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#(maybe I just have a bad sense of humour)

abelllia · 2 years

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Peter Lukas is the funniest loser in TMA. He legitimately does not care. Sure he wants to feed his fear god but at the same time all he wants is to be alone. I think whenever he appears, whether it be to complete the wager or serve the Lonely, he's screaming inside and legitimately would give away his whole fortune just to fuck off again. I don't even know if he *likes* serving an Eldritch Fear Entity. I think he just puts up with it as a means to be completely alone. He probably did zero research on how it all actually works and he just did a ritual because "That's what good avatars are supposed to do right?? Idk lol." He probably designed the Lonely Apartments with the intention of living there and was actually pissed at Gertrude not just for ruining the ritual but for also dragging reporters all over his fucking home, have some *respect*!

Yeah 159 did a number on me and I actually kinda like the guy now. Yeah he's an awful sad sack of shit who couldn't care less about the people around him, but he's such a mood y'know?

#that last bit is a joke for the record he's nasty #this whole thing is a bit of a jome to be honest #if I did start to think about him seriously and of the consequences of his actions #i would be too enraged to see #but let's not for now and just think of him as the haha funny sea captain who was such an introvert he's rather die than answer questions #and then did just that #peter honestly made me snort so much especially in his statement #lol at least you're aware and have enough comedic talent to make a set up before the punchline #the want to be alone is also a mood but maybe I'm just Lonely aligned #that's not a good thing but it's a thing #or maybe I just have a bad sense of humour #abellrambles #tma #Peter Lukas #joke*** DAMN IT NOT Jome

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hedgehog-moss · 8 months

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Today felt like the last day of summer... I spent a long time following a little stream, looking for the spot where I'd found wild currants last year. They had clearly moved to a different spot, or maybe I'm just bad at finding things again because the only landmarks my brain finds worth remembering are stuff like "there were two baby cows to the left" or "there was a majestic hawk perched on a fencepost." I did know the currants grew near a waterfall that's near a little hamlet, and (unlike the baby cows) both were still here one year later.

Half an hour into our quest Pandolf had decided we must be looking for water, so he stopped like "Here!!" every time he found a noteworthy watery spot, it was very sweet.

Eventually I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to find my favourite berries this year, and I went back to the road—and found raspberries instead! The last ones of the summer...

I was like "I accept this consolation prize, world, thank you" and had started picking raspberries when I heard soft dainty footsteps on the road behind me. On reflex I said "Bonjour !" as I was turning around and then realised I'd just said bonjour to this lady:

She walked up to me like she was about to ask me for directions, but then went right past me and walked on with the same purposeful air.

She stopped to admire the view above the waterfall like an old lady on her routine evening walk, then she was on her way.

Pandolf and I went in the opposite direction, to go home, and we soon found another pony who was clearly the first one's pasture mate. This one was in her pasture and she looked sad and abandoned (and/or outraged). She kept pacing and then stopping behind the fence and whinnying.

After we crossed the hamlet we saw a guy on his tractor on the road—he was on his way to a pasture where you could see a little herd of cows who had formed an orderly queue in front of their milking parlour. It was evening milking time and the ladies knew it.

Cows queue like British citizens, I mean very politely and patiently, but still I didn't want to keep them waiting so I hesitated to stop the guy to tell him about the fugitive. I chose the compromise of trotting besides his tractor to give him the news, and the tractor was very loud so he couldn't hear me well and I had to sort of convey the concept of escaped ponyhood with hand gestures. The guy looked in the direction I was indicating and then nodded and moved his arms in a philosophical gesture of total acceptance, like, "Such is life." Or maybe it was "Not my pony, not my problem."

I on the other hand feel a deep sense of community with people who have escape artist animals, so I ended up turning back to see if I could at least orient the pony in the vague direction of her pasture. I found her at a crossroads, wondering where tonight's walk would take her.

When I tried to go around her and shoo her back in the right direction, she went off the road and down by the stream, which wasn't the plan, and Pandolf happily followed her then barked at me like "hey!! water!!" Our search for water had ended but I followed them to humour him—and! I found some wild currants! down by the little bridge that the pony was waiting for me to notice like some mystical guide.

There were no actual berries to be found, I'm a bit too late for that, but I got some cuttings to transplant near my house and since I thought I was going to go home empty-handed it made me feel successful anyway.

So maybe the pony saw me meandering near her pasture looking for currants and decided to escape so she could help me out. A criminal with a heart of gold. If I'd walked by the bridge I might have seen the currants without her help because, guess what, last year's hawk, Guardian of the Gooseberries, was still there on his fencepost nearby. What a good landmark! But I wouldn't have walked by the bridge without the pony's prompting as I had already given up on my search, so she did escape for a good cause.

I tried to use the currants as bait to attract the pony (let's call her Mrs Berry) towards her pasture, but after I pulled the leaves out of her reach for the third time I lost her trust and she stopped paying attention to me. So I had to go back to the good old method to make shetland ponies move, i.e. walk behind her and occasionally pretend-kick in the direction of her bum, the way you'd shepherd a reticent pigeon.

Her friend looked pretty indifferent upon seeing her again, so I think she wasn't whinnying out of worry but because she's a Pirlouit (a snitch).

I opened the pasture gate but Mrs Berry had absolutely no intention of going home so early. She went in the opposite direction, for a little stroll around her hamlet. (Look at Pandolf merrily leading the way! He loves escape artist animals, he thinks they're so much more fun than everybody else.)

Nobody was home in the house by the pasture and I decided to let Mrs Berry stroll, now that she was no longer on the road walking away towards the distant horizon. I figured she must be a Pampérigouste, a known local personage who goes out for an adventure every now and then. We let her have her harmless fun in the two and a half streets of her little village, and since we had lost some time following this pony round, the sun was now quite low and Pan was all prettily backlit as he frolicked on the way home <3

#crawling along #another very long post to say not much at all but i loved this little encounter!

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dokries · 6 days

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how to get to know a dog (and their owner)

pairing: choi seungcheol (s.coups) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, an attempt at comedy, strangers to friends to lovers

word count: 5.3k

warnings: reader seems stalkerish at the beginning; i promise it's not that deep please 😭, dog. kkuma is the main character actually/j, mentions of food, choi seungcheol is down bad, lots of giggling, let me know if i miss anything!

author note: hi! this is my first full length fic and i hope you enjoy <3 when i say cheol is down bad, i mean it. i'm not sure if this is actually funny (i have no sense of humour). also, if you’re allergic to dogs i’m so sorry.

(i had to change the headers because it turns out that the original ones were not the choi seungcheol we all love !! a mistake on my part, and pinterest because it told me it was cheol?? anyway, enjoy reading 🫶) - moon

masterlist

i. let me introduce yourself

there’s only one true love in your life.

okay, maybe your favourite food comes close but there is still just one thing at the top of your list. kkuma, the dog that your apartment complex is named after—you don’t blame the owners in doing that. she’s the only reason why you walk faster to make the trek home shorter, and honestly, who wouldn’t love her?

of course, you only watch her from afar. she…doesn’t take well to strangers, even if you have been living at kkuma apartments for almost 3 years now. it’s fine though, as long as you get to see her.

you’re walking home after another long day at work, miserable because you had been scolded earlier, and you hadn’t seen kkuma before you left in the morning, the only thing that gives you motivation that early. you smile at the security guard at the front and he opens the gate to the green building you’ve grown accustomed to.

you dejectedly walk to the lobby entrance with a sigh after scanning your surroundings discreetly, still seeing no sign of kkuma. as you start to place your foot on the first step in front of the glass doors beckoning you inside to the warmth of the lobby, you freeze.

you hear a bark. KKUMA?

you move towards the sound, and find her being taken on a walk. hiding behind some pillars placed in just the right position, you watch kkuma and…the superintendent’s son, you think. you know there’s two, and assume this is the younger one by his pouty lips and how he’s on his phone.

you hear the sound of a phone camera going off, and realize that he’s not idly scrolling on his phone like you assumed but instead taking pictures of the cute coton de tuléar. you approve of him, understanding why he feels the need to click picture after picture. with one hand on her leash, his cheeks puff out as he focuses on getting the right angles—not like kkuma could look bad in any photo.

you giggle quietly, your attention back to kkuma as she turns in a circle and looks up at the phone, posing without being told to. you see the man tense, his dark green beanie slipping down over his eyes and messing up his bangs before he adjusts it. he turns in your direction.

damn it. he must’ve heard you. thankfully, the pillar covers you completely, but you still hear his voice shake as he calls out. “is…is someone there?”

suddenly realizing you could come off as a stalker, you stay silent and try to move away quickly, covering the side of your face with your hand in case he can see anything. however as you take a step away, you almost trip over a small rock jutting out of nowhere—seriously, it was a safety hazard—and squeak, completely caught off guard.

he calls out again, this time smug. “hah, i knew someone was there! just come out so i can see you. i know what you’re here for.”

your eyes light up as you turn. does he know that you want kkuma pictures? slowly making your way away from the pillar that provided you deep moral support earlier, you look at the man sheepishly. looking at him closer, you realize that he would be cute…if he didn’t have an obnoxious smile on his face. kkuma barks, as if she knows what you're thinking, but she only moves to sit down by his legs.

“so…” he drawls out, his arms crossed and the smirk never leaving his face. he clears his throat before you both speak at the same time.

“how’d you know i like kkuma—”

“listen, i know i’m handsome—”

“what?” you say, confused by his words. you don’t even know him. what is he even talking about?

his face falls, eyebrows furrowing together. “wait, so you aren’t admiring me secretly and spying on me because you like me?”

you shake your head at his words. “i’m only here for kkuma.” you stare down at the aforementioned dog and smile. (she’s looking off in the distance and doesn’t seem to care about the conversation you and her owner are having at all.)

“oh.” the owner’s son says, squatting down to pet kkuma with his head facing away from you—he’s trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck, isn’t he?

“well…you seem to really like my kkuma a lot, huh?” he says, reaching for a topic both of you can talk about. you nod sincerely, before bending down to his level to grin at her.

“if i see her when i leave for work or come home, i know it’s guaranteed to be a good day…most of the time. she doesn’t seem to like strangers, so i’ve never tried to approach her,” you say, not noticing the guy’s eyes on you, and the way his face softens.

he turns back to kkuma, petting her soft white fur. “yeah…you’re right about her being wary of others. i’m seungcheol by the way,” he introduces himself shyly, not over the embarrassment he just went through.

ah, you were right then; he’s the youngest son of the choi family who owns the building you were outside of.

you introduce yourself before turning back to kkuma with a sigh. “i should go inside now. i still haven’t eaten dinner.”

seungcheol hums in agreement as you get up from your position on the ground, and dust off any dirt on you. as you turn back towards the lobby, he calls your name out.

you look back at him as he smiles nervously. “you know, if you want to get close to kkuma, you can just be friends with me,” he laughs slightly, scratching the back of his head.

you stare at him. what is he even talking about? you’ve just met this man and what? he wants to be friends with you?

you smile back awkwardly. “um…i’ll think about it. i’ll see you around, seungcheol.”

you turn around, not waiting for him to respond before you hurriedly walk back to the front. truth be told, you thought he was weird. besides, you have enough friends—the nice old lady next door and your friendly coworkers are enough. why add some random person into the mix?

ii. ask very important questions

seungcheol glares at his older brother, who just won their rock paper scissors match. now he has to go tell every single tenant in the building that the in-house laundry machines are broken; a bet is a bet, and he lost.

great.

it’s seven in the morning, and way too early—he stayed up playing games until three am. it doesn’t help that he’s already pouty from yesterday night when you told him that you would “think about” being his friend. why would you need to think? he’s obviously an amazing person, and someone you should become friends with, at least in his opinion. (it is very much just his opinion.)

he huffs, walking down the first hallway on his imaginary list, recalling how his dad had forbidden him from taking kkuma with him; of course he couldn’t even have his sweet girl with him.

after answering the questions of those on the two floors below you, he finally gets to your door (or at least, he thinks it’s yours—he’s not a stalker or anything…unlike you).

he knocks quietly, and you open the door to his face…and immediately close it.

“hey!” you can hear seungcheol protest from the other side but keep the door closed. what was he doing here?? did he already expect an answer from your vague reply to his question yesterday? does he have no life?

you take a deep breath and steel yourself before opening the door more hesitantly, and a smile pasted on your face. “hi, seungcheol! what’s up?”

he stares at you, his arms now crossed. “you slammed the door in my face,” he says bluntly.

you laugh awkwardly before leaning against your doorway, blocking the man’s view of your messy apartment. “i was just…surprised.” you struggle to come up with a word for the panic you felt when you saw him.

he raises an eyebrow before choosing to drop the topic—he has a lot of people to talk to, after all.

seungcheol gestures in the general direction of the laundry room downstairs. “the laundry machines are broken today, so you either have to wait until we can get them fixed—probably tomorrow—or…yeah i don’t know.”

you sigh at his nonchalant words. of course the machines are broken when you have a ton of laundry to wash. noticing your expression, cheol raises an eyebrow. “are you alright?”

you nod, before shaking your head. no, you were not alright. you didn’t have any clean clothes to wear to work tomorrow! thankfully, today was a day off—something about a reward after the extremely stressful project your team had just finished. sure, you could reuse an outfit from last week, but your dirty clothes were scrunched up in a pile all together—it would feel wrong to. instead, you ask seungcheol a question…that would soon lead you to your doom.

“do you know where the nearest coin laundry place is?”

iii. go on laundry adventures

your “doom” is really just seungcheol escorting you to the nearest laundromat.

you pick up all your clothes and put them in a hamper, not caring who sees you in your hoodie and pyjama pants. seungcheol, ever the gentleman, offers to drive you to the place he recommends, and now you’re in the parking lot, wondering how you ended up in this situation. you swore you were going to avoid this weirdo but…here you are, going on an outing with him.

you sigh, before picking up your load and getting out of his expensive car. it’s sleek and clean…and definitely not your style, considering how big it is. seungcheol notices your discomfort, and assumes it’s because of where you’re headed, and not a general lack of excitement of having to do something different than usual.

“you know, the lady who runs this place is really nice! she gives me a ton of candy, and always says i’m like her son. i’m sure she’ll like you too, if that’s what you’re worried about,” seungcheol says, wringing his hands together before opening the doors for you.

you smile at his attempt at comfort as you enter the small place, a small bell alerting the woman at the back that there’s new people. it’s mostly empty, with only a couple of other people there.

you assume it’s the owner that comes up to you both as soon as she registers it’s seungcheol coming in and grins, clasping her hands to her chest. “oh, cheolie, it’s been so long!”

yup, it’s definitely the owner then.

the mentioned man smiles, and turns to you with a look that says “i told you so,” before greeting the woman back with the same level of enthusiasm. “it’s nice to see you, mrs. kim.”

mrs. kim turns to you, her eyebrows raised. “cheolie, are you dating this person? i thought you said you were single!” she smacks seungcheol’s arm slightly, covering her mouth as she laughs.

seungcheol looks at you before back at her in horror—though you swear you can see a tinge of red on his face like yesterday. “n-no! we’re just…friends, that’s all!”

you raise an eyebrow, never agreeing to actually be his friend but the panicked look on his face makes you grin. maybe you’ll humor him, just for a little bit. besides, the disdainful look this auntie was giving you makes you feel like she was going to kick you out if you said anything else.

“yes, cheolie’s right. we’re just friends.”

he sends you a grateful look—wait, did you just call him cheolie?

seungcheol chooses to ignore whatever warmth is building up inside him, and instead pushes you to the nearest free laundry machine, holding onto your shoulders after giving an awkward smile to the owner—this only adds to the slightly uncomfortable feeling in his chest. he drops his hands, putting them in his sweatpant pockets instead to avoid any other weird emotions (it doesn’t work).

attempting to sound natural, he leans against the washer machine before you shoo him to the next one as you open the door and put your dirty clothes in the tub. “so…” he starts. “cheolie?”

you look up at him, closing the door after you’ve checked to make sure everything’s in the right order. “oh. i guessed it would be more natural to call you that if you were my friend, right, seungcheol?” you give him a look before giggling.

seungcheol finds that he wants to hear your laugh more; something vulnerable from your somewhat tough surface. he scrunches his nose. “i would prefer you call me cheol…o-or cheolie, if you’d want to. no one calls me seungcheol unless they’re mad at me.”

you hum a reply, working on putting in detergent and fabric softener in the right places before taking a couple of coins from your wallet for the machine.

“oh!” you look to the side to see seungcheol with one hand pointing at your cherry printed wallet, and the other covering his mouth. “i love cherries! this means that we’re meant to be.” he says grinning, before the words register in his head. “like friends, of course, right? i didn’t mean anything else by it! wait, i don’t mean that like you wouldn’t—” seungcheol cuts himself off in a panic, face now the colour of his favourite fruit. what is he even saying?

you give him a weird look, trying to not embarrass him further by questioning what he means—it doesn’t work; he’s now squatting down on the floor, covering his face but peeking through his fingers to look up at you. “okay…cheol it is then.”

you reach out a hand to help him up from his new position. you can’t believe you’re saying this. at the same time, though, you didn’t expect him to be this…adorable, as much as you hate to admit it. maybe he isn't as bad as you think.

“friends?”

cheol takes your hand.

iv. meet their friends

you ❙

are you stalking me??

kkuma’s dad 🍒 ❙

???!?

you ❙

look up

cheol does what you ask, and flinches as he sees you right in front of him, almost as if you appeared out of nowhere. you laugh, joined by the barista on the other side of the counter in the small coffee shop—his name tag reads joshua.

you stop laughing when cheol doesn’t join in, the man’s eyes still wide open. did you know he was thinking about you or something?

you wave a hand in front of him when he doesn’t respond to you calling his name. “cheolie, you okay?” (neither of the two of you notice joshua’s smirk at the nickname or the sneaky look the deer eyed man gives his co-worker jeonghan, who has a similar expression on his face).

cheol blinks, and opens his mouth before closing it, his coffee left forgotten on the counter beside him. “you…where did you come from?” he finally says after he stares at you for a second.

you point to a building through the tinted window across the road. “that’s where i work! i just came over to try out the coffee here before heading home.”

cheol nods before looking to the side to the barista who had laughed with you earlier. “oh, this is joshua. and that,” he waves a hand towards a worker who’s now taking an order on the other side of the room, “is jeonghan. they run this place together.”

joshua rolls his eyes before holding his hand out to shake yours. once you take his hand and introduce yourself, he smiles sweetly before shooting a look at cheol. “he forgot to mention that we’re his only friends…well, other than you now, right?” he shoots you a wink. you raise an eyebrow, now seeing why him and cheol are close—they’re both a bit overconfident, aren't they? you wouldn’t be surprised if jeonghan’s the same.

your attention back to cheol, you smile at him again. despite agreeing to be friends approximately twenty one days ago (no, he wasn’t counting; why would he count?), he’s still not used to how…nice you are to him. your gaze feels like a warm spotlight on him, and he’s still not sure how he feels about it. all cheol knows is that he smiles back every time.

“i’m gonna head home now. send me pictures if you take kkuma on a walk later, okay?” you say pointedly, starting to turn around until you feel a hand on your arm. “wait!”

you look back to see joshua stifling a laugh at cheol, who looks at you pleadingly, holding you back. “don’t leave me alone with them!” he points at joshua and jeonghan, who had come back while you were talking to make drinks and actually do his job, unlike his coworker.

when you don’t give cheol an answer, he sighs before tightening his grip on your arm. “please…” he starts, running his other hand through his newly permed dark hair. he had texted you the other day, asking for your opinion; you told him the truth: it looked great. he hadn’t responded.

“why don’t i drop you off? i have to pick up kkuma to take her to the river anyway. it’s getting dark, and i would rather you be with me than on the bus.”

you roll your eyes at his concern before pausing. “wait. you’re taking kkuma out for a walk but not inviting me? and here i thought we were friends, choi seungcheol.”

he winces at the use of his full name before putting both his hands up in an effort to appease you. “okay, okay. you can come with us.”

both joshua and jeonghan raise an eyebrow at their best friend’s words and cheol groans, grabbing your hand and pausing to glare at the two of them before stalking off quickly with you behind him. “don’t you dare say anything,” he yells back at them on your way out, leaving the owners of the falling for u cafe giggling.

v. spend more time with them

you step out of cheol’s car with a strange sense of deja vu. the last time you had been in it, you thought it was big and pretentious but now…now you think it suits him, but not in a bad way like at first. huh. maybe kkuma being in the backseat helps.

speaking of kkuma, cheol entrusts you with her leash as he gets his jacket out from the backseat, and takes kkuma out with him in his arms. he ruffles her hair before fixing her bow, making sure it’s still pinning down her bangs, so to speak. he gives her a kiss, and you can’t help but find them adorable; cheol cares so much for her, and it’s obvious in the way he treats her.

cheol looks up at you, drawing kkuma’s attention to you as well. “what? why are you staring at me like that?”

you lift an eyebrow before bluntly speaking. “cheolie. it’s because you just happen to be so good looking.” you wink at him jokingly, giggling when he looks around in panic, hoping no one notices how red he is—thankfully for him, there’s no one around.

kkuma licks him on the cheek, trying to comfort him, and he smiles softly at her before putting her down and grabbing her leash from you—not without pouting and grumbling about how embarrassed he is, of course. after he makes sure that the leash is secure, he gets up, brushing off anything that may have gotten on him before smiling.

as you walk along the riverside, stopping occasionally when kkuma does, you learn more about your new friend. he’s not jobless like you thought he was—he works as a manager at a local finance company, and is taking a little break to use up his days off since they don’t carry forward.

when you ask about kkuma’s name’s origin, he avoids your eyes sheepishly. “i…when we adopted her a few years back, i was obsessed with roasted sweet potatoes and…it just turned into her name ‘cause we couldn’t think of anything else.”

you gape at cheol before hitting his shoulder in horror. “WHAT? you’re lucky that kkuma is a cute name.”

cheol sighs, scratching his head. “yeah, yeah i know. at least i didn’t name her potato, right?” you nod in agreement, realizing it could be much worse.

you shiver when a particularly cool breeze flits by the three of you, jacket a little too thin for how cold it gets this late. the sun had set a while ago, and you decided earlier to head back to the car before it got too dark.

cheol looks at you from the corner of his eye and huffs, looking away before giving you kkuma’s leash. “here.”

he starts to take off his leather jacket, his red and white beanie falling off in the process—you manage to catch it just in time before it hits the ground. cheol grins and puts his jacket on your shoulders, taking his beanie out of your hand before you can protest.

“what—cheol! you’re only wearing a sweater, you’re gonna be so cold!” you glare at him, trying to give him back his jacket. he shrugs in response, putting the beanie on top of your head, covering your vision before he adjusts it.

“you need it more than me. besides,” cheol shows you the inside of his sleeve, “it’s fleece lined!”

“yeah, yeah, whatever you say, cheolie,” you grumble before giving him kkuma’s leash so you can make your way back to the parking lot.

his lips stretch up slightly before he clears his throat. “of course! it’s your cheolie who’s talking after all,” he says, before freezing. huh, he slips up a lot around you, doesn’t he? “i-i mean that like—”

“yeah i know, cheol,” you cut him off by patting his fluffy hair down. “i get what you mean, so don’t worry about it.”

you continue to walk even as he stops, and turn back with a grin. “i’m sure i’m not the only one who can say you’re my cheolie anyway.”

cheol mirrors your expression before he looks to the side and clears his throat again. “well…totally.”

you laugh before leaning down to watch kkuma, hoping she’ll let you pet her (kkuma doesn’t even look at you, instead opting to stare into the distance as if she’s a seasoned sailor.)

cheol stares down at you softly. he doesn’t know why he agreed with you, actually. jeonghan had once called him a similar thing, and both of them had immediately agreed to never think of that incident again, the cringeness being too much to handle. even his own mother hadn’t called him that since he was young…but he always finds himself agreeing with what you say.

vi. giggle it out

cheolie 🍒 ❙

hey wanna walk kkuma with me?

we’re going around the block

you ❙

is that even a question.

of course

i need my daily kkuma intake

cheolie 🍒 ❙

😭😭😭😭

i’ll be in front of the lobby in 5

you get up from your bed, where you had been scrolling on your phone after work. after taking a quick look at yourself in the bathroom, you fix your hair to make sure it’s perfect—wait. you’re just going to walk kkuma; why are you paying so much attention to how you look? you turn on your phone camera, and look at your reddening face.

to tell the truth, you knew why you were making sure you wore the nice pants you rarely take out, and fixing your hair again. the thing you didn’t know though was when you started feeling this way towards cheol, like you had to be your best for him. isn’t he just the apartment owner’s son? the owner of the dog you’ve found yourself loving? you sigh, slapping yourself lightly on the cheek. that’s enough. your phone buzzes, and you catch yourself immediately opening it as fast as you can.

cheolie 🍒 ❙

where are u??

i’m leaving in the next minute

hurry up 😗

you giggle at the emoji before pausing, cursing yourself out in your head. you search around for a jacket to wear—it was late, and cold outside; you aren’t about to risk catching anything—and your eyes settle on cheol’s leather jacket, the one he told you to keep with a wink before blushing last week. you hadn’t worn it, but it was neatly hung on the back of your bedroom door, waiting for you to pick it up, so you do. you pull on his jacket carefully, his cologne surrounding you for a second as you rush out to lock your door, almost forgetting your phone on your bed in the process.

you wave to cheol as you step outside of the lobby, the cold air making you shiver before the warmth of his jacket covers you completely. you nod politely at mingyu—he lives a floor higher than you, and sometimes comes to your door by accident, though his partner is usually there to drag him back to the elevator and get to the right floor. mingyu’s perched on the ground, petting kkuma gently as she barks contently. wow, he’s got kkuma privileges too, huh?

“well, i’ll get going! have fun on your date,” mingyu says, winking as he gets up and walks casually to the front doors, even having the gall to whistle.

you and cheol look at each other before giggling, your cheeks turning the colour of what’s become a fruit dear to you because of the man in front of you. cheol adjusts his grip on kkuma’s leash before walking slowly, making sure you can keep up with him.

you wave at his parents when you pass by them; they’re talking animatedly with the security guard at the front about something, and you hear your name mentioned with cheol’s once you pass them. you turn back to ask them what they’re talking about but stop when you see the trio giggling to themselves. wow, does everyone think you’re dating or something? …not that you seem to mind it like you first thought you would.

cheol clears his throat, and puts a hand around your elbow, urging you to carry on and leave them alone. “so…” he starts, crossing his hands over his chest—huh, haven’t you seen this before? he clears his throat again, looking down at kkuma as she walks gracefully down the sidewalk. “you like my jacket, huh?”

you nod, and peek over at cheol’s expression—he’s grinning to himself, clearing his throat every so often. “yeah, i do. i mean, it’s not just the jacket that i like—” you cut yourself off before you say too much. you feel cheol tense too, and wince. why’d you have to go and ruin this moment?

cheol’s panicking, his mind and heart running laps together. what. does that mean you like him? he knows he’s definitely not good enough for you, that’s for sure. he coughs before looking off into the distance, avoiding your eyes, as if he knows you’re trying to analyze his expression. “you know, i could always give you more. j-jackets, i mean of course.”

you gape at him before schooling your expression to be more neutral, though the colour of your cheeks betray your true feelings. “pfft, you make it sound like we’re dating or something,” you laugh slightly before looking in the opposite direction. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? somehow, you’re making this situation even worse than before.

you sneak a look at cheol again, and stop, realizing he’s completely lost for words. his mouth is opening and closing like a fish, and he’s struggling to say anything. he looks straight at you and starts giggling instead, not knowing what else to do. you giggle with him, realizing how silly this whole situation is.

here you are, giggling with the guy you like, faces brighter than tomatoes.

you stare at each other for a bit before kkuma barks angrily, pulling on her leash as she tries to keep moving forward. remembering you’re supposed to be walking your favourite dog, and not just standing in the middle of the sidewalk and giggling, you take a step forward, cheol by your side.

you walk in silence again, the hysteria wearing off. as you turn to face another street, cheol mutters about how cold it is, and puts his hand in your jacket pocket, looking away and covering his face—his hands don’t stop you from seeing how bright his ears are.

you nod at his words before grabbing his hand in your pocket with yours and squeezing gently. “yup, you’re totally right about that, cheolie.”

sweet silence coats the two of you again, and you clear your throat, looking down at your feet as they step forward. “so…” you mimic cheol’s tone from before. “how many jackets do you really have?”

cheol, flustered now that you’re speaking to him, stumbles on his words. “u-um, i’m not sure,” he laughs nervously, rubbing his other hand over his warm neck.

you squeeze the hand in your pocket once more, before stopping and shrugging. “well…i think you’ll need more, considering you’ll be giving them to me, right?” you look up at him with a grin despite your nonchalant words.

he stares at you as if you handed the world to him. he grins, and suddenly you can’t help but giggle…again. if someone chooses to walk out of the surrounding houses and buildings, they would probably think the two of you are crazy. something must be messed up in your minds to be giggling this late at night in the cold, especially considering the dog with you seems to be in a bad mood.

kkuma barks again, not caring if she ruins your little moment together—even she thinks you’re crazy, and she has to deal with seungcheol everyday. realizing she has to take more active measures, she walks up to the two of you haughtily once more, and taps your shoe with her nose.

this gets the two of you to shut up. only for a moment though, until you scream in joy and hug cheol, your hands out of your pockets and finding their way comfortably around cheol’s back, as if they’re meant to be there.

you’re almost about to cry, being so happy. “kkuma likes me, cheolie!” you scream into his ear, not caring if it hurts him or not—he’s content in your arms, only laughing slightly before pulling away and booping your nose. “i told you she would like you if you became friends with me!” he exclaims with a grin.

you hum in agreement before shrugging out of cheol’s arms softly. “well, maybe friends…” you trail off, looking up at him with a smile. he chuckles before he finishes your sentence, “isn’t enough.” you both grin at each other once more, about to burst into another giggling fit.

the other choi sibling pops his head over the entrance, already yelling. “hey, choi seungcheol! we’re about to close the gates, you’re taking too long to walk kkuma!” he pauses, seeing you two smiling at each other with heart eyes, and rolls his eyes. “oh, finally! hurry up you two lovebirds, it’s late.”

you turn back to cheol, who has a frown on his face. “hm. i don’t really like lovebirds…” he caresses your red cheek gently before chucking again. “what about cherries instead? we can be a pair of cherries.”

you laugh, caught off guard by how corny he’s being before shaking your head. “whatever you say, my cherry. let’s get back inside before your mom comes out and yells at us, hm?” you say, interlocking your fingers with his free hand.

kkuma barks lazily at the two of you from the ground, her goal finally complete.

a/n (again): thank you so much for reading!! let me know what you think hehe i promise i don't bite !! lots of love - moon ♡

bonus drabble: number one

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teasteeper · 2 months

Text

fanboy (c.hs)

pairing: vernon x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut 18+ mdni

warnings: alcohol, pinv, oral (f + m receiving), dry humping, riding, drunk sex, “daddy”, situationship/fwb, fuckgirl!r, whipped!vern

words: 2.2k

vernon’s never felt this way about a girl. he doesn’t outright admit it or carry it around like a badge, but he knows he’s cool, lips turning up in a lopsided smile and looking down as his previous hookups gush to him telling him so. it’s not like he’s fucking fans, but once a girl spends a night with him.. she’s a fan.

vernon prides himself on not letting it get to his head. that doesn’t mean it’s easy though, having pretty girls drunkenly babble to him as he fucks them into his mattress, their slurred, high pitched praises going straight to his cock. and at the end of the day he’s a man. do you expect him to feel nothing when a wide eyed nearly-drooling girl throws herself at him..?

it was nice while it lasted, knowing he could probably have any girl he wanted, thanks to his pretty brown eyes and shy smile, his tall sleeper build and calm, deep voice. not that he wanted any of them.. not for keeps, anyway. it all ended, or started, with you. the roles reversed, him stunned by how cool you were, and you smiling and nodding along politely, like you were humouring a babbling toddler telling you about their favourite toy - like he was your biggest fan.

weeks into your situationship he still doesn’t know how he got so lucky, skin itchy with anticipation for the next time he can be with you. it makes perfect sense and simultaneously no sense at all. it’s perfect but not enough. not nearly enough.

his cock fits in you so perfect, your cunt gripping him like you never want to let go, your slick gushing down his length and making a mess between your bodies, drenching his thighs and bedsheets like you’re claiming your spot there. you don’t ramble like the other girls, but you look at him like you love him, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed pink and lips swollen from his heated kisses. it’s the best and worst drug he’s taken, sweat beading on his forehead, chest heaving with heavy breaths and biceps shaking as he holds his body over yours. and he’s the one rambling to you, roles always reversed. everything he’s ever known turned on it’s head, everything he’s ever done before you totally lost on him, unimportant.

he doesn’t recognize his own voice, barely able to get the broken, breathy words out.

“fuck, m’sorry. it’s too fucking good. fuck- you just take it”

“want you so bad, baby. i swear it’s you. swear you’re so fucking perfect f’me”

“look at me. yeah, just like that. fuck- you’re pretty. prettiest girl in the world”

it’s safe to say you’ve ruined him for anyone else. it’s painfully obviously after he closes his apartment door after you walk out, splashing cold water on his face and sighing as he lays back on his messy sheets. you always leave too soon, or maybe the problem is that you leave at all. he watches you pick your clothes up off the floor, stepping into your panties before pulling your sweater over your head. he stays on the bed, pulling his sweats over his hips as he thinks of the first time you hooked up, when he tried to help you into your clothes afterwards.

“i can do it,” you had laughed, a breathy, awkward sort of scoff, “thanks”

from then on he just watched, eyes trained on the dimples at the bottom of your spine before your clothes covered them from his sight. that first night he had you on your knees, face buried into his pillow as he filled your cunt. he had held your hips, the pads of his thumbs pressed into the dimples on your back as he pulled you back and forth on his cock. he had stared at them, slack jawed as you moaned out. he pressed his lips to both of them, trailing kisses down your back before lapping at your sticky slick with his eager tongue. and once you redressed they were gone, as if off limits - an intimate detail of your body he was never supposed to know of.

“fuck” he sighs to himself, running a hand down his face before pushing his damp hair off his forehead, tangling his slender fingers in the dark strands. his body is content, cock fully drained and soft in his sweats, heart slowing to a healthy pace. but his mind stays running, always searching for that missing part of the equation.

vernon knows you sleep with other people, both of you making it clear at the very beginning that you both weren’t looking for a relationship. but he can’t get his friends’ voices out of his head, telling him he’ll find the right person when he least expects it. but could you really be the right person? a girl so painfully out of his league? a girl who has him feeling like nothing but a lucky fanboy?

⊹

there’s nothing better than this, vernon fumbling with his keys before pushing the right one into the lock, lacing his fingers with yours with a lopsided smirk and pulling you to stumble into his apartment towards the living room. he hates the club, but getting a text from you inviting him out is something he’d never ignore, pulling on jeans and a black hoodie before he practically ran out the door, one hand busy booking an uber to your location. it’s all worth it when you push him to sit back on his couch, giggling as you clumsily straddle his lap and collapse against his chest. his laugh is caught in his throat when you crash your lips to his, the taste of alcohol on both your lips in your heated exchange of needy, drunken kisses.

you break the kiss all too soon, pulling back to trail your eyes over his face, his cheeks flushed pink and lids half closed, lips still puckered as he waits for you to keep kissing him. “you’re so cute, nonnie” you smile, grabbing his jaw between your fingers. he nearly groans out at your praise, his heart swelling in these rare moments when you’re all over him.

it’s like you just remembered you’re straddling him, looking down at your thighs spread over his hips, your mini skirt riding up your thighs so your pink cotton panties are on display, positioned perfectly over the fly of his jeans. your drunken giggles die in your throat, pushing your hips up to drag your clothed cunt over the denim and letting out a sigh as you feel the stiff shape of his cock against you.

“tell me, baby” vernon’s already slack jawed, big hands cupping your hips as you start to grind against him, “tell me what you want”

“off” you whine, pushing your hands under his hoodie before he grabs the collar, pulling it off and throwing it aside, his hair falling into his eyes. you trail your eyes down his chest, pale skin stretched over his toned abdomen. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, playing with the button of his jeans between your fingers.

“what’s wrong, baby?”

“can i leave marks?”

“fuck” he chokes out, your lips already attached to his neck, “please, baby. v’always wanted you to”

he steadies his trembling hands by pressing his fingers into your hips, pushing your shirt up your waist as you run your tongue up the side of his neck, nipping at the skin before suctioning your lips around it. the alcohol and the pressure on his neck and your vanilla perfume makes him dizzy, his eyes fluttering closed and a drawn out sigh passing through his lips. his cock throbs in his pants, feeling close without even being in you.

vernon brings his hands between your bodies to fumble at his zipper, making you whine as he pushes you away from his neck, “sorry, m’sorry, baby. need you to sit on my cock, okay?”

his fingers tremble as he hooks two into your panties and tugs them to the side, his other hand pulling his stiff cock from his briefs and lining the tip up to your slick hole. you’re so eager, dropping your hips to take the head inside, both of you moaning out before he takes his hand off his cock so you can take him fully.

“shit” vernon groans, back slumped against the couch, hooded eyes trained on your chest as he pulls your shirt over your head, throwing it aside to lay on top of his discarded hoodie. he has no time to think or even buck his hips up, gaze unfocused as your tits bounce in his face, eagerly bouncing on his cock with your nails pressed into the muscle of his shoulders.

he’s too drunk and fucked to fully realize how perfect this is. if he was sober he’s sure it would break his brain, how eagerly you’re riding his cock, desperately moaning into his mouth as you crash your lips to his like you need him in order to breathe. he can’t think of how if you were sober you wouldn’t be fucking him so greedily, wouldn’t be so close to tears and saying such sweet things between each heated kiss like you are now.

“feels so good, daddy. need you- always need you”

“y’so good to me. wanna be good f’you. wanna be yours”

his heart swells at your slurred words, pulling back and breaking the kiss to cup your face in his hands, dark eyes scanning your expression. he wipes the mascara-stained tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, tucking your mussed hair behind your ear.

he’s still cupping your cheeks when you reach your high, his jaw tense as your walls suffocate his cock. when your mouth drops into an o he pushes his thumb past your lips, watching you suck around the digit as you come down.

“i got you, baby. that’s my pretty girl.. that’s it. so pretty when you cum f’me”

the alcohol’s worn off, at least for vernon, guiding you off his cock and picking your spent body up with ease. his heart swells when your arms wrap around his neck, burying your face into his neck as he brings you to his bedroom. you let him lay you on his bed, let him pull your skirt down your legs before folding it carefully and setting it on top of his dresser, leaving you in your cotton panties. he turns to the washroom for a cloth to clean you up, but your voice interrupts him.

“you didn’t finish”

he turns back to you and gives you that shy smile, the greater half of him relieved to see you haven’t stood up to put your skirt back on. “it’s okay”

but your eyes are wide and expectant, sitting up in his bed and patting the empty space beside you. so he lays down beside you, silently watching you crawl over his hips, helping you push his jeans and briefs down his hips. he’s still so hard, the head of his cock flushed red and sticky with precum. he sighs softly when you lean down to lap at the sticky fluid, using his hands to pull your hair back into a makeshift ponytail.

if he wasn’t already sober, he is now, hyper aware of the warm wetness of your mouth as you sink down his length. you must be sober too, he thinks, your desperation from earlier turned to softness, quietly humming around his cock as you cup his balls, your other hand resting on his bare thigh. even your mouth is a perfect fit, his tip nudging the back of your throat when your lips touch the base.

“won’t last” he gasps, his high approaching impossibly fast.

he fully expects you to sit back and replace your mouth with your fist, stroking him until he cums on his stomach. so when your head keeps bobbing up and down, your tongue dragging up and down the underside of his shaft, his eyes widen, heart rate picking up as he starts to let go. “baby, baby, baby, oh- oh my fucking god”

he’s stunned, abs tense and chest heaving with shaky breaths as you swallow everything, licking him clean with slow, lazy swipes of your tongue up his cock.

this entire night must be a dream, vernon thinks, holding your body against him as you lay your head on his chest. he feels like an idiot, turning his head to check the digital clock on his nightstand every thirty seconds, but it’s been 12, 25, 50 minutes and you’re still here, letting him hold you. he hasn’t said a word, afraid that if he does you’ll suddenly become aware of the situation, that you’ll remember you don’t do this.

and he doesn’t sleep, even after hours of silence, after your breaths have slowed and your eyes have fluttered shut, because he’s wanted this since he met you, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. even when you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against his chest and soft breaths ghosting over his skin, you’ve never been more his than right now, and more than ever, he’s your biggest fan.

#good night🫡#vernon #vernon chwe #chwe hansol #seventeen #svt #vernon smut #vernon x reader #vernon x you #vernon drabbles #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen drabbles #svt drabbles #seventeen hard thoughts #seventeen hard hours #svt hard thoughts #svt hard hours #mine

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nightblightowl · 3 months

Text

Just some Lilith thoughts:

I do not believe for one second that Lilith is as cool and composed and effortlessly poised as some of the fandom make her out to be. Now this is just personal opinion (and I know we don't actually know much about her) Look at the man she married. Look at the child she raised. I don't think she'd be quite as CHEERY/overly optimistic as Charlie or as goofy as Lucifer. But there is no way that woman is 100% serious all of the time. She's gotta have a sense of humour. I want her to seem as graceful/regal as she appears... and I also want her to be kind of a dork. She gets flustered too, she makes faces, maybe she snorts when she laughs, maybe she makes really really bad jokes... I just like the idea that all of the Morningstars are a lil' silly in their own way. Look at them.🥺

#hazbin hotel #lucilith #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lillith morningstar #hazbin hotel lilith #and believe me I don't think this is the lilith we'll get...#we don't even know if Lilith is actually “herself” right now technically...#because I can't fathom why she'd leave her family behind #and I don't know if I can handle her just... not being as kind as maybe charlie believed..#there's just a lot we don't know but until then... I choose to believe she was fun and fun loving

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months

Text

“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there’s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,” Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn’t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He��s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot — they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

642 notes · View notes

hirukochan · 9 months

Note

Can I please request a snape smut fic? The reader and him have been friends since school and she is in love with him only he does not know it or realize his feelings till Sirius is flirting with her and it leads to a fight between them leading to them confessing to their feelings. Maybe some dirty talk biting and rough smut

Sooo...I got a bit carried away with this...definetly not the roughest smut I've written, but I hope you like it anyway.

Severus and his sunshine

Pairing: Severus Snape x fem!reader

warnings: Smut, loss of virginity

Wordcount: 7402 (oops...)

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

“To the youngest Professor in the history of Hogwarts!” You cheer and raise your glass clumsily into the air, spilling half your drink down your arm. “Oops-” You giggle.

It’s not the first drink of the evening and not the first time you toast to Severus’ new job - and certainly not the last. It bears repeating after all because how fucking awesome is this? You have always known that Severus is the most intelligent and brilliant and ingenious person you’d ever meet! It’s unfair - no, a bloody shame! - how many people never realised it just because Severus’ is a bit awkward and rude and- alright he’s a downright cunt sometimes but he has every bloody right to be with the road his life has taken so far! With a father like that and that awful Potter and his stupid goons!

“We need to cut you off.” He drawls, the corner of his lips curling, and tries to snatch your glass from you. You jump off the chair you're standing on and cradle your drink protectively to your chest, firewhiskey dripping down your arm.

“Try and I’ll bite your finger off!”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.” Severus shakes his head but doesn’t try to get your drink again, instead focusing on his own (the second of the evening - what a bore). The pub is crowded and loud, nobody pays any attention to the two of you sitting at a table in the corner.

You plop back down on your chair and take a sip of your drink.

Severus’ eyes have gone distant again. That happens a lot lately. Like something is on his mind that he lacks the words to tell you. Social interactions aren’t his strong suit. You’re the ‘Severus-translator’ Lily used to joke when you three were still friends because you always knew what Severus wanted to say but couldn’t. You always made sure he was included in conversations, told others to shut up so he could speak or smooth over his rough edges whenever someone didn’t get Severus’ dry and dark sense of humour.

One look at him from across the Great Hall during breakfast and you knew whether he was in a good or bad mood. You knew when he had a nightmare the night before and needed a gentler touch or when to bluntly tell him he’s being a cunt.

This you can’t seem to figure out.

He smiles less these days. Even less than usual. The four years since you finished school have been hard, especially for him, especially with the war.

Emotions are not Severus’ thing.

His long black hair falls into his face, hiding his grave expression from the world and you. His face has lost its boyish features. His jaw is more prominent, complementing his high cheekbones. His hooked nose suits him. It’s something about the proportions or symmetry of his face - you can’t quite put your finger on it. Most people seem to be put off by his appearance, but to you he has always held something uniquely beautiful.

He taps his finger against his glass repeatedly. His fingernails are still painted black…You made him let you paint them last time he was at your flat. It suits him.

You place your hand over his, stopping his fidgeting. You wish you’d know what’s going on in his head, clearly whatever it is puts him on edge, but you trust he’ll talk to you when he is ready.

“You’ll be great.” You say. “I have no doubt. You’re a bloody genius, Severus! These kids are so lucky. They can learn so much from you!”

“I am certain they will share your attitude.” He says sardonically and you snort. Severus downs his drink and takes your empty glass to get another round (and probably a glass of water for you because he’s such a mum sometimes). You smirk as you watch him make his way through the crowd.

He sticks out like a sore thumb in these new robes he got, but you think they too suit him. It’s probably the first time he isn’t wearing hand-me-downs. He’s wearing all black of course. The most colour you ever saw him wear was at Hogwarts in the form of his emerald green school tie.

Severus looks intimidating. It makes him look older, stronger somehow. It’s such a stark difference to the beat up jeans, the The Cure bandshirt you gifted him one Christmas and the shabby leather jacket.

But not in a bad way.

He looks good.

Maybe it’s the fact he has grown taller since graduation. He’s a head taller than he used to be and shed his bend over posture. Escaping both Hogwarts and his recently deceased father agrees with him. That and your continued effort of forcing him to eat three whole meals a day, every day.

His wide shoulders and dark hair disappear behind people and you rip your eyes from the spot you last saw him.

So much has changed in the last four years but that little flutter in your heart whenever you look at him has not changed. When it first started in your fourth year you didn’t even realise what it was about. You’d start stammering around him, earning you silent glares and raised eyebrows from Severus at which you’d blush. After an embarrassingly long time you finally accepted that you had developed a crush on your best friend.

You’re too terrified of losing him as a friend to ever tell him though.

Severus isn’t good with feelings. They are too complicated. Too messy. He doesn’t need messy. His life is messy enough and so you swore to yourself to never tell him.

Your friendship was already a miracle. You are his polar opposite. You are outgoing and friendly, polite - too polite sometimes - bubbly and optimistic. Severus is - well Severus. He is grumpy and quiet and rude.

You decided to befriend him in your first year. You saw him during the sorting and something about him pulled you in. You really wanted to get to know him and when you heard him talk during your first potions class you made the decision to gain his friendship however long it would take.

You started by sitting at the table next to his in the library. You’d sit there everyday, quietly doing your homework and when he stopped shooting you irritated looks when he thought you weren’t looking, you moved to sitting at his table. You simply smiled at the befuddled Severus and did your work.

You approached befriending Severus like one might approach gaining the trust of a wild animal. Over the year a truce-kind-of study group had formed between you.

Towards the end of term he asked for your help collecting some things from the forbidden forest - Lily would never break school rules, but you are certain Severus didn’t actually need help, he just didn’t know how to tell you he wanted to spend time with you.

During the summer you send him letters, even after not receiving any back from him and when you saw him by himself in the Hogwarts Express in September you sat down next to him and you’ve been friends since.

You know a romance is even less likely than your friendship was.

“Merlin! I almost didn’t fucking recognise you!” A familiar voice says and you throw up a little in your mouth.

“Black.” You say monotonous. As if he owns the place Black sits down opposite of you on Severus’ currently empty chair.

“You’re hot! How come we never snogged in school?”

“Because whenever I am forced to face the fact that you exist I want to smash my head against a wall.” You say with a honey-sweet tone of voice at which Black’s grin only grows. He doesn’t get the hint.

“How come you’re drinking alone, gorgeous?” Black continues undeterred, a poised and arrogant grin on his lips.

“I’m not.” His grin wavers ever so slightly but Sirius Black has always believed himself so utterly irresistible that such small details don’t matter to him.

“I don’t see anyone.” He is wearing muggle clothes, trying just a tad too hard to look like a rockstar, but he talks and holds himself like a pureblood still. He might have run away from home but he is still living off of his family’s wealth and he hasn’t changed one bit since school.

Black is (as usual) utterly unaware that he isn’t welcome. Black’s eyes roam over your face and down to your chest like he is appraising you, determining how much effort you are worth putting into seducing you.

“I think it’s fate we meet like this! You look-” He licks his lips and a shiver of disgust rushes over your arms. “So different. Bet you cut loose that tosser Snivellus. He was clearly dragging you under. A frown on such a pretty face should be considered a fucking crime.” You clench your fists under the table. You have your wand in your boot. It would be so easy to hex him-

“Someone as stunning as you- Oi! I was about to head to this club in Dublin that recently opened to meet Moony and Wormtail - You should join me!” He winks.

“As I said - I am here with someone.”

“But you could be with me!” He laughs as if he just made a joke but you know he is dead serious. He thinks you’d gladly ditched whomever you are here with for the chance of spending time with him. “Bring her too - the more the merrier.” There is a not so subtle suggestive tone to his words and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on gorgeous! Someone as sexy as you should not be so uptight! Let’s have some fun, let loose a little - it’ll be worthwhile to you, I swear.”

“What a compelling offer.” Sneers Severus and your heart drops. Great. “I wonder how many you made that promise to, Black, and how many you left disappointed.” Black’s grin falters for a split second.

That’s right.

Severus is different.

He stands taller. He’s fierce and strong and you aren’t at Hogwarts anymore where it’s four against one with the teachers turning a blind eye. You have no doubt Severus would pull out his nastiest curses on Black given the chance.

“Let’s leave, Sev.”

“Come on, gorgeous!”

“That’s not her name, but one can hardly expect a simpleton like you to care for such fine details as names.”

“Sev.”

“No wonder she looked like somebody was fucking murdered in front of her eyes when I found her - how Lily could bear being close to you for so long I’ll never understand.” Black turns towards you. “Kick this dick to the curb - I’ll buy you a drink, gorgeous.”

“She does not need you for that-”

“I can buy my own drinks.” You hiss and when Severus still makes no move towards leaving, you grab your jacket and storm off. Let them duel like little children if they want, but you won’t get in the middle of that.

The cold hair of the night hits you while you run down the street. Tears sting in your eyes and you feel so stupid and pathetic for crying. Nothing even happened. You don’t know what’s going on- that’s a lie. Severus sounded like he was about to suggest you’re with him and therefore don’t need Black to buy you drinks which…it’s not wrong. You were at the pub with Severus and you were going to make him pay (he’s a Professor now after all and from what Sev let on the pay isn’t bad) but it wasn’t a date. And Severus suggesting or intending to suggest that hurts. You want it to be a date goddamn! You’ve wanted it for over eight years!

Severus calls your name but you just wrap your arms tighter around yourself and continue down the empty street on the outskirts of London.

“Just wait!” He catches up to you. “What a fucking wanker.” He huffs.

“Mh.”

“What did he say to you? I should have hexed him! I knew it!”

“Drop it.”

“No, I will not drop it! He made you cry- come on tell me what he said and I’ll-”

“What?!” Abruptly you stop walking and spin around to face Severus. He looks at you perplexed, his cloak billowing behind him in the breeze. “You’ll go and start a duel? Why? I told you to drop it.”

“He’s a fucking cavemen! Just the way he looked at you-” Severus grimaces. A muscle in his jaw tenses and he flexes his wand hand.

“Why the fuck do you suddenly feel the need to defend my honour?! You just ignored me in there- nevermind. I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Don’t let Black ruin our night-”

“You ruined our night! I asked you to leave, you ignored me. I ask you to drop it, you ignore me. I don’t want you to fight Black! We aren’t at school anymore - you’ll get arrested!” Something you have never before seen crosses through Severus’ eyes. Something dark. A cold shiver runs down your spine and you take an involuntary step back.

“I wouldn’t be arrested, Sunshine.” He says, voice low, rumbling like thunder, a muttered promise of destruction and ruin and heat pools in your belly. That he called you by his nickname for you which he uses very sparingly, if ever, doesn’t help the matter. Severus takes a step forward. The heat morphs into a twisting, curling mass that takes your breath away. Severus looms over you, shadows dancing over his pale skin, drawing his cheekbones into an even sharper contrast and you gulp.

“You think Luci is going to come and rescue you?”

“Lucius? I don’t need Lucius for that.”

“Do you even fucking hear yourself?!” Your voice echoes through the empty streets, thrown back off the house.

“He made you cry!”

“Why does it matter?!”

“Because-” He clenches his jaw, his fists shake with suppressed rage. His nostrils flare and for a split second a tingling sensation winds around your heart at the expression in his eyes - the softness in the middle of a raging storm. A lone, untouched, unbothered island in the midst of a roaring ocean.

Severus exhales. Tension falls off his frame and the expression is gone.

“Fine.” He says quietly. “Let’s go then.” And he walks past you.

“No.” You can hear his steps stop behind you. Tears drip over your cheeks and you stubbornly wipe them away. “Say what you wanted to say.”

“I thought you’re tired.”

“Say it.”

“It’s- it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not moving until you say it.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. Behind you Severus sighs and you can practically hear him pinch the bridge of his nose like he does whenever you annoy him.

“You sound like a spoiled child.”

“Good practice then. You’ll have to deal with a lot of those, Professor.”

“Are you- I have the feeling you’re angry with me.” You spin around and glare at Severus. He’s not good with emotions, sure - but now he’s just being dense.

“What made you think that?” You deadpan. He rolls his eyes and his disregard for your feelings drives you mad.

“Black’s a bastard-”

“This is Warren all over again!”

“Yeah and I was fucking right about Warren wasn’t I?” A vein on his forehead pulses, but you don’t give a shit. Warren was your first boyfriend and Severus behaved absolutely rotten towards you.

“Warren was a huge mistake, yes - but he was my mistake to make! What- do you actually fucking think I would ever fucking touch Black? Just the thought gives me an STD!” The barest flicker of amusement flashes over Severus’ features. “I just- I don’t get why you overreact like this everytime I talk to a guy. And it’s not like I was engaging Black there! The fucknugget is just to stupid to get a hint!”

“I-”

“There it is again! You did it again! What is it that you can’t tell me? Come on Sev! You can tell me everything. When did you start having secrets from me?” It’s a hit to your ego as much as you don’t like admitting it.

You have always been Severus’ safespace.

He told you things he never even told Lily! Something you didn’t know until third year when Lily asked whether Severus’ parents are ‘fighting again’ when you knew Tobias dickward Snape beat Sev with his belt the day before the Hogwarts Express left for the new term. You fucking healed him in you compartment because his ribs were broken and she asked whether they were fighting.

Why can’t he tell you this?

Another tear slips over your lower lid and slides down your check. Your bottom lip quivers. You suppress a sniffle and nod.

You have never felt further away from him than you do at this precise moment. It feels like Severus is sand slipping through your fingers and the harder you try to hold onto him, to the way it was before, the faster he slips away. Maybe too much has changed. Maybe he’s too different. Maybe this unlikely friendship was doomed from the beginning.

You know you’re about to start bawling and that’s the last you want Severus to see.

“Alright…I see.” You whisper. “Life’s different now. We’re keeping secrets now…”

“Sunshine-”

“No- no, ‘tis fine-” You roughly wipe your eyes. “See you- see you sometime….congratulations again.” You turn around to find a quiet alleyway to disapparate to your flat and break down there like a pathetic little teen that got her pathetic little heart broken without ever even working up the courage to confess her pathetic feelings.

Your steps sound horribly loud in the dark, cold night and with every step you take away from Severus you feel like you’re losing him more, every step is another crack, another break, another insurmountable obstacle between you. The cold wind cuts through your clothes with ease and you shiver.

“I love you.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart skips a beat or two or maybe it forgets how to work entirely.

Severus’ voice is quiet, uncertain like it has not been since second year when he thought you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore after he lashed out at you.

“Sunshine- I knew Warren would only hurt you. That he’s not good enough for you. He bragged in the Slytherin common room that you showed him your boobs- He said all sorts of awful things and I- I just sat there. I should have said something, defended you, made him shut up but- Warren was two years above us and…” He takes a shuddering breath, dispelling old shame and insecurity from his voice. “Black’s just like that. He never cared for you before and now all of a sudden he is dying to go out with you? You don’t even realise it, Sunshine but- you- you are stunning. You have changed so much since school, you are- fuck I don’t know- words-” He sighs and rubs his hands over his face.

You feel numb and like you’re on fire at the same time. Of course you knew Warren spread some shit about you around, it’s why you broke up and broke his nose in the process for good measure, earning three weeks detention with McGonagall, but you wished you would have known sooner...

And- Severus loves you? No- that can’t be right- He’s in love with Lily- it’s always been Lily-

“You’re happier somehow- you- you’re radiant and beautiful and- you’ve grown up so much and- and- I love you. I’ve loved you for years- I want to protect you. I want to guard your happiness and yes I’d go back to knock out every single one of Black’s teeth for talking to you like that. You just have to say the word - sunshine - I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And I know I’m not bloody good enough for you- I am rude and surly and miserable to be around - I don’t expect you to feel the same…I- fuck I don’t know-”

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

“I thought you love Lily.”

“Lily is- was- still is- I have no goddamn clue- she’s like a sister. I love her. And I think marrying Potter was a huge mistake and that she’ll divorce him in about three years - if she manages to stand him that long and when she does I hope- I hope we can mend our friendship…maybe- but- but I don’t love her like that. Not like I love you.”

Severus loves you.

Has loved you for years.

Severus loves you… You swirl around and before your anxiety can overpower your heart, screaming and aching and thrashing about in your chest you cup his face with your trembling hands and press your lips against his.

Severus stiffens. For a moment you just stand there, on your tiptoes to be able to reach him, holding onto him, feeling his heat against you, your lips exploding with electrifying tingling. Your stomach clenches and twists, flip flops and gives birth to a thousand erratic butterflies and all flutter around in a whirlwind of emotions that are too colourful, too many, too intense to ever find words worthy of describing the sensation.

Cautiously Severus puts his hands on your back and moves his lips against yours. You’re still crying, tears stream over your cheeks and run along the curves of your face to your lips.

As if woken from an enchanted slumber, Severus drags you against his chest and kisses you fiercely. One arm wrapped around your back and clutching at your waist, and one hand cradling the back of your head, long slender fingers threading through your hair. You grab the front of his robes and cling to him.

You both stumble a few steps and your back hits the brick wall of a house. Severus licks along the seam of your lips which you happily part for him. Your kiss grows sloppy and desperate. Your tongues meet gingerly at first but soon the slight air of discomfort and wariness at this development vanishes, flies away into the cool air of the night, gone and forgotten, as unimportant as your stupid fight.

Severus is kissing you. You are finally kissing Severus. He loves you. He has loved you for years.

Everything is good.

“Sev-” You whimper against his lips between two kisses. You try to break them, to wrench an inch of air between you but Severus is like a man dying of thirst that finally found a water source and is clenching his burning thirst. “Sev-” You push against his chest. Severus releases your lips, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t let go of you.

He leans his forehead against yours and blinks back at you, his dark eyes seemingly trying to pervade yours, to find a direct path to your deepest thoughts, a link between you and him that is untouchable by anybody else, that runs deeper than any other connection between two people.

“Don’t you want to invite me back to your place?” You murmur and tug playfully at the button just above his throat. Severus’ eyes darken. A muscle in his jaw jumps. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Needy, desperate, wanting.

He clears his throat and steps back. How the fuck does he still look put together? How can he manage to reign in that storm in his eyes so expertly, so fast and clean while you’re a panting, sweaty, needy mess after just a few damn kisses?

“You won’t like what I’d do then.” He says, voice heavy with what he leaves unsaid. You push yourself off the wall and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You trail a few chaste kisses up the side of his jaw and flick the tip of your tongue over his earlobe. Severus inhales sharply and flexes his hands again.

“I don’t break easy, Sev.” You whisper and press a kiss to his ear. “You should know that.” He takes another shuddering breath and just when you think you’ll have to deal with the aftermath of his kiss on your own while picturing him nestled between your thighs (once again), he pulls you against his chest and holds you in a bone-breaking grip. You feel the familiar pull of side-along apparition and in the next moment you smell the even more familiar, dusty scent of Severus’ house. The smell of books is new, added after Severus renovated the house enough to evict his father’s influences and put his own touch to it - namely by adding a shittone of books.

Severus doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. He grabs your hand and pulls you up the stairs. You giggle and run to keep up with him. He practically kicks the door to his old room open (you know for a fact he has not even touched the door to his parents room since his father died) and crushes his lips against yours as soon as he pulls you over the threshold.

The burn marks from where Severus used to zap flies with his wand are still on the ceiling. The little pencil sketches you made near the baseboards are as well. He replaced his bed though. A brand new double which you are being steered towards now.

“Severus-” You moan against his lips and tear at the buttons of his new robes.

“Is this real?” He whispers back and leans his forehead against yours again, watching you struggle with his clothes. “I’ve pictured this so many times- thought about how I would feel to have you here- is this happening? Or am I sleeping?”

“It’s real.” You say, lips against his recently freed throat. “I’m here.”

“You’re here…”

“Severus-” You hesitate and pause your quest of revealing Severus’ body to your eyes. “I’ve never done this-” Suddenly you feel shaky and overwhelmed.

“Warren-?”

“Is full of shit. He lied- about all of it. Have you-” He nods, but there’s a distant expression in his eyes that tells you it’s not something he wants to talk about. Probably something he’s ashamed of. You know the kind of company Lucius, Mulciber, Rosier and the other’s like to keep and don’t pry further.

“I’ll trust you then.” You murmur and sit down on the bed, pulling Severus down with you.

“I’d never want to hurt you, Sunshine.” You kiss and between kisses scoot up the bed until your head is resting on the soft pillows and Severus’ lean body between your thighs. “I’ll take care of you.” He mutters against the corner of your mouth and kisses your cheek. “Such good care.” He trails down your jaw. “Like Black or Warren never fucking could.”

“I never wanted them.” You moan. Your body moves on its own, knowing precisely what you want and need even if your mind has yet to catch up. Your legs wrap around his hips, your back arches, pressing your breasts to his chest. You thread your fingers through his silky hair. “Only you.”

“Me?”

“Only you. Always you. Whenever I thought about it…when I pictured how it would feel while touching myself I only ever pictured you.”

“Oh sunshine-” He groans and rolls his hips against you.

“Sev-” Severus draws his wand and mutters a quick spell. Something curls in your stomach, it’s the weirdest sensation and for a second you are utterly confused, but then your gaze meets Severus’ and you understand. Contraception spell. You didn’t even think of that. Of course Severus did. You smile.

He mutters another charm and your clothes vanish. You squeak, blush and hide your face behind your hands.

You can hear the clanking of wood hitting wood as Severus tosses his wand onto the nightstand.

“You- fuck…” Cautiously you peek between your fingers. A faint pink tinge has spread over Severus’ cheeks and nose, down to his now fully exposed neck. He looks cute. Adorable. You take a deep breath and drop your hands. This is Severus. Your Severus. There is nothing to be afraid of with him. “You put to shame all great beauties of the comprehensive history of this world.” His words brush over your skin like a tender caress and make you shiver and burn with embarrassed heat at the same time.

“Severus-”

“It’s true. The old greek masters wish they would have had a model like you sit for their marmour statues. Such beauty has to be preserved for the ages - but you…you are just mine.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my stammering, cute, insecure Severus?” You tease. Severus’ eyes are still pinned to your breasts. He visibly snaps out of his thoughts and looks up to you. There he is. Flashing through his impossibly dark eyes for the flicker of a second before they return to the heavy gaze, consumed by carnal desire that has been ignored for too long and has now broken free with demanding force.

“He knows he’s about to find out how you feel.”

“Come and find out then.” You shoot him a challenging grin. Severus kisses you in response. He kisses you and settles more of his weight on you. His very much hard cock presses against your exposed cunt. You gasp and clutch at Severus.

“Shit- Severus- that won’t fit!”

“It will.”

“You sure?” He chuckles, his eyes lighting up with amusement like they do so rarely and you relax.

“I’m sure.” You trust him. You love him. You want him. He’ll take care of you.

You let him take control. Severus kisses you more. He seems determined to cover every inch of your body with all the confessions of his love he has missed out on. All the elapsed opportunities. All the kisses you could have shared if you both had had just a little more courage. But it doesn’t matter. You are here now. You are together in his bed, skin pressed against skin, breathing the same air, staring into each other’s eyes longingly while his hand slips between your thighs.

You’re soaked and whimper when his slender fingers gather your slickness, brushing your aching cunt with featherlight touches. He draws gentle, slow circles over your clit. Pressure and heat build in your belly and deep inside your cunt fast. You cling to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin without even noticing.

“I wondered so many times how you’d look…” He murmurs. His lips brush over yours as he speaks. His breath dances across your cheeks.

“...in the throes of pleasure.” Severus’ voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. A smoky rumble that goes straight to your core.

He teases your entrance until you’re squirming and rolling your hips against his touch before finally plunging a finger inside you. “I wondered how you’d sound…how I would feel knowing it was me making you feel like that…” You give him the answer promptly. Moaning and whining, gasping for air.

“Sev!” You throw your head back and arch your back. The pressure keeps building and building, beyond anything you ever managed yourself. He adds a second finger and with it a delicious, stinging stretch. He curls his fingers and presses the heel of his palm to your clit. You squirm under Severus’ intense gaze that seems to look right through you, through your skin down to your very soul. He watches every flicker of pleasure and desperation he paints onto your face with utter, devoted, undisturbed attention to you and nothing else. Nothing else matters.

Severus knows you like no other. It feels right to share this with him as well.

He loves you.

You still can’t believe it.

“Sev!”

“Cum for me, sunshine. Cum on my fingers. I want to know- I’m done wondering. I want to know.” You do. Crying out and panting his name, thrashing about beneath him as waves upon waves of intense pleasure run havoc over you, but it’s fine. You can let go with Severus.

“I need you Sev- please-” You gasp even before your orgasm has released you from its clutches. “Please please please- Sev-” He groans.

“Fuck and I thought you sounded needy in my head.” Severus mutters and aligns himself with you. He takes his time, giving you time to adjust to his girth, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into your still spasming channel, forcing it to give way to him. He grunts and whispers praise, how tight you are, how good you feel for him, how well you’re taking him. You whimper and hold onto him, leaving red streaks across his back. Severus doesn’t even bat an eye at it.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and savours your every sound, every twitch and throb of your cunt finally, finally gloved around him.

“Sunshine-”

“Severus…” More words aren’t needed. He rests there, deep inside you, his body pressed to your trembling smaller one, shielding you from the cold of his room and the world itself and you know there is a promise in there somewhere.

“I can’t believe it-” He murmurs and kisses your collarbone, down to your sternum. He kisses and licks, sucks, grazes your skin with his teeth. “You feel…incredible…you’re so good for me sunshine-” He kisses your breasts, flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, licks broad strokes and teasingly closes his lips around them.

When Severus finally moves again he does so in slow, measured thrusts. He watches your expression with hidden wariness, watches your every reaction. He can’t hide from you though. He is waiting for you to regret this. To tell him to stop. He’s afraid of letting go, afraid of scaring you off, of losing you.

But he’ll never lose you.

You buck your hips and whine impatiently. “Come on Sev.” You whimper. “Fuck me like you really want to fuck me.”

“It’s your first time I will not-”

“It’s done, Sev. Bye bye virginity! That train of stupid little things society places far too much worth in has left the station indefinitely. Now fuck me.”

“Sun-”

“Severus Snape! Fuck. me. properly.” He groans. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fine.” Severus grunts and a rush of excitement pulses through your stomach and drenches his throbbing cock in more fluids. “I warned you.”

The bed creaks dangerously under his thrusts. His hips slap against yours with a wet, fleshy sound that drives you crazy.

“Oh fuck yes- yes- just like that- that’s-” You babble more nonsense, moaning and shredding Severus’ back with your nails. He fucks you mercilessly into the mattress, spearing you open with his cock with each hard thrust. Your entire body trembles under his thorough attention. Your cunt yields to him in wet, fluttering excitement. It cherishes the promise of soreness his thrusts leave behind.

Any attempt at grasping for and trying to hold onto one of the many thoughts rushing through your fuzzy, hazy mind is a fruitless endeavour.

“Fuck! Ahhh- so good…” Severus mutters against your collarbone and plunges his cock into your drenched cunt again before pulling out almost completely and driving back in with such force he knocks your head against the headboard. You both laugh.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You weave your fingers through his hair and pull him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. You gasp and moan into the kiss and drink up the way Severus continues to lose the iron grip on his emotions he had cultivated since graduation, revealing more and more of the love-starved, unapologetic, fierce man you know him as. The man that feels so freely, so intensely, so deeply that it hurts him so much.

Every thrust, every kiss, every exploring hand gliding over your sweaty skin, squeezing your breasts in testing, careful motions is a testament to how deep his feelings for you run and have been running for so long.

It breaks free of him in violent bursts and buries you beneath roaring pleasure.

Severus is not good with words.

But he will be damned if he doesn’t show you what he can’t figure out how to say.

“Severus-” You moan, joining the creaking bed and his grunts, the symphony of your love. This would not be a pretty, romantic, fairytale like love. You are both messy and broken in your own ways. It will be hard. It will take work and compassion and will seem impossible at moments, especially in the midst of a war, but Severus is worth it.

To you he is worth it.

He always was and will always be.

You whine in protest when Severus pulls out of you but before you have a chance to voice it otherwise or even glare at him, Severus flips you over.

“Put your hands on the headboard.” He rasps in your ear. You are shaking and struggle to keep yourself upright, but Severus’ arms around your waist stabilise you. You hold onto the headboard so tight your knuckles turn white. Severus is kissing your neck, nibbling and sucking, painting his marks onto you as if to say ‘I was here’ or maybe ‘back off’. Maybe both. Maybe more.

He fills you up again, reaching much deeper than before and you gasp at the unfamiliar, intense feeling.

“Your cunt clutches me so hard-” He grunts and bottoms out. “Sucks me in- all soaked and desperate.”

“Sev-”

“Hmm…yes. I’m here…” He sucks the delicate skin on your neck into his mouth and bites down gently, at which a loud, wanton moan breaks free of you and he bites down harder.

You meet his thrust with your hips, his cockhead hits a spot inside you it previously missed and you fall apart. His grip around your waist turns bruising and Severus pulls you back. Your grip around the headboard goes slack. You melt into his touch, twitching and shivering, whimpering, mind fuzzy with always new, higher, stronger, more intense levels of pleasure.

Severus holds you to his chest, your thighs on either side of his, useless, hands helplessly holding onto his arms, and moves your body up and down his hard shaft. Using you and the fluttering of your cunt as your orgasm continues to coarse through you. He grunts and bites your shoulder, harder than before and a particularly strong spasm shakes your body. You drop your head onto his shoulder, melting further against him.

“Again-” You rasp and present your neck to him. A grin flashes over Severus’ lips. Sweaty strands of hair stick to his forehead, his eyes are glazed over with hazy lust.

“My pleasure.” He coos, but instead of indulging you, he kisses you. One small, chaste peck after another. You squirm against his grip, claw at his arms, painting more red streaks on his pale skin.

“You never told me you got a tattoo-” You murmur. The sight of the jet black snake and skull on Severus’ left inner arm pulls your mind out of its haze and into a brief moment of clarity. Severus hesitates ever so slightly in his thorough, teasing attention he’s paying to your neck. Something about the tattoo unsettles you, though you can’t exactly decide why.

“Must have forgotten. It’s new.”

“Hmm…very metal.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why’d you get it then?”

“I thought I would.” Severus sucks on your neck and that plummets you back into mind-numbing, all-consuming, ecstatic pleasure.

“Maybe we should go to Dublin after.” Severus purrs in your ear. “Show Black all your pretty marks.”

“Idiot.” You giggle.

“I’m going to cum-”

“Cum inside me.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Please, Sev! Cum in me.” Severus pushes you forward and you fall face first into the mattress with a tiny outrages squeal. Severus laughs at you and grips your hips, adjusting them to sit flush with his own. He fucks you roughly into the pillows. You clutch at the sheets. Severus loses more and more of what little composure he still had. He mutters things you can’t make out.

His thrusts are accompanied with lewd, wet noises and the headboard hitting the wall.

“Severus!”

“I’ll fill you up ahh- with my cum- leave you dripping-”

“Yesyesyes-” He moves your hips with each thrust, pulling you back into him as he buries his cock inside you. His balls hit your sensitive cunt. His fingers dig into your skin, sure to be leaving bruises.

Severus cums with your name on his lips, tumbling over them in a low, reverent, lust-drenched prayer which you join with your own faint, desperate whimpers.

Feeling the hot spurts of cum hit your inner walls violently kicks you over the edge for the third time. Severus slumps above you, pressing his forehead to your back between your shoulder blades, panting and spent.

You stay like that for a while. Both of you trying to catch your breath, relishing in the buzzing glow of your aftershock and the feeling of each other’s love on your skin and warming you from the inside.

Gently Severus pulls his softening cock from you and lies down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Sorry.” He murmurs in your hair and presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I hurt you.”

“I liked it.” You murmur back and place your hands against his chest, nuzzling your face to his neck. “Why did it take us so bloody long to finally do this?” He chuckles. He tugs a strand of messy hair behind your ear. You look up to meet his gaze. It’s heavy with emotions, a swirling storm of love and care and fear. You reach out to him in a futile attempt of soothing it. The pads of your fingers meet his cheek and he shudders under your touch, before leaning into it. His eyes fall closed and for a brief moment he looks at peace. Content. Home.

“I-” He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again. His brows pull together into a frown, a deep crease forming between them. His lips go white as he presses them together into a thin line. His jaw tenses. “I’ve made a terrible mistake-” His voice is hoarse from unshed tears and the effort of suppressing them. He loses. One escapes from between his closed lids and slides down his cheek, meeting your fingers. You wipe it away, but more follow.

“I’m trying to fix it- I am! But I-”

“It’s ok.” You whisper and press a tender kiss to his jaw.

So he did it…You had your suspicions, of course you did, but a part of you refused to believe Severus capable of those horrible acts committed by the Death Eaters. And you were right. The pain, regret and self-loathing is so evident in his face. He can’t bear to look at you.

“We’ll fix it. Together. It’ll be fine.”

You are there when the Aurors storm his house to arrest him. You were sitting on the threadbare sofa in his arms as he read to you.

You tell him not to resist, to not tell them anything.

You send an owl to Dumbledore.

You are at the trial, sitting on one of the benches. Severus looks miserable sitting in the middle of the courtroom, deep shadows under his eyes, a tremor in his wand hand. The chains of the chair are wrapped tightly around his arms. He avoids your eyes.

Dumbledore defends him passionately. Recounting Severus’ turning spy for him, reporting you-know-who’s steps to Dumbledore, how invaluable his intel had been. He recounts the dangers Severus was willing to face. He demands he is released. And he is. The Wizengamot clears him of all charges and you walk out of the Ministry with him, holding his still trembling hand in your own.

“Is this real?” He whispers and you bite the inside of your cheek to not start crying. You want to be strong for him.

“Yes.” You kiss his cheek and wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s real. You’re a free man. I’m here. I will always be here. We’ll figure this out.”

“Together?”

“Together. I love you, Severus.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

#severus snape #snape fandom #ao3 fanfic #severus snape smut #Severus Snape x reader #snape x reader #snape x you #request #dividers by cafekitsune

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jinjeriffic · 4 months

Text

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 3

Part 2

Tim reached up to rub at his temples and groaned. This was getting him nowhere. Normally he enjoyed going down the research rabbit-hole but this was ridiculous! Paranormal sciences were a bad joke. Most of it was conjecture, hearsay and unprovable theories with just enough scientific sounding jargon peppered in to confuse a layperson. Peer-review was practically non-existent, not to mention a proper scientific method. Francis Bacon would be rolling in his grave!

The slight hiss of the elevator doors opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Replacement, you missed dinner!” Jason called, sauntering over with a loaded plate in hand. He set down a sandwich next to Tim’s elbow. “Alfie says he’s cutting off your coffee supply until you get some damn sleep. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna start prepping the knock-out gas soon!” he quipped, leaning his hip against the Batcomputer’s console. “Research on the League giving you trouble?”

“I wish.” Tim sighed, reaching for the sandwich, “The Assassins have actually been pretty quiet recently. I found some leads on suspicious political donations in Italy, but nothing I can tie to them directly. Talia’s in Paris as far as I can tell, working at an investment firm for God knows what reason. Probably money laundering related. And the ones holed up in Nanda Parbat have been quiet as murderous little church mice.”

“Ra’s isn’t up to anything? Colour me shocked.” Jason drawled sardonically, “You sure he’s not cooking up a new batch of demon spawn in that mountain of his?”

Tim shook his head. “You know Bruce destroyed his cloning labs after the last… incident. And I’ve found no records of the League procuring the necessary materials or equipment to restart production.” he wrinkled his nose, “Of course it’s possible that they used a shell company we haven’t come across yet, but I believe the odds are pretty low.”

��So what’s got your panties in a bunch then?”

Tim’s mouth twisted in a frown. “Ghosts.”

“Ah.”

Jason stared off into space and Tim took a bite of his sandwich. Egg-salad, score! The Cave was silent for a while, only disturbed by the noise of the actual bats heading out for their nightly hunt.

“I can’t tell you for sure if ghosts are real or not. I don’t remember anything from when I was… dead.” Jason said haltingly, and Tim stilled. “But we’ve seen people come back under pretty weird circumstances. So why not ghosts?” Jason shrugged.

Tim chewed and swallowed before replying. “Because it’s one thing for the physical body to be restored, but some kind of nebulous ‘spirit’ lingering? Why don’t we see ghosts all the time then? Why don’t people come back? Why not…” Tim broke off.

“Your Dad?”

Tim nodded and dropped the remains of the sandwich back on the plate. It suddenly looked as appetising as cardboard.

“I don’t know, birdie. We still don’t know why I came back.” Jason snorted “Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour.”

Tim’s lips curled up in a mirthless smile. “Maybe the universe missed your terrible puns. Some of those still haunt me.”

Jason barked out a surprised laugh. “That was terrible!”

“The universe clearly made a grave mistake.”

“Stop it, I can feel my brain cells dying!” Jason groaned and gave Tim a light punch to the shoulder.

“Well we can’t have that, you have so few already!” Tim snarked, then quickly leaned to the side to evade Jason’s attempted noogie. Jason huffed and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“All right mister teenage genius. What have you dug up about ghosts then?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “There’s obviously tons of folklore from all over the world. Pretty much every mythology has stories about the spirits or souls of the dead returning to haunt the living. But if there’s a scientific basis to all this then it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even the supposed leaders in the field are hopelessly biased.” He pulled up some documents on the screen. “Take these for example. The Doctors Fenton are supposed experts in the field of ‘Ecto-Biology’ as they call it, but their research papers would never fly with a proper scientific journal. A lot of it comes across as blatantly xenophobic towards the entities they are supposedly studying and their research methods seem geared towards confirming what they view as foregone conclusions. And most of their peers operate on the same track.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully as he skimmed one of the articles in question. “Do you think there’s anything to this, or is it all just a hoax?”

Tim snorted. “If there is, they haven’t offered any conclusive proof. Though they certainly seem to have made it work for them. The Fentons have a series of patents for weapons and defenses against these supposed ‘ecto-entities’ and it looks like there’s plenty of people gullible enough to buy them. I haven’t taken a closer look at their products yet, but a lot of it looks like something out of a pulp sci-fi movie.” He pulled up the image of what looked like a bazooka with green glowing parts. Jason whistled.

“So, con artists or mad scientists?”

“Could be both. Their financial records are all over the place and they’ve had some large transactions with what I’m pretty sure are shell companies in recent years. They live and operate out of a small city in Illinois.” Tim said, pulling up the relevant documents on screen.

“Amity Park?” Jason read aloud.

“Supposedly it’s ‘The Most Haunted City in America’. Seems on brand, doesn’t it?”

“It probably helps them stay in business. It looks like they have kids?” Jason pointed at the tax returns. Tim typed some search queries into the system.

“Two. One in high school, one just started her first semester at Metropolis University. With a full scholarship to boot.” He spent a few more minutes hacking into the university’s systems. “Here we go, Jasmine Fenton. Looks like she’s going for a psychology degree. And… hm…” Tim trailed off. Jason quickly realised what had caught his attention.

“‘The Damaging Effects of Envy Towards Metahumans? That’s a hell of a topic for a freshman-year essay.” Jason remarked.

“Yes. I wonder…” Tim drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “She might have some insight into her parents’ research.”

“And at a cursory glance, she didn’t drink whatever Kool-Aid her parents were serving.” Jason finished for him. “You wanna go pump her for information?”

“I might as well. If nothing else, maybe we can shut down a couple of mad scientists before they become a problem.” Tim stood up and stretched. “Time for a field trip!”

Part 4

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #no beta we die like danny #I'm sick and wordvomited this out at like 4am #send throat lozenges #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)

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pallastrology · 4 months

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observations on aquarius

artwork by jules pierre van biesbroek

aquarius moons, like other air moons, can treat their emotions kind of like a puzzle; they turn them over in their hands and really break down and analyse their thoughts and feelings. aquarius moons in particular tend to be very focused on the wider impact of their actions and emotions, which, while a testament to their kind and caring nature, can get in the way of them experiencing their full emotional range and the insight that comes with that.

a lot of people with aquarius dominance can go through life feeling dreadfully lonely. though (depending on individual placements) they often pride themselves on being different, or not needing to follow the crowd, deep down they can feel they don't belong, or aren't 'normal'. really, their uniqueness is what makes them beautiful, and while their journey isn't always predictable, they generally find their tribe along the way, and become people with a strong sense of self and steady values that guide them and their relationships.

aquarius on the ascendant tends to have a reputation for looking 'alien-like' or asymmetric, and while the second one especially can be true, my opinion is that a lot of aquarius risings have a doll-like beauty, with very fine and neat features, not unlike virgo risings actually. what sets them apart is that they are more expressive with their style, more congruent and more open to showing their true selves through their clothing. they are prouder and stronger that way, almost more dramatic.

mars in aquarius is a placement that has a strange relationship with anger and assertiveness. they tend to be very cool people, in that they're stoic, relaxed, grounded and pragmatic; they aren't as controlling or fearful as a fixed mars tends to be. but they can be quite detached from their anger and agency, and so if they aren't self-reflective, they don't see how it can affect those around them when they are angry. they are prone to anger at the state of the world and are sensitive to justice - or injustice, rather - but can be erratic in how they display this, at times seeming uncaring.

jupiter in aquarius is a placement that brings a lot of kindness, a lot of generosity, but a strict will and a clear vision. they are dreamers at heart, like a lot of aquarian placements, but if it's channeled properly, jupiter in aquarius gives the native the power and confidence to succeed. the other interesting thing about this placement is that the native tends to love to work; as long as the work means something to them, as long as it does good. they absolutely cannot work just to make money, it's bad for their souls.

aquarius in the sixth house can bring health issues that appear suddenly, are hard to diagnose or treat, or come and go. they may have unusual symptoms or reactions to things, and the phrase 'when you hear hoofbeats, think horses' doesn't tend to apply so well to them. somewhat nervous individuals, aquarius in the sixth house natives can be sensitive to lifestyle factors that help or hinder their health, and so they need a solid (if maybe a little unconventional) routine to really flourish.

aquarius suns are some of the funniest people i've ever met. they have a real deadpan, dry sense of humour and their serious delivery just makes the joke land better. although they may have unconventional taste in material, they don't tend towards the inappropriate and in fact are very even and fair in their roasts. maybe for this reason, they aren't the best roasters, but at least you know you won't be traumatised if an aquarius roasts you...

venus in aquarius gets a reputation for being distant, 'away with the fairies', even unromantic, but i don't think that's true at all. while they are a more grounded and cerebral placement for venus to be in, these natives are incredibly sweet. when they love someone, they will tell them so in a thousand tiny ways. they're the type to take their time getting to know every part of you, down to your microexpressions and innermost worries and favourites.

#pallastrology #astrology #astro community #astrology blog #astrology post #aquarius #aquarius observations #astro notes #aquarius notes #moon in aquarius #mars in aquarius #jupiter in aquarius #sun in aquarius #aquarius in sixth house #aquarius rising #aquarius ascendant #aquarius dominance

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crystallilytarot · 4 months

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You and your future spouse first impression of each other. Choose a word (these are erasers btw)

(can be future partner too, if you don't want marriage)

Ps. It's supposed to be about impressions, but somehow the cards showed me a story too, but I hope you will still like it!

Pile 1 - power

Your fs

It feels like you will be with friends /family / colleagues. Even if it's in the workplace, it will be a lunch break, a company party or something lighter feeling. And you are talking, laughing and your future partner will see you, and like bumm, they will know right away that you are special. Not exactly love at first sight, but instant attraction. And not even lust, it feels more like they will find you very intelligent, an interesting individual. You probably have a good sense of humour too. If it's in the workplace, they will try to do something, to work with you. You seems like someone who is good at teamwork. They will have instantly protective feelings about you. A little bit like a protector, but they will admire you from afar. A secret admiror, but nothing creepy. I think they will just need some time. And they won't even realize at first, that it's not just they find you interesting, but they find you very sexy too. The sexual attraction is there too from the beginning so it's a little funny, how they don't notice this. You know, like in fanfictions, where everybody knows that the main character has a crush on someone. Everybody but them lol

You

Okay, so you are the same. Kinda. But I think you will know a little earlier that you are attracted to this person, but you would think that it's impossible. In the very beginning, you probably won't even notice them, it feels like they are not really your usual type, or maybe they are, but still at first you will think that they aren't. So I mean, maybe a little different from your type in the outside, but in the inside, they are everything you ever wanted. After there's a period where you will feel really in love with them, but you will be like, it doesn't matter, it's only a platonic love. A little bit of a feeling like the company rules don't let people date on that workplace, or they are in a higher position than you. Or just simply you both feel like the other person is not interested in you. But in the end somehow you will be together. Can be that some friends will help you or just your guardian angels, because you seems like can't even believe that this person is really interested in you.

Pile 2 - dream

Your fs

They will be very attracted to you, right from the beginning. And they seems like a confident person, so I think they will try to invite you to a date pretty early. But either you will say no, or the date won't be so good. There's a little separation here. I feel like their intentions are genuine but somehow they don't act like it. In the beginning, but later you will be together. I feel that they are confident but you seems out of their league, and they find you so sexy, they will ruin this thing between you. Can be that you already know them, but you were too young, or the time / place were bad, but later you will reconcile.

You

There's an instant attraction from your side too, and I think you will feel that you have a lot of common things. You will actually see behind their behaviour and you will feel that they are a loving person. But still something isn't right. But I feel that both of you need some time to heal something, learn something before you meet again. The potencial is there from the beginning, but it feels like it wasn't real love back than, but if you meet again, it's so much better. Like 2 people who are emotionally available, and in peace with themself, so they can give love too.

Pile 3 - magic

Your fs

It's strange because it feels like neither of you are looking for love at that time. Something bad happened or just they are busy with other things in their life. They are in their journey to be a better person, maybe in their job too, but in their life in general too. So it feels a little sudden meeting. You two maybe already know each other. It's just for some of you. But for everybody, you both will feel like you are know each other for a long time. This person will feel like you are their safe place. It's possible that it will be a love at first sight. They will just know, that they want to be with you right away. They will think that you are like a sunshine in their life. Something like a child, who can feel joy almost innocently. A happy, optimistic feeling. And they will know right away that they will want to be with you long term. If you want children, there's that feeling too that they will know that they want a family with you.

You

So there's a little difficulties in your life too when you are meeting this person. But they will bring back the hope to your life. Instant sexual attraction from your side too. And probably love at first sight here too. But it seems like you are more of a rational person or you just don't believe that it's really happening for you. So you will fight with your feelings a little at first. Maybe it's because of past bad experiences. And you will find that person very attractive, so you will think that they probably have a lot of suitor/ a lot of people interested in them. A little bit of a f boy/girl thing, but they are not. I think they are a charming person, quite friendly and open, but they actually want a stable relationship, something meaningful.

#free tarot #pick a card #tarot #pick a pile

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puranami · 7 months

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✿ It's The Little Things - 4 ✿

A/N: I wish I knew how to write for Katakuri because he'd be right at home in this big boi edition ksdjh Rosi makes me cry ilhsm (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Summary: Little relationship things with a couple big bads, and Rosi who has never done anything wrong in his life and doesn't die, bc i said so ✿

Characters: Crocodile, Rosinante (Corazon), Doflamingo

Content: SFW, G/N reader (though Croc calls you doll... but I think he'd do that regardless,) fluff on toast ✿

(Part 1 - Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji) (Part 2 - Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk) (Part 3 - Franky, Robin, Law, Kid, Killer)

Crocodile

✿ It goes without saying, being with Crocodile means you are surrounded by luxury; he is a very materialistic man with a very specific image he has cultivated, and that extends to you. All your clothes, jewellery, any makeup, even down to your perfume and shampoo are carefully considered to make sure you compliment him perfectly. He is particular, but not unreasonable, giving you options so you can make your own decision, and he will not force something on you that you hate - can't have you walking around sulking. Really though, he values your opinion, he just sets the parameters and you chose how to meet them. In fact, if you simply went along with everything he said, giving no input of your own; he'd get very bored, very quickly.

✿ When you aren't in public, basically acting as the power couple of Alabasta (before that goes awry,) and then of the Cross Guild; he allows himself to be much softer, and generally just more human with you. Work will always be his priority, but he's not against sleeping in and having a lazy day, or part day, depending on what's going on in your lives. He'll hug you randomly, catch you in his hook if he wants your attention, and just generally manhandle you, but in the gentlest way. Crocodile also enjoys cooking with you, and is not above throwing ingredients, or flicking water at you, especially if you start it, and he will throw a tea towel in your face if he wants to. It's very endearing seeing such a powerful, and feared man being a little silly, and it's only for you.

✿ His sense of humour is as dry as he is, and either you get it and laugh along, which is nice, or you find it so painful that you can't help but groan, him laughing at your suffering instead, which is even nicer. Crocodile's laugh is basically a low rumble that you can feel reverberating in his chest, which is the nicest part of all. He always drops jokes unexpectedly, in a way where you think he's just going to comment on something, or maybe flirt with you; "You know what makes me smile, doll?" - "Could it be the fact you get to spend a quiet, relaxing day with me, hmm?" - "Facial muscles." It's either the funniest thing, or you will genuinely want to throttle him. He doesn't hold it against you if you slap him over it, the impact barely registers with this living sandbag, and he takes it as a sign that the joke was a particularly good one (in his opinion.)

Rosinante (Corazon)

✿ An absolute sweetheart, and a gentle giant. He treats you like spun glass, at least to begin with, afraid he will hurt you with either his general size and strength, or his clumsy nature. It will take time for him to relax into things, but he will; humans are naturally rather resilient, and him giving you a strong hug, or falling over himself onto you is not going to break you. It still won't stop him crying over it, especially if you end up with any bruises, but you'll hold him gently as you stroke his head, soothing him while you explain that it's alright, and that these things happen; "I got a bigger bruise from accidentally kneeing the table the other day. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last either. Everything is okay, I promise." Poor guy just loves you so much, he can't stand the thought of you being hurt in any way!

✿ He absolutely adores it when you snuggle up beside him, under his massive coat. It feels like the safest place in the world, and it's so warm - nothing bad can happen under this fortress of feathers! Rosi in general is just a cuddly guy really, holding you at every opportunity, taking your relatively small hands in his giant ones, carrying you whenever and wherever you'll allow him to; always by his chest though, so when he inevitably slips, he doesn't land on you. Being your resident tall, he prefers to pick you up to reach things as opposed to grabbing those things for you, as it means he can hug you at the same time!

✿ Rosinante is absolutely ride or die with you! Whatever your dreams and ambitions, he will do everything in his power to try and help you achieve them. The only caveat is that he will also do the same for his own mission, and sometimes that overtakes him, and he will unknowingly, and definitely unwillingly overlook you at times. He keeps you completely separate from that part of his life - because it's so dangerous, and he never wants to put you in harms way. It can be lonely when he's so focused, or not around, and that's what spurs him to attach himself to you whenever he can.

Doflamingo

✿ The fact you managed to catch his attention at all is honestly a feat in itself. He's a man who has everything (until he goes to jail,) and he always gets what he wants, no matter how he has to go about it - so there must be something that he cannot buy, threaten, or manipulate out of you, or anyone else. There is something about you personally, a fearless spirit, the right kind of sass, the patient and forgiving nature of a god, just something more; you're like a unique treasure, one that he refuses to allow in the public eye, as he is a very selfish man. He basically puts you on a pedestal, catering to every little whim or desire. At least to a point. He won't prioritise you over his machinations, and he can't be soft and tender with you on command. He'll have is moments sure, but they're on his time, and only when you are alone.

✿ He loves to loom over you, manhandle you, generally just manipulate your body, all to remind you just how small and delicate you are. The man is a predator, let's be real, and you will never forget that while you are his favourite, you are still prey in his eyes. While he likes the look of you being the small, timid thing he expects from prey, he adores your looks of defiance, refusing to cower before him. It's part of what proves that you are above everyone else, excluding himself of course, and that you are worthy of his attention. You can sass him, and tell him "No," so long as you do what he says where it matters. He won't tolerate blatant disrespect and insubordination, that's a one way ticket 6ft under. Your relationship is a delicate balance of accepting your place beneath him, but not being so beneath him that you may as well not exist.

✿ In those longed for times when it's just the two of you, he will give you whatever affection you desire, even if it's not something he can really reciprocate. He likes you happy, and his pride means he will not accept that there is something he cannot get or do for you. That's not to say he doesn't love you, he does in his own way; he's just buried that part of him deep down, so deep it may never be found. Perhaps, as time goes on however, with you being a consistent presence in his life, showing him what genuine kindness and compassion are, he may remember somewhat and be able to offer it back to you. Don't hold your breath, though, if it's happening, it's not happening fast. He's certainly a convincing actor, and his mimicked affections feel real enough.

#one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x you #sir crocodile #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #donquixote doflamingo #crocodile x reader #crocodile x you #rosinante x reader #corazon x reader #rosinante x you #corazon x you #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you

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johns-prince · 6 months

Note

if you don’t mind, what are some of your favorite soft mclennon moments?

JOHN: I used to try to get George to rebel with me. I’d say to him, “Look, we don’t need these fuckin’ suits. Let’s chuck them out of the window.” My little rebellion was to have my tie loose with the top button of my shirt undone. Paul’d always come up to me and put it straight. [x]

PAUL: There’s a story that I used to straighten John’s tie before we went on stage. That seems to have become a symbol of what my attitude was supposed to have been. I’ve never straightened anyone’s tie in my life, except perhaps affectionately.

The Times Profile of Paul McCartney - 1982 [x]

“And John and Paul thought back to the time they’d been in Paris before. Flat-broke, unable to afford a taxi, without funds for a decent meal. ‘Maybe we’ll buy the Eiffel Tower this time’, said John with a grin.”

“The Beatles in Paris.” Beatles Book Monthly Magazine No. 8 (March 1964). [x]

““Okay, okay,” I said, “don’t go on, John.” I felt a surge of embarrassment because my instrument was the cause of such hilarity. “Look guys, that’s enough. What have you two been doing while we’ve been struggling to get here? I hope you’ve done some practising and got the song list sorted out?” I was getting more and more annoyed as this episode was dragging on. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry Len. Paul and I have got it all sorted out. Haven’t we Paul? Paul! Paul! I said haven’t we Paul?” Paul McCartney looked up with a wry smile and paused. “Tonight will run just like clockwork. I am going to give the audience the best rendition of ‘Guitar Boogie’ they have ever heard this side of Garston.” “Hey, this is a new twist,” I said. “Paul just cracked a joke. He must have a sense of humour after all, John, shall we have him in the group?” John was enjoying the banter as ever. “Yeah, we’ll give him another try and if you don’t get it right this time, Jimmy,” Jimmy (James) was Paul’s first name, “then…” John waited to see the expression on Paul’s face. “Then we’ll,” again a pause, and by this time we were hanging on John’s next words, “then we’ll have to send him for some more guitar lessons!” Paul joined in the laughter and at that we were all back to normal.”

— Len Garry, John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles. (1997) [x]

“One of my great memories of John is from when we were having some argument. I was disagreeing and we were calling each other names. We let it settle for a second and then he lowered his glasses and he said: “It’s only me.” And then he put his glasses back on again. To me, that was John. Those were the moments when I actually saw him without the facade, the armour, which I loved as well, like anyone else. It was a beautiful suit of armour. But it was wonderful when he let the visor down and you’d just see the John Lennon that he was frightened to reveal to the world.” [x]

“Whatever bad things John said about me, he would also slip his glasses down to the end of his nose and say, ’I love you’. That’s really what I hold on to. That’s what I believe. The rest is showing off.” [x]

“I remember being shocked one day when John started worrying about how people would remember him when he was gone. It was an incredibly vulnerable thing for him to come out with. I said to him then, ‘They’ll remember you as a fucking genius, because that’s what you are. But, you won’t give a shit because you’ll be up there, flying across the universe.’” [x]

“If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him?” “In bed.” — Paul McCartney answers questions for Q magazine, 1998. [x]

“John and I grew up like twins although he was a year and a half older than me. We grew up literally in the same bed because when we were on holiday, hitchhiking or whatever, we would share a bed. Or when we were writing songs as kids he’d be in my bedroom or I’d be in his. Or he’d be in my front parlour or I’d be in his, although his Aunt Mimi sometimes kicked us out into the vestibule!”

— September 26, 1997, “Paul McCartney - Meet The Beatle” by Steve Richards [x]

“We were recording the other night, and I just wasn’t there. Neither was Paul. We were like two robots going through the motions. We do need each other alot. When we used to get together after a month off, we used to be embarrassed about touching each other. We’d do an elaborate handshake just to hide the embarrassment… or we did mad dances. Then we got to hugging each other.”

— John Lennon, The Beatles by Hunter Davies [x]

Q: “What musician and composer do you respect most?” Paul: “No, I don’t know, really... John Lennon!” John: *mock-shy* “...Paul McCartney.” [x]

conversations with mccartney, paul du noyer [x]

“It was 8:30. I could hear people talking about the likelihood of a storm later on that evening. I can remember hoping that it would clear up before my cycle ride back to Wavertree. Up to now it had been an eventful day but very tiring and as a group, although committed to playing, we all wished that we could pack up and go home. All of us apart from John Lennon. I think that meeting Paul had whetted his appetite and by the time we went on stage for our session at 8:45 he looked refreshed and seemed to have a new sparkle, as though he had had an injection of renewed optimism and enthusiasm as he played and sang through our usual repertoire that evening. […] I went outside for some air and a smoke; John and Pete decided to come with me. We stood outside pulling on our cigarettes, enjoying the breeze that had risen with the oncoming storm. “Do you know, John,” remarked Pete as we stood outside, “I’ve never heard you sound as good as you did just then. I know you’re going to say that I’m not very musical but I could hear the difference. I can see that something’s happened to you. Even the skiffle numbers which I know you’re not that keen on sounded good. You seem to have put more effort into them.” “Pete’s right, John. I couldn’t help noticing it as well,” I said. John was silent for a few minutes, just enjoying his smoke. “I guess someone took the trouble to share what he knew with me and it’s just given me a little encouragement for the future, that’s all.” “Oh I see, you’re getting a little sentimental in your old age, aren’t you,” joked Pete, who had never seen his life-long friend in that light before. “Don’t be thick, Pete,” replied John, who seemed almost back to his normal abrupt self. “Come on, I need a drink.”” — Len Garry, John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles. (1997) [x]

[x]

Paul's persistence and endless patience for John while he was dealing with the death of his mother Julia:

But Paul seemed to have limitless patience for John, sneaking away from his classes to drink coffee at the Jacaranda coffeehouse, or else spend the afternoon nursing pints and punching rock ‘n’ roll songs on the jukebox at Ye Cracke pub. Certainly, Paul preferred hanging out with his friend to grinding through lectures and assignments at his schoolboy’s desk at the Liverpool Institute. But the hours they spent together held an emotional significance, too. For even if they rarely spoke about the pain of losing their mothers, the mutual feelings of loss—and the rawness of John’s wound—gave them a connection that was as vital as it was unspoken. It was, Paul said later, a “special bond for us, something of ours, a special thing.” … “We could look at each other,” Paul said, “and know.””

…

John, however, had other things on his mind. Though the fall of 1958 and well into 1959, John was far too busy engaging in art-school life—if not exactly his studies—to think much about playing in a rock ‘n’ roll band. He had started dating another student, a quiet blonde from the relatively posh Hoylake district on the Wirral, named Cynthia Powell. She proved a warm, stabilizing influence, which helped mitigate John’s ongoing grief and rage.

He had also grown particularly close to one of the school’s most promising students, a blazingly talented painter named Stuart Sutcliffe, whose emotional portraits and densely wrought abstracts had already caught the eye of the university’s instructors, along with the gallery owners, artists and critics who orbited the bohemian section that bordered the campus. John had been drawn to Stu’s talent, too, and when his classmate invited John to move into his large, if downtrodden, flat around the corner from the college in a row of once-elegant homes on Gambier Terrace, the two art students became even closer. The flat became a hub for their college friends, a reliable address for drinking bouts and all-night parties.

Nevertheless, Paul made certain not to be a stranger. He was a regular around Gambier Terrace, often toting his guitar to spur a little playing and singing, and if circumstance permitted, a bit of songwriting. John remained an eager music fan, and generally enthusiastic partner for playing and singing. But his disinterest in the band, prompted at least in part by his deepening friendship with Stu, frustrated Paul.

…

John was moving on, and not in a promising direction. George, for his part, had grown sick of waiting and joined the jazz-and-skiffle centered Les Stewart Quartet, though he made it clear to Paul he’d be back with the Quarrymen whenever they resumed playing. Paul, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in playing with anyone else. For whatever combination of emotional or visceral reasons, he couldn’t seem to imagine a musical life that didn’t include John Lennon as his primary partner.

So he persisted, dragging his guitar to Gambier Terrace, making himself a fixture amid the empty beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays, shattered Vicks inhalers, and paint-splattered clothes.

If John didn’t evince any interest in being in a band, Paul would simply wait, guitar at the ready, until he did.

— Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life [x]

#mclennon #john lennon #paul mccartney #just to name a few!#anthology of mclennon

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hanrinz · 1 year

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✩ ‧ ₊˚ TROUBLE YOU ! — SAE ITOSHI.

you have a bad habit of forgetting things. thankfully, your roommate, sae is there to remind you.

being roommates with sae comes with a lot of benefits, namely the spacious apartment you love a lot, not worrying about any loud sounds in the middle of the night (courtesy to your previous roommate, who obviously can't live without any music blasting through the walls) and finally, an attractive person you can look at under the same roof.

you can't say the same thing for him though.

especially, when times like this at this very moment happens and sae could only let out a sigh.

it was already 8 pm when you walked into the doors of the field, your hair a little disheveled, your phone and car keys in your hand as you look around the field—for him, he presumes.

and he was right, like almost all the times he remembers whenever you visit him here.

and the looks and knowing smiles of his teammates that were sent his way were rather annoying, especially when their captain would give him that look whenever you're around, "your girl is here, genius." is what he would always say and he'll only shoot back a glare.

and he turns his gaze back to look at you, and you're already halfway through the field, your eyes all bright with a sense of relief in it, and he might just stop and look at you.

and if he doesn't try to silent away the sound of his heart getting a little faster maybe he'll acknowledge it.

"sae!" you yelled, as you scurry off to him with a smile on your face. and he saunters to you with one hand buried in his pockets, meeting you across.

"hi," you breathe out, chest heaving from your little dash. after all, you did run through the entrance of the stadium all the way here, in the fields.

sae has a feeling of what was the reason that brought you here and he's sure what you're about to say next. he raises a brow in question as to what you were doing here and you were quick to pick up on that, like you always do.

"uhm, well..." you start off, with a sheepish look on your face, "i left my key at the apartment." you confessed, a hand coming up to rub on your arms, embarrassed at your clumsy mistake and it doesn't help that it's already the fourth time this month that you've forgotten the keys to your home.

"i figured as much," sae replied, turning his back on you as he walks over to the bench by the sidelines, with you following behind him.

really, how can someone forget something so important? he shakes his head from the thought.

"aw, come on. this will be the last time, i swear!"

"you already said that the last time." he deadpaned.

"i swear! this is the last time, sae. you won't see me here next month!"

he highly doubts it, but sure he'll humour you just this once. he grabs his duffle bag as he turns around to face you, his eyes trail from your eyes to your nose and your lips, before looking away from you just as quick as he would change his expression.

and you didn't point it out, he's grateful.

walking off ahead through where you came from awhile ago. with you still following him, confused.

"hey, where are you going? i only need the keys, sae." you questioned, while trying to catch up to his long strides.

he only gave you a glance before answering you, "we're going home."

"huh? what- wait you still have practice right?"

you were right, of course. but, he won't tell you that, it's not that someone would get mad at him for leaving earlier than usual, but even if someone did, he can't give a single fuck anyway.

and he's sure the guys on the field are giving him big thumbs up and snickering among themselves, he ignored them.

he doesn't answer you. still walking, a little slower now, matching your pace. spotting your car and he's thankful there's no camera or paparazzi on sight—not that he minds being seen with you, though.

because sae would rather lose a limb than be seen with someone else other than you.

"give me your car keys." he didn't even give you a choice, already stealing it from your hands. you didn't stop him, no. what's out there would be brave enough stopping the itoshi sae, when he sets his mind on things? the answer is none.

so, you let him.

maybe, sae has become accustomed to this occurrence. with you, by his side, in his mornings, in his days, in his times. because you bleed like an ink into his life and it seeps through him with color.

he doesn't mind you troubling him at all.

"this is the fourth time, y/n. don't forget your keys."

"i will, i'm trying!" you whined, sounding embarrassed, "it's not like you'd be gone soon, so it's okay for now, right?"

"what if i was away for a game, idiot?" he counter.

"well.. too bad, i'm coming over with you overseas, then."

sae doesn't mind you asking him, but you're just too much trouble for his heart though.

◞♡ omg rosie out of her burnout phase?? we couldn't believe it either :o likes & reblogs are highly appreciated!

#roses ‘r rosie #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi fluff #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock fluff #blue lock #sae itoshi

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