Being nothing more than a passenger to another’s ship.”

She could not articulate it at the time, but she felt like a child. Forced to bear poorly conceived decisions of parents who did not know better. Listened to, but never heard. Powerful in her own right, but impotent to change anything in her world. But here, at the bleeding edge of impending peace that had been heralded by her own hand, Relriah felt like she could bear it no longer.

“What would you choose, Highdawn? Duty, or yourself?”

“One does not distinct from the other. When I was young, these things were forged into one. I came in as wet earth rich with mineral, and came out as steel,” answers back in a matter-of-fact fashion. Then she shakes her head some, pushing away a loose lock of hair from her bun then swings her palm out to brandish another cigar to Relriah.

Both an offer and the indication of a point being firmly laid to the other woman’s feet.

“But if you have the opportunity to be split of such things, I would not pursue the things that leave me cold.”

Relriah makes a soft chuckle, and takes the cigar. She had not indulged in such things since being married, lest she be seen by others and let it be the spark of rumors. Lady Emberheart had been perfection incarnate. It was built into the role that she had carried on her shoulders. But in that single gesture, she took a big and knowing step towards one of the women she wanted to be.

With the tiniest of cantrips, she lights her cigar. Summoning a small curvature of flame at the tip of her forefinger. She breathes it in, and in a long drawn exhalation, spreads the smoke into the sky in… relief?

“My life has been cold,” she states. “Immaculate and perfect, perhaps. But with all things without blemish, it was a sterile thing. I don’t think I will bear such a thing any longer.”

The warrior nods once - firm and resolute as though on Relriah’s behalf, as well as showing her immediate approval. “Then you will not, because you have the Will, and one’s Will is one’s Strength. Just as I am nothing without this, so can you make yourself again with it.”

Her arms fold over her chest, chin lifted imperiously as always as her gaze travels to follow that smoke and puff out her own gust of tobacco. “That is the luxury soldiers wish for the Sin’dorei, so advantage it than to needlessly burden yourself with ‘should do’s when the dead already have.”

Relriah gives a thoughtful pause, another breath of smoke. “I think that’s it. That’s the answer to all of this. My life had been given to me. The privilege of upbringing, clothes, suitors, and the expectations that came with it. This,” she gestured to the camp, filled with men at arms who had joined Thanidiel of their own accord. “This is a life I’ve made for myself. Worked for. And through pain, and blood, and sick. It’s a life I earned.”

She looks at Thanidiel, and gives a nod. Of a new form of rapport and of respect. “Thank you, I think you’ve helped me, more than you know.” With one last sigh, she looks back at the Phoenix Guard. “So, we’re coming to the end of all of this. Where will you go when this is over?”

The woman, more weapon than individual, stills with this inquiry. A breadth of silence needed to bring the abstract of her thoughts into language; a process rarely demanded of her to much capacity beyond the thunder and action of the field. Approaching kinship with the way a hound is asked something beyond its education.

“I don’t know. I tire of service yet duty is all I know. I am… dysfunctional in the ways of the civil world. I could die, but yet I do not. I could step into line with the Phoenix Guard proper and I would excel as I always have but it would be an obligation like my whole century and some has been.” Another pause before eventually she works out with a screw on her face, “I suppose after everything, I have attempted to resolve what would make me happy and have not found any solutions as I can with more… tangible things. So I… wait.”

The show of unfamiliarity with her own thoughts was not lost on Relriah, who listens intently to what she had to say. It was not everyday she got to hear of the inner workings of a warrior, much less a Lady as accomplished as Thanidiel was.

“If it pleases you, and if it suits your purpose, there will be a place for you in the Glades should you wish to stay,” Relriah makes a tangible offer. “I am my father’s last remaining heir to House Illithia and to the province of Westheath. If I’m not to be Stenden’s mother after all, I suppose I will be mother to those who would follow me. That said, I will need the very best advisors available to me if I am to keep the realm stable for the sake of my son.”

“Maybe. Beathyn promised me land in the Glades on your husband’s behalf. It was… intended for,” The fighter raises her hand to wave towards the whole of the bustling campground, “Them. My Lieutenants at bare minimum. I thought it’d be more grueling, that I’d die and that would be that. But it is looking like that is not the case.”

She breathes.

Not a sigh but a sound weary all the same.

“Somewhere far from walls. The hundred years I’ve spent at Silvermoon’s whims has shown me that I drown when I must consider lifestyles I was not birthed into. Perhaps whatever wilds have not been tamed and settled at the Glade’s edges if such a thing exists.”

“Ah, of course,” she makes a comment about her husband’s offer that must have been made long before now. “There will be good land to settle in the Bulwark, if farmsteading suits your lieutenants and a possibility of something more martial. But if you wish to remain far from walls, in places untamed then you may be content with the Cloudrends...”

Relriah gestures at the mountain range that overlooked the Emberglades no matter where they went. Always looming in the south, earning their namesake, forcing the clouds to coil upwards towards it’s crown. “I suppose the land there may be reminiscent of your childhood. Save the Amani raids since The Fall. Though, as you must know by now, The Cloudrend Glades are never completely safe.”

The ex-Knight hefts a shrugging motion upon her shoulder, her neck bending away from it as she rolls another mouthful of smoke over her tongue.

“I don’t think they need me any longer if they take up the idea of the Bulwark. But I’m no dictator, I will see what they all wish for, either way of company, I think you are right. And perhaps something familiar to those times would be… good, seeing as I cannot tread those lands any longer.”

Finally, as though struck by an afterthought, Thanidiel grunts then tacks on a sloppy, “Thanks.”

—

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel

#Epilogue #Relriah

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actor-mark · 4 years

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How could you!?

((18+ SENSITIVE CONTENT))

Ah.... Figures this one would pop up as the first huh... Well I supppooosee I could indulge your curious mind. I’m sure you know exactly who this is about as well. Well then ... Let’s get into it shall we. ((Story below the cut))

September 14th 9:57pmIt was starting to get cold outside, I could tell she was cold even if she’d never admit it, but god forbid I be the gentleman and offer her my jacket! She’d only see it as pity and nothing more. I don’t need your charity! pft... We were walking along the boulevard by the river, headed home after a night at the theatre watching one of our favorites. A date night. I owed her one after all. She was quiet, more than usual, stone faced and never looking at me, hadn’t all day. I’d tried everything for her attention. Sweet nothings, a kiss on the cheek, tried to hold her hand but she slipped my grasp more times than I could count, bought her drinks and popcorn for the show, made jokes and acted like a goofball to try and make her smile, nothing worked. A steel wall around her heart I couldn’t break through. I didn’t know why.

We were a good ten minutes or so walk from home, now normally we’d get a ride, especially on a cold night but she’d insisted on the walk. Said she wanted to chat on the way home and of course I was ready to listen but the lady hadn’t spoken a word to me! eventually my anxiety got the best of me and I asked what she wanted to talk about. There was a pause in her breath, a closing of her eyes and she looked away from me. It was bad I could tell that much. “What is it?” I’d asked “You can tell me.” My stomach turned knots. Eventually we came across the bridge over the river and she paused by the rails. I stopped with her. “Sweetheart? What is it? Is everything ok?” I’d grown concerned for her well being more than anything else. Her next words cut like glass.

“I can’t do this anymore.” My heart skipped a beat. For her to stop at the bridge like this and say such a thing, my mind thought the worst. I immediately took a few steps closer just in case. But it turns out it wasn’t what I’d thought...

“I can’t do this anymore.... I’m leaving you Mark. I’ve filed for divorce and I’ll have my things out by tomorrow night.”

I had to shake my head and recollect myself, it came as a shock. Only a few days ago had we been rolling around on the bed like horny teenagers! As I took another step closer she took one away from me almost as if scared of my reaction. And I must admit it may have been the shock in my body language. the disbelief that she would just... lead me along on a date like this and then drop that on me. But I guess she wanted one last time out of me.

We must have spent an hour on that bridge, back and forth. I just wanted a straight answer but she never gave one. In the end she hailed a passing cab to pick her up and all I could do was watch as she left. Left me alone on that bridge in the cold of the night lost, confused, alone, and heart broken.

I’d at some point slumped against the side of the bridge to let my emotions out, sat on the ground with my back to the rails and just.... reeling in the conversation we’d had. I didn’t understand. Eventually I continued the walk home. Slung my jacket over the sofa and collapsed onto it.

I was there for 3 hours before I got up and headed for the nearest liquor cabinet to drown myself in my own agony. That’s when I saw the letter. Or rather the envelope.

My Dearest Celine 🖤

Hand delivered. It stank of watermelon bubble gum and her perfume. I knew the handwriting. A letter from our friend. I ignored it, went for the whiskey and proceeded to drown myself in alcohol- ah I should note this was before the hospital visit that stopped my alcohol drinking. So don’t worry about me there my friends.

It wasn’t until I was blind drunk that I began to suspect that letter for what it was. A heart? The curvature of the lettering. Only saved for a sweetheart. A love letter. My next question followed suit. Where had she gone if not here. If not home? Most likely her brothers place. I called my driver to come pick me up and take me to the colonels manor and that’s where everything changed.

You see... I suspected her to be at Damien’s. Not there.... With him.

Will had been my friend since we were kids. I’d met him when we were just 8 years old. A goofball like myself. Damien was always a little more serious but had a whirlwind of fun hiding inside him that we could usually coax out now and again. Will was my friend.... So it was natural for me to have a key to his place. The invitation to wander in.

Now don’t get me wrong I didn’t just waltz in unannounced I knocked on the door first with no answer. With such a big house its hard to hear if you’re on the other side so our understanding was to come in, shoes off, call out. So I did. No answer.

Once I got upstairs however I heard the tell tale upbeat music Will enjoyed to know he was home and wandered over, knocked and entered his bedroom. Now I’m not gonna lie I’ve seen more of Will than I care to admit doing this same stupid move, but at that point it was more of an in-joke between us and remember I was blind drunk at the time. I didn’t exactly have the cognitive function that maybe I should have waited first.

I saw Will first. The two of them scramble for the bed sheets and Will laughing that they’d been caught in the act. “Oops sorry buddy!” I was apologetic! Realized my mistake despite my inebriation and made to back out, when I saw the look of utter panic in her eyes.

They were both naked, rolling around under the sheets which she’d pinned to above her chest for concealment.

“Celine?”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. If on a scale of 1-10 on how drunk I was, I’d gone from a solid 8 to a 5 in just that moment. “It’s not what it looks like” HA! Course it wasn’t.

My anger may have gotten the better of me that night. I yelled, a lot. But understandably so. She’d run off to go be with HIM. My best friend! Ditched me and couldn’t wait to climb into bed with him! I’d been left out in the cold, only to find that my wife and best friend had run off together behind my back.

The yelling must have lasted over an hour I don’t remember. But I do know I blacked out somewhere in between there and being driven home again with a black eye and a swollen lip. Might have gotten into a fist fight with Will. Who knows.

Once home I curled up on the sofa again, all I could think was three words.

“How could you?” HOW COULD SHE!? HOW COULD HE!? HOW COULD THEY! DO THIS TO ME!?I gave up everything for her. EVERYTHING! I gave her everything she could want and more. Nice dresses, a beautiful home, all the stupid voodoo shit she was into, the best food around! I gave her everything and she tossed me aside like an old rag!

.......... -sigh-

Forgive my raised voice... I suppose I’ll never really be over it. I loved her dearly. Loved them both. But instead I was left broken and alone. Can you blame me for what happened next? 37 stab wounds don’t come casually...

#writing prompt #ask actor mark #anonymous #how could you #actor mark #who killed markiplier #celine the seer #darkiplier #warfstache #wilford warfstache #cddtag #headcanon #actor mark lore

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flawlesspeasant · 4 years

Note

Hi I don’t know if you take requests but I’ve been reading your stuff on ao3 and I’m actually obsessed with you so I figured it’s worth a shot. I see your writing more for faberry and I’m so glad so I was wondering if you could write something fluffy and cute about Rachel and Quinn meeting for the first time. It can be canon or AU I just want fluff!

hi, anon! i actually do take prompts and i’m sorry it took me so long to reply to this, but here you go:

rachel & quinn meet in the coffee shop that rachel works at, and rachel tries to get the courage to talk to the pretty girl who comes in every morning.

_____________

Quinn used the tips of her fingers to push her hair back as the wind blew and made loose strands of it fall in a curtain of golden blonde in front of her face. She spit a stray piece from her mouth, then used the rubber band on her wrist to tie it back. Coming to New York from Lima sure was different in more ways than one, but Quinn noticed that the biggest difference was the weather. In Lima, she was used to stepping out wearing a light jacket in the middle of September and possibly getting away with wearing open-toed sandals. In New York, however, she needed a fully buttoned up trenchcoat and possibly earmuffs.

“Thank you,” she politely mumbled to the woman who held the door open for her.

Head down as she thumbed through her wallet, Quinn stumbled through the door and left the bitter cold of outside in exchange for the toasty warmth of the coffee shop. She felt the heat hit her cheeks and it made a chill creep up her spine, but she sauntered over time the same spot she had stood in for the last two weeks. One thing about New York that she came to like was the routine she was beginning to settle into. Every morning before class, she’d wake up, get dressed, head to the coffee shop, then head down the block to her 10 a.m. It was a simple routine, but it was a routine nonetheless and for a girl who never had much consistency in her life, to Quinn, it was a big deal.

She slipped a twenty dollar bill from her wallet before stuffing it back into her purse, and lifted her head as she waited for someone to take her order. She wasn’t surprised when she saw the girl behind the counter wearing her usual bright red shirt with a gold apron and snapping the lid onto a glass blender. Her shirt was form-fitting and clinging to every curve, her blue jeans were neatly buckled around her waist, she wore clean white Vans, and her chocolate brown hair fell in gentle, silky locks to the middle of her back. She was the same worker that Quinn has seen for the past thirteen days on her morning coffee runs, so she figured she must work the morning shifts here.

Today was the day Quinn was going to look at her nametag, if she was wearing one.

Behind the counter, Rachel locked the lid on the blender and lazily pushed the button to chop up the ice she shoveled inside of it. Once the ice was completely crushed, she popped the cap off again and dumped the light brown mixture into a plastic cup. Like a perfectly trained robot, she snapped a lid on top, put a green straw through the hole, then picked up a Sharpie so she could scribble a name on it.

“Caramel delight, no whipped cream, shot of espresso.” She handed the man in front of Quinn the cup and gave him a friendly, strictly-business kind of smile. The man mumbled a quick “thank you” to Rachel, scooped his cup up, then headed for the door. Rachel sighed as she waited for her next customer to walk up.

As soon as she looked up and saw the girl next in line, she glanced at the digital clock on the register and grinned as she realized that she was right on time. Every day, for the past two weeks, this same girl came into the shop at precisely 9:22. It was 9:23 now, so she was about a minute late, but on time nonetheless. And though she didn’t have to because she had her order memorized, Rachel put a professional look on her face and opened her mouth to speak anyway.

“What can I get you?” She asked. Quinn tucked the pieces of her hair she missed in the ponytail behind her ears and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Rachel spoke again. “Tall iced coffee, four creams, three sugars, extra ice, whipped cream and a mocha drizzle on top?”

Quinn stood with her arms folded neatly across her chest, the words she was going to speak frozen in her throat as they were stolen away from her. An innocent, slightly amused smile crept across her face and she tried to form a new sentence, but her eyes narrowed instead. For the first time in the thirteen mornings she spent at this coffee shop looking at this girl, she finally took a good look at her. And the good look made her cheeky grin turn genuine.

“Actually,” she laughed. “I want a caramel drizzle on top.”

“Oh!” Rachel raises her eyebrows and couldn’t help the way her teeth showed through her smile. “You’re changing it up on me?”

“I like to keep people guessing,” Quinn winked at her.

Rachel felt her heart thundering in her chest and anxiety starting to take over. She never planned on what to say to this girl when they had an actual conversation. She never thought she’d get this far. Too nervous to say much else, Rachel laughed and nodded her head just once.

“$3.36.” She held her hand out and let Quinn lay the money in her palm. She made Quinn’s change so quickly that she stumbled and dropped a penny, but she recovered without much embarrassment. “I’ll get that made for you.”

“Thank you,” Quinn nodded.

She carelessly stuffed her change into the bottom of her purse and walked down the waiting line even though she was the only person in line. She tilted her head and watched Rachel skillfully make her coffee without much thought. She wondered how long she had been working there to become so skilled.

In truth, Rachel had only been working at the coffee shop less than a month and she only did it as part of her work study program. It wasn’t long, but she was beginning to fall into her own routine. Even after just one week, she was so bored with her job that she, in fact, planned on putting in her two weeks’ notice and trying to find a job more interesting. That was three weeks ago, though. That was before a beautiful, blonde stranger with the most haunting hazel eyes and lustful full lips had wandered into the shop. If she had quit, she wasn’t sure if she would ever see her again… and that was enough to make her stay.

Rachel picked up the Sharpie again and took her time drawing on the side of Quinn’s cup. She turned back towards Quinn and handed her the cup. “There you are,” she said, taking an extra moment to admire the way her eyes looked emerald green under the right light.

“Thank you,” Quinn replied with contrived sweetness in her tone.

When she grabbed the cup from Rachel, her fingertips grazed the back of her hand and it almost felt as though she was electroshocked. Her eyes snapped up, she met Rachel’s, and decided to let her fingers linger for a few more moments. The chemistry felt like electric currents pulsating through both of their bodies. When their eyes met, the corners of Quinn’s lips turned up into a smile and though she didn’t want to, she slowly pulled her hand away so she wouldn’t be late for class.

“H-Have a nice day,” she stumbled over her words as she secured the coffee cup. She turned around to leave and took a deep breath when she did.

Rachel rested her elbows against the counter and watched Quinn walk away with a slight somberness to her mood. She enjoyed seeing Quinn; she always did. But just as much as she enjoyed seeing her come inside and hearing her voice every day, she also hated it. She knew that their interactions would be short and sweet and once she was gone, it’d be another 24 hours before she could see her again.

Rachel sighed and let her eyes roam Quinn as she walked out the door. She eyed the way her hair fell just a little past her shoulders and blew so gently in the wind that it reminded her of corn silk. She was thin, but her body had a womanly curvature to it and she liked the way she could see her thighs, muscular and meaty, from underneath her blue dress. She was arguably the most beautiful woman she had ever seen and she was stuck making her coffee.

She watched Quinn long enough to see her raise her coffee cup up to take a sip, and just as she began to turn around to go back to work, she heard her voice again.

“Hey!” Quinn walked briskly back to the counter and demanded Rachel’s attention as she held out her coffee cup.

Rachel stood up straight and waited to hear her complain about something, because that was usually the only reason customers ever came back. She raised her eyebrows to let Quinn know she was listening.

“What, did you memorize my order but not my name?” She held out her cup and motioned towards the black scribbles that’s we’re on the side. The scribbles were practically illegible, but Quinn was able to make out that it was a circle with five rays sprouting out the sides to make a sun. “You can memorize my entire order, but not five letters?”

Rachel grinned to admit the guilt of not writing her name on her cup, but not the guilt of forgetting her name. She hadn’t forgotten her name. She knew that her name was “Quinn.” She told her that on the first day she came into the shop and she had been holding onto it ever since, and she didn’t think Quinn noticed that for three days, she stopped writing Quinn’s name on her cups and started writing something new every day.

“I didn’t forget your name… Quinn.”

“So then why haven’t you used it?” Quinn took a sip of coffee and smiled so wide that Rachel caught a glimpse of her blindingly white teeth. “Yesterday it was crown, the day before that it was a smiley face, and now it’s a sun. Does my name change with your moods?”

“Something like that,” Rachel smiled back at her.

“So you draw pictures for all your customers?”

“Only the ones I like.”

“Oh…” Quinn raised her eyebrows. “So you like me? Is that why you’ve been calling me ‘sunshine’ and ‘smiley’?”

Rachel blushed, clearly embarrassed. “...So you’ve been able to decode my pictures and figure out the nicknames I give you…” Her eyes dropped away from Quinn’s. “I’m not as smart as I think I am.”

“Well,” Quinn couldn’t fight off the smile on her face. “I haven’t actually been able to decipher the crown you drew the other day. I don’t know what that one means.”

“That’s just one you’re gonna have to figure out on your own.” Rachel picked up a wet washcloth and began cleaning dried caramel from the counter. “Let me know when ya figure it out.”

“And how will I do that?” Quinn shifted her weight to her other leg and lifted her chin slightly, giving Rachel a challenging look. For the first time in a long time, she felt a flutter across her stomach and the overwhelming urge to smile.

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, won’t I?” Rachel stopped cleaning and looked at her again. “9:22 on the dot?”

“Something like that,” Quinn nodded in agreement. “See you tomorrow…” She hesitated a moment, squinting to look at the name on her name tag. “Rachel.”

“See you tomorrow.” Rachel nodded once and went back to her job of cleaning up the counters, satisfied with the fact that she spoke more than two words to her favorite customer.

It still wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to tell her that although she liked seeing her every morning, she’d much rather see her at night in a restaurant or a movie theater. She wanted to get to know her beyond the smiles that made her call her “smiley”, the brightness she brought to her day that made her call her “sunshine” and the beauty and poise that made her call her “princess.” She wanted more than that.

But she would take this conversation and savor it in hopes that tomorrow, she’d have the guts to progress a little further.

As Quinn walked back through the doors she entered through, she lifted her coffee cup again and admired the lopsided circle and squiggly lines that made the sun’s rays.

She couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning either.

#fanfiction #faberry #this is such a cute piece of shit #rachel x quinn

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

can you do young sirius black x reader fic where him and the reader are dating the reader has really awful parents that make them feel like shit all the time

the promising potters

sirius black x gender neutral!reader

summary: sirius offers you a better position then one you’re already in.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: mentions of child abuse, mentions of self insecurity/doubt, crying, guilt, hurt/comfort, mentions of feeling unworthy/useless, angst but only if you squint, bad parent-kid relationship bonds

a/n: so i combined this with another request bc they’re so similar.

there was a familiar recurrent amount of anticipation weighing like a tipping scale in your subconscious, simply waiting for it to tip too far. it was a circadian never-ending cycle of thoughts, of venomous thinking that had immense potential to swallow you whole if you’d allow it. the recurrent malignant thoughts were never-ending.

as the sorrowful day continued, it felt like an eternal chain of events that would never cease, the recurrent thought pounding in your psyche similar to an alarm without a snooze button. the burden on your mind, the letters upon letters barricading your every thought at the disappointing words scribbled upon the parchment. there was only feeling that was a considerable emotion among the others that were struggling to afloat,

dismay.

how could you be good enough for yourself if you couldn't be enough for the people that brought you into this world that was supposed to love and cherish you? it was quite a familiar question that rapidly came and went in a vicious cycle swishing around your mind almost making your perception an obscuring fog that regarded any other thought.

your bottom had been sprawled upon the carmine stitched duvet, that belonged to sirius, for the past several hours. the small parchment clutched between your trembling digits from recurrent gazing at the wounding letters sculpted into the paper by your parents following their signatures. the letters becoming a jumble of words that you could no longer read due to the tears obscuring your vision.

there's a stutter of words that spill off your tongue in the sense of dejection, a faint cough escaping your lungs through your trachea before you spoke again. “sirius— i just can’t do this anymore.” you spoke desperately, the slight jut of your lip quavered whilst you spoke in sorrow. there was an erratic palpitation soaring through your chest every millisecond at the uneasiness strumming through every minuscule blood cell that your body could possess.

your fingers slightly trembled while you clenched them deeper into the creased parchment from your steady and unwavering grip. “hurts so bad.” your words slightly muffled from the tears that were bound to spill over your waterline. your sentence was almost disorganized from the congestion that had formed in your throat due to the number of tears you had shed then less than ten minutes ago.

he began to soothe you with his tranquil fingers that began to trace bemused shapes down your spine, feeling the balmy touch of his finger pads through your shirt ventured into the beginning of tranquility in his endeavor to comfort you. his chin had been resting on the curvature of your shoulder whilst his nose slightly prodded at your clavicle, seeking to conciliate you further.

how could a parent reject their child? what could that child have done so wrong that suddenly they’re unworthy of a parent's love?

who is deserving of that treatment?, not you, certainly not you.

there was a cycle of questions that remained prominent in your mind that only swirled down for a few moments as you were distracted by sirius’ soothing touch, your subconscious yearning for the answer since you had been a young child pondering why you felt so dejected by them. if you were given the opportunity you could've to plead on your knees for an answer as to why.

your respires were beginning to elevate tremendously as you thought of the answers to your ignored questions. whilst sirius began to notice the heaving movements that trembled in your chest, he placed a soothing palm on the bend of your spine— he was adamantly trying his best to comfort you in a situation he had been incredibly familiar with.

“i know baby, i know,” he spoke with a small quiver in his voice. an empathetic sense beginning to acquire over the planes of his sensorium, feeling the uttermost affliction that had been radiating off of your body now melding into his own.

“i wish things were different.” you sighed. your neck began to crane to the left in an attempt to glimpse at the boy. sirius’ chin remained on the curvature of your shoulder and the movements of his palms never faltering, he peered his eyes at you. the familiar pearl-hued irises covered in a clear glaze of empathy towards your slouched figure that was sat upon his bed.

he nodded as a sign that his attention remained on you, observing the way you brought your hand, with a slight tremor now enabling its way from the exertion of stress your body had to endure, and bringing it to wipe across the streaks engraved its way down your cheeks; letting your hand flop back onto your thigh in exhaustion.

“i’m here, m’love. ‘m here,” he whispered into the pulse point of your neck along with a small kiss, identifying how your jugular began to quiver faintly at his consoling words.

he pondered for a moment in silence. if his next words were worthy to be sputtered out in the despairing aura that remains present in the room since you had trudged in his dormitory. james wouldn’t have the slightest problem, euphemia nor fleamont either.

‘the more the merrier.’ they would say, sirius’ mind depicting their exact voices.

“i feel so useless.” you broke the silence once more, wiping another tear whilst expressing your concerns to the gryffindor. “like there’s nothing else i could do, besides disappointing them,” you spoke without an ounce of dishonesty in your voice.

the murmur of your honest confession was enough to bring tears cascading down his pallid cheeks.

sirius’ hand had paused and his chin had lifted from your shoulder, his brows contorting into a broad emotion of perplexity. bewildered at his sudden actions your eyebrows began to crease at his movements. “listen to me,” he began to speak in nobility, “you’re not a disappointment nor useless, you hear me?” he chastised sternly.

“and i don’t ever want to hear you think like that again.” he proceeded to lay his hand on your dampened cheek feeling the familiar searing burn of embarrassment rise to your face, sliding the pad of his thumb against your skin in a comforting motion. “stay with me, and james, and the potters.” he offered, your eyes shooting rapidly into a widened state at his request.

“i can't, it’s—“ you began to deny his offer with the shake of your head, feeling a barricade of guilt. you hastily cut yourself off while attempting to put together your disfigured thoughts. “s’not worth it, ‘m not worth it. to ruin everything you have going with the potters.”

“you aren't ruining anything, love. ‘m gonna talk with james, you don't have to do with it alone.”

you gaped at him, wide eyes glistened with glaciers of despair and dejection while your lips were adamantly trembling attempting to not let a flow of tears overcome you once more. simply not wanting to disturb the atmosphere that had been built in the potter household since sirius had arrived, as well as having no desire to burden them with the faults that had been weighed upon you. but sirius would have none of that, the potters had adored you since the first christmas you had to spend with them in second year.

there would be zero troubles taking you in, and he was going to make sure of it.

“everything’s gonna is alright, i promise you.”

taglist: @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @i-love-scott-mccall @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @inglourious-imagines @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @90steaology

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littlewerewolfsmutoven-blog · 5 years

Text

His Brother, The Lover

Explicit | 4,099 words | Derek is Scott’s brother | archive of our own

Summary: Stiles meets Scott's older brother for the first time, who just so happens to be a scruffy, shaggy-haired, perpetually grumpy pornstar that ends up peaking Stiles' interest....

“Harris is fucking with my G.P.A, Scott.” Stiles argued, shifting impatiently as he stood behind Scott on the front-porch of the McCall residence, waiting for Scott to hurry up and open the door. “And I’m not going to stand for it.”

Scott scoffed, opening the front door. “What are you planning to do about it, though?”

“I’ll write a letter to the mayor and tell them that one of the jerk-off teachers at Beacon Hills High is trying to screw up my grades right before graduation.” Stiles explained, following Scott into the foyer of the house. “And they’ll have to believe me, because my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll work out—”

The two momentarily settled into the living room — dropping the weight of their backpacks down onto the carpeted ground. Scott dove onto the couch and immediately started to surf through the channels for something entertaining to watch as a way to de-stress from the exhausting day at school. All the while, Stiles barreled upstairs to the bathroom before he pissed himself.

Stiles made it upstairs and made his way towards the guest bathroom, but then noticed that one of the guest bedroom doors was shut — with a bright light beaming out into the hallway from underneath the door. Not only that, but the shadow of somebody walking around and the sound of somebody rustling through dresser drawers was enough to make Stiles’ ears perk up.

There was somebody else in the house….which, wouldn’t have really been a big deal if it had been one of the days of the week that either of Scott’s parents had off from work. But it wasn’t — Melissa and Mr. McCall were both supposed to be off at their respected jobs until six o’clock, which meant that somebody else was rummaging through a bedroom’s dresser.

Stiles timidly gripped his hand around the doorknob to the bedroom, despite the fact that all of his father’s lessons about running away from danger knocked around inside of his head. He turned the doorknob as quietly as he could, pushing open the door just enough to peer inside and snap a picture of the trespasser with his memory so that a description could be given to the police department later.

But what Stiles didn’t expect was to see a totally ripped, totally fresh out of the shower, totally naked man putting on a fresh pair of boxers. It took Stiles by surprise at knocked the air right out of his lungs, making him accidentally yelp out the words: “holy shit” —and unintentionally alerting the intruder to the fact that he was being watched.

“What the fuck?!” The intruder angrily called out, beaming his dangerous gaze at Stiles.

Stiles jolted back — shutting the bedroom’s door with a loud bang. He raced back downstairs, crying out for Scott to call the police. Once he made it downstairs, Scott was already up and off the couch, completely confused and worried as to why his friend was freaking the hell out instead of using the bathroom like he was supposed to.

“What happened?!” Scott questioned worriedly.

“Th — there’s — a naked burglar in the bedroom.” Stiles breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath. “He saw me and now he’s about to come down here and kill us.”

The heavy patter of frantic feet stomping down the upstairs hallway and the staircase caught Stiles and Scott’s attention. Frozen in fear, the two watched anxiously as the intruder made his way down the stairs to the bottom landing — still only wearing a pair of tight plaid boxers, but obviously angry and laced with the visible desire to commit murder.

“What the fuck, Scott?” The intruder boomed, stepping closer to the two frightened high school seniors. He shoved the palms of his hands against Scott’s chest, pushing him back. “Tell your pervert of a friend to keep his eyes out of my shit.”

“Wait—you know him?” Stiles questioned, turning his attention away from the intruder’s rock-hard abs to Scott’s distressed face.

“Unfortunately…” Scott admitted, rubbing at his chest. “He’s my older brother.”

“That’s Derek?!” Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, momentarily glancing back to Derek and then back to Scott. “He doesn’t look like a lawyer.”

“I’m not a fucking lawyer.” Derek corrected, glaring at Stiles once more before turning his attention back to his little brother. “You’ve been telling people that I’m a lawyer?”

Scott crossed his arms defiantly, unwilling to further comment on the situation out of anger and embarrassment. His brother couldn’t just pop up into his life again, shove him around, and then demand answers. But what was worse was that Derek wasn’t the only one waiting around for an explanation. Stiles was also waiting.

“No, he’s not a lawyer.” Scott mumbled.

“Then—what do you do?” Stiles turned his attention to Derek yet again, hellbent on keeping his eyes situated on Derek’s instead of all of the very wet and very nice nakedness.

Derek scoffed. “I fuck people for a living…on camera.”

A brief moment of silence fell upon the three. Scott was annoyed, Stiles was completely about to implode, and Derek seemed to be perpetually done with existing around other living creatures. Nobody really seemed to want to be the first person to follow up with conversation after Derek’s reveal. Despite the fact that Scott had already known—it was still embarrassing.

“What are you even doing here, Derek?” Scott started. “I thought you were all happy down in LA.”

“I got evicted from my apartment, so I’m staying here until I score another place.” Derek explained shortly. “Now, stay out of my room, be quiet, and tell your bambi-eyed twinkish friend that this is our house—not his!”

Derek stomped right back upstairs and into what was apparently his old bedroom prior to moving out. He was a completely different person compared to what Stiles had always imagined Scott’s older brother to be like. Stiles had always pictured Derek being some sort of charming, upstanding lawyer with a picture-perfect life, a wife, some children, and a nice house.

In actuality, Derek was a tough-looking scruffy dude with shaggy black hair, piercing shadowed eyes, lean muscles, and an attitude that was so explosive that it could probably set houses on fire. Not to mention the fact that he was a pornstar somewhere on the internet….Derek was everything parents warned their young about.

And yet, Stiles couldn’t fight the appeal of Derek’s dangerous charm. Derek was basically a walking wet dream. Stiles couldn’t get the scorching visual of Derek’s body out of his head…plus, the image of those tight boxers slipping up and over the round curvature of Derek’s ass was forever seared into the back of his brain. Stiles wouldn’t forget, even if he tried.

That night, Stiles found himself locked up in his own bedroom—door locked, lights low, and laptop front and center. As an avid porn-watcher, Stiles couldn’t believe that he had never managed to stumble upon Derek. But now that he knew, Stiles knew that he had to find him around somewhere. He needed to see a scene, or five, or maybe a couple dozen….however many Derek had filmed.

Stiles scoured through the internet, carefully scrolling through some of the professional studio websites that he frequented. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find anything conclusive. The hunt quickly began to seem like a tireless effort. Perhaps Derek had lied just to be funny. Maybe he wasn’t actually a pornstar. Maybe he really was a lawyer. Maybe Stiles was wasting all of his available masturbation time searching for something that wasn’t even a real thing.

And if he wasn’t going to be able to find confirmation of Derek being a pornstar somewhere on a reputable site, Stiles figured that there was no use in wasting the available private time he had set aside for himself. Porn was still something to enjoy. And if Stiles was lucky enough, he figured that he’d be able to find some obscure video somewhere on PornHub with at least one performer that resembled Derek in some way.

After scrolling through pages and pages of semi-interesting thumbnails and titles, Stiles eventually landed on something that both looked and sounded interesting. The motion thumbnails barely showed anything—besides a few zoomed in snippets of bodies slamming up against one another inside of some polished up dorm room set.

The title was enticing….

“Wolf Timbershaft NAILS a Tight Twink College Boy”

Stiles clicked on the video and settled back against his headboard, resting his laptop to the side of his legs. As the video started to play, Stiles eagerly pulled his cock out of his boxers—giving himself a few solid strokes, letting the establishing shots play out. All good pornos set the stage and whatever adventure Stiles had just clicked on was certainly taking it’s precious time.

Eventually, some lean-muscled blond guy with a tight shirt and even tighter jeans dramatically groaned out and tossed a crumbled piece of paper off of his desk. Homework trouble, obviously. Stiles could relate. The blond dude muttered some poorly acted complaints about how hard college was and then the dorm room’s door received a few knocks.

Stiles perked up — excited to finally get into watching some kind of interesting action. He watched as the blond dude on the screen opened up the door to reveal Mr. Wolf Timbershaft in all of his dominant glory…which, much to Stiles’ bewildered shock, just so happened to be Derek….Scott’s brother…the overbearingly gruff and perpetually angry dude that Stiles had accidentally snuck a peak at back at the McCall house.

It was like the gods above…or the devils below…had fought to reward Stiles with what he had already spent half an hour searching for. Stiles hadn’t been able to find Derek’s porno career with what he had personally felt to be a good investigative session. And then all of a sudden, a scene of Derek’s managed to drop right down into Stiles’ lap.

Immediately, Stiles found himself unable to do anything other than pour all of his attention into watching Derek fiercely maneuver himself through the scene. It was amazing….beyond amazing. Whatever re-uploaded video Stiles had managed to stumble upon definitely wasn’t Derek’s first game. He knew exactly how to take control, work over his scene partner, what kinds of dirty talk sounded the hottest when sprinkled throughout the scene….it was all perfect, calculated, hot as fuck….

Stiles didn’t even last until the mid-point of the video before he ended up coating his stomach and knuckles with his load. What he would give to get just a taste of Derek. It was bad, sure. Stiles knew that he probably shouldn’t lust after his best friend’s older brother. It was definitely breaking some kind of “bro-code” by even thinking about it…but Stiles couldn’t help himself. The fantasy was just too much.

The next day, Stiles drove over to Scott’s house with legitimate intention to ask if he could borrow a extra pair of lacrosse gloves from the upcoming big game. Seeing as how it was only five o’clock and Scott didn’t have to clock in at the Animal Clinic until six-thirty, Stiles had no reason not to think that Scott would be home and available to answer the front door.

But much to Stiles’ surprise, Derek was the one who answered the door. Apparently, Scott had been called into work an hour early, allowing for certain dominoes to topple themselves over into creating a situation that Stiles didn’t even know how to properly navigate his way through. He didn’t even know how or where to start.

“What?” Derek barked, leaning against the threshold of the front door.

“I—uh, I was just—” Stiles babbled nervously, unable to stop himself from raking his eyes down Derek’s body, right down to the bulge at the crotch of his jeans.

“Spit it out!” Derek growled, spiking up the volume in his voice. “Jesus Christ, why does my brother pick up the weirdest fucking people to associate himself with?”

“I was looking for Scott.” Stiles said, finding his footing in the unsteady conversation. “We have a game—a lacrosse game on Saturday night—and I really need to see if he has a spare pair of gloves.”

Derek settled his uninterested gaze on Stiles. He rolled his eyes and huffed out a frustrated exhale of breath, reluctantly shifting where he stood to allow Stiles to step into the interior of the house. Derek figured that if Stiles just hurried himself up and found Scott’s spare pair of gloves, then he would be out of Derek’s business for the rest of the week. And that’s really all Derek wanted.

Stiles made his way up to Scott’s bedroom. He carefully searched through the places where he knew Scott usually kept his sports equipment. Meanwhile, Derek watched from the hallway—peering into the room to watch and make sure that Stiles wasn’t about to make a huge ass mess that Derek would get blamed by Scott for later.

“I’m just—I know he has them somewhere.” Stiles explained nervously, stumbling around the expanse of Scott’s room whilst innocently looking over to where Derek stood. “I’m not like, trying to steal anything or something like that.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Derek confirmed dryly. “Now hurry up.”

Stiles nodded, crashing down to the carpeted floor in a mad dash to scan under Scott’s bed. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, and as much as he wanted to stick around and oogle Derek’s hot body, he didn’t actually want to get dragged downstairs and thrown outside on his ass. Derek didn’t seem like he was in the mood to wait around.

The moment Stiles dropped down onto all fours, Derek felt a twinge of interest spark inside of his body. He raised in eyebrow, analyzing the way Stiles’ back muscles flexed and moved underneath the loose flannel shirt that the boy had on. But Derek’s eyes kept falling down to look at Stiles’ ass—which was practically falling out of the boy’s sagged pants.

“Fucking cute.” Derek noted sarcastically, walking over to stand where Stiles remained on the ground.

“Uh — what?” Stiles questioned, halting his little search, looking up to where Derek was towering above him — all dark, and muscular, calm and casual.

“You think stumbling your way into my house with some bullshit excuse about needing gloves is the way to get what you want?”

Stiles looked around the room in confusion, unsure as to what Derek was trying to say. Sure, he stumbled around — but that was only because he was naturally clumsy and totally freaked out about being in the presence of his best friend’s pornstar brother. But yes, he actually was looking for gloves that he actually did need…so he didn’t understand what Derek was going on about.

“I’m not lying.” Stiles argued, crawling up to rest on his knees. “Call Scott if you don’t believe me. We have a game on Saturday and he knows that I lost my gloves somewhere last week.”

“Yeah, I believe it.” Derek crossed his arms, scoffing at what he believed to be a flimsy excuse. “And that’s why you came around here when Scotty was at work, right? Cause you knew I’d be here. And you’d be here. And you’d get to put on your little show.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Stiles cried out. “What show? I didn’t know Scott went to work early!”

Derek let a subtle grin tug at the corner of his pressed lips, beaming down to where Stiles remained on his knees. The boy’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks were captivating, but all Derek really wanted to do was see what a nice, hot load looked like dripping off the boy’s button nose and blurring all of the dark moles that were splayed across Stiles’ face.

“And then you just accidentally forget to wear a belt, let your pants slip down just a little, and make sure that I can see everything when you bend over.” Derek asserts. “I might fuck people for a living in all kinds of dumbass scenarios, but that shit doesn’t fly in real life.”

“Look, I — I think you’ve got me all wrong, Derek.” Stiles said, standing up from where he had been knelt down. “I didn’t come here…I’m not trying to…I barely know you, dude.”

“So, you didn’t see me getting dressed yesterday and then immediately run home to search the internet for some of my scenes so you could jerk off and think about me?” Derek quickly questioned.

“Yeah, but like—No! It wasn’t like that—”

“I get it.” Derek revealed. “You just needed to get it out of your system.”

“Yeah, honestly…that was it.”

“Well, did you do it?”

Stiles shifted around. “What—did I do what?”

“Get everything out of your system?” Derek leaned forward. “Or is that why you’re here? Because you need some help?”

The gravity seemed to shift in the room. It felt heavy. Stiles found himself drawn deep into the shadows of Derek’s sharp eyes. Everything that Derek was saying was so overwhelming. Some of it was true, but the other half was a complete misreading of the situation. And either Derek was too dumb to realize it, or he just didn’t care, because he had already made up his mind as to what he wanted.

“Are you suggesting—” Stiles started.

“ —that you get up on Scotty’s bed and pull down those pants?” Derek’s voice was calmed and smooth. He watched as his words poured right into Stiles’ head. “Yeah, I’ll give you a ride….if you keep up the whole ‘innocent virgin’ act. I like that.”

Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered in disbelief. He looked over to Scott’s bed and then over to where the bedroom door was still open. It was a now-or-never kind of situation. All of the ingredients seemed to fall together into a perfect opportunity. Scott was at work. Scott’s parents were at work. Stiles had nowhere else that he was supposed to be.

It was now or never….

Stiles swallowed down his nerves and walked over to the edge of Scott’s bed — shooting inquisitive looks over to where Derek remained, as if to mentally ask questions about whether or not he was setting the moment up correctly. But Derek just watched. So Stiles lifted himself up onto the mattress, getting onto his hands and knees—feet down towards the bottom edge of the bed and his head pointed to the headboard.

Derek watched as Stiles set himself up into position, offering no words as Stiles looked back for further instruction. Instead, he flicked his head upward —eyeing down to where Stiles’ jeans were slipped halfway down the curve of the boy’s ass. Unsurprisingly, Stiles took the nonverbal cue—letting his upper body crash down into the blankets of Scott’s bed, whilst he reached back with both of his hands and tugged down his pants and boxers.

Once the roundness of Stiles’ ass was out in the open, Derek clicked his tongue in smug satisfaction. He reached down to his own pants and quickly undid them, pulling out his hardening cock. And as Stiles remained laid down against the soft mattress of his Scott’s mattress, Derek stepped closer to the tight piece of ass he couldn’t wait to tear into.

With a rough slap, Derek palmed down onto Stiles’ ass—squeezing away the momentary sting of the spank. Derek then situated himself behind where Stiles was bent forward, spitting down onto his fingers, and then softly prodding them into where Stiles was untouched, flushed hot, and undeniably tight. It was a prize to explore and Derek was more than happy to take it.

“Have you ever been here like this before?” Derek questioned softly, sinking a couple of his fingers into Stiles’ receptive warmth. “Don’t tell me Scotty got you first.”

“Gross — no.” Stiles groaned, mouthing at the blankets beneath him. “Scott’s my friend….current Biology lab partner…lacrosse co-captain…that’s it.”

“Good.” Derek breathed down against the back of Stiles’ neck. “Then you’ll have to figure out a way to look Scott in the face knowing you’ve fucked his older bro.”

By the time Derek was satisfied with the amount of finger-fucking he had done to Stiles’ hole, the boy was a blubbering mess — soaking the bedsheets underneath their bodies with slobber from Stiles’ perpetually open mouth and from all of the precum that Stiles couldn’t help but let leak down.

Stiles couldn’t help himself. The feeling was so incredible, so overwhelming…he could feel Derek reach deep inside of his body. Derek’s fingers were reaching in, prodding and massaging places that not even Stiles himself had had the opportunity to touch. It was like he could feel Derek’s precision and heat flood into his body and wrap itself around his bones, his heart, and his mind.

“I think I’m ready.” Stiles murmured.

“I can feel that.” Derek smirked, watching how easily his wet fingers slid into the puckered tightness of Stiles’ ass. “Now get undressed, take everything off, and get on your back —legs up, spread and open—and keep that bashful expression of confused puppy wonder on that pretty face of yours.”

Stiles hopped off of the bed and kicked off his pants and boxers, not even bothering to watch them fly across the room and knock over a couple of Scott’s elementary school baseball trophies. He tugged off his flannel and did away with his undershirt, and then hopped back onto the bed—getting into the exact positioning that Derek had instructed him to get into.

Derek finished undressing himself and then slotted himself in-between Stiles’ spread legs, pulling the boy’s ass closer to the side edge of the mattress. He let the fat head of his cock bat itself teasingly against Stiles’ fingered hole. And when he saw Stiles’ body shiver and quake with anticipation, Derek dove inward into Stiles’ welcoming heat —melting into the slick slide of his bare cock as it squeezed itself into Stiles’ virginity.

Time dealt the cards — it dictated the speed and the brutality. Things started slowly, but quickened with haste. Stiles just seemed to eager take everything that Derek delivered. Derek could actually feel the boy’s hunger for more. Stiles didn’t want it soft. He didn’t want it slow or sensual or any of the things that virgins typically kept themselves on the fence waiting for.

Stiles wanted everything and then some.

“Right there—fuck—keep hitting it right there!” Stiles groaned, holding the sides of his own head. Almost as if he were trying to keep all of his overwhelming emotions from spilling out. “Jesus holy fucking motherfucking Christ. You feel so fucking good.”

Derek pretzeled Stiles, keeping the boy’s lithe body pressed together tight and locked under his strength. He powered onward—drilling harder and harder into the receptive tightness of Stiles’ body. All the while, Stiles screamed out in explosive pleasure, loud enough to rattle the windows and surrounding furniture inside of the bedroom.

“Where do you want it?” Derek breathlessly asked. “I’m gonna cum. Where do you want this?”

“Everywhere.”

Derek pulled out of Stiles’ hole, grabbing a firm hold of his throbbing cock. He stroked himself quickly, desperately clawing towards a release. And as he stared down at his own cock, watching the way that its weight shadowed over the sweaty expanse of Stiles’ beautiful body, Derek orgasmed—wildly spurting heavy pumps of sticky cum down to gloss atop Stiles.

Stiles kept his legs spread open, watching the way that Derek’s load slung around and rained down onto him. He felt each spurt strike against his body. The initial surprise of wet and sticky heat pouring onto him was satisfying and comforting. And all that Stiles could really do was stare up into the blaze of Derek’s eyes whilst his own orgasm washed over him like a tide of pleasure.

Stiles’ body convulsed. He hurriedly stroked at his cock, groaning and shouting out as he watched his own cock follow Derek’s lead. It was hot…so unbelievably hot. When it was all said and done, Stiles just stared down at his body— breathlessly examining the obscene amount of cum that pooled into the slight ridges of his abs and his navel.

“I—uh,” Stiles started, loosely sliding his fingers through the collective amount of cum that started to cool on his skin. “—I’m still going to need to find those gloves.”

#sterek

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