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littlepadika · 3 years

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Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

#frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #frankie morales x y/n #catfish morales #calling home series #i would die for frankie #frankie morales has a sexy voice #daddy!frankie

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realcube · 3 years

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The Maid Café || Saiki K x Reader

summary: nendou and kaidou keep pestering saiki to visit their favourite maid café but he shuts them down every time. however, after a bit of prying they manage to convince him to give the place a try and while they are there, you just so happen to be on shift.

tw// cussing, maid café, (she/her) reader

key:

“non italicised text” = somebody besides Saiki speaking

“italicised text” = Saiki telepathically communicating

‘italised text’ = Saiki’s thought

‘Of course Nendou and Kaidou would be into maid cafés of all things — not cat cafés, not internet cafés — it just had to be maid cafés.’

Saiki’s internal monologue began as Kaidou continued gushing on about the cute lady he met at the café a few days ago as an argument to why Saiki should join them next time they go. Not to say Saiki wasn’t listening as he felt extremely sorry for whatever lady had to tolerate Kaidou’s advances and his prayer went out to her but besides that, he really couldn’t care less about the maids or the café.

Until, his attention was involuntarily aroused at the vocalisation of his name from Nendou, “Saiki’s definitely in for Friday, I’m pretty sure I sold him when I told him that the sandwiches there are almost as good as the ramen we usually get.”

‘No, you didn’t. I won’t be coming to join you on Friday. I’d much rather stay--’

Somehow Kaidou managed to cut off Saiki’s internal monologue with his annoying voice, “Don’t be silly, Nendou. You’re not going to win Saiki over with such a ridiculous comparison, one that he clearly doesn’t care about.”

‘Am I delusional? Is this a hallucination? Or did Kaidou just say something logical and based in reality?’

Kaidou’s aura immediately changed to dark and sinister as a mischievous smirk crossed his face, the background squawks of the crows suddenly became much louder for some unknown reason. “Instead, you must locate your opponent's weak point before you can recognise the crucially important moment to exploit it. The process takes patience but it is one I have learned from my many years rebelling against Dark Reunion. Now, young Nendou, watch and learn.” He finished with a dramatic flip of his school jacket which was slung over his shoulders as a cape.

‘What was all that about?’

Saiki wondered before Kaidou turned to him, much less brooding than he was a few seconds ago, and said casually, “Your loss if you don’t come, Saiki — you’ll be the one missing out on some of the best desserts in our whole town — not to mention the coffee jelly.”

✿✿✿✿✿

‘How do I always end up losing to these people? I am a psychic for god’s sake!’

Saiki mentally cursed himself out as he stood shamefully in front of the maid café, wearing a carefully curated outfit — including his germanium ring — created especially to hide his identity from anyone from his school that might pass by the café and spot him in there through the window or something. Honestly, he wouldn’t be caught dead in a maid café, or so he thought.

However, all the reviews he read along with both Nendou and Kaidou’s thoughts helped him conclude that this place’s coffee jelly and general dessert selection is nothing to sneeze at. In fact, his favourite Tumblr blog - DeadlyDesserts11037 - visited the place and gave it a 5 star review, recommending everybody who happens to pass by the town to definitely check the place out. After that, he was sold.

Saiki looked over at his friends and couldn’t help but facepalm in response to their bright red, thrilled expressions. “Good grief, please don’t tell me you are both that excited over ladies in maid outfits.” As you might’ve guessed, Saiki didn’t really understand the concept of a ‘maid café’, so he simply assumed the male obsession with maids had something to do with the objectification of women hence he obviously did not want to take part.

“Saiki, you’re seriously just built different if this doesn’t touch your soul.” They both brushed the pink-haired boy’s comment off, completely mesmerised by the sight of a particularly pretty maid-lady walking by the window — probably on her way to serve a table — carrying a notepad in one hand and a plate with a scrumptious-looking coffee jelly on top.

Saiki followed their gaze, his breath hitching at the sight. He was speechless; no sarcastic comment, no running commentary, nothing. Just..woah! If he had known that the girls that work at this place were so gorgeous and the food looked so delicious, he would’ve came a long time ago.

He wasn’t even sure which one he wanted more; the girl or the jelly. In a way, one wasn’t complete without the other because the coffee jelly which she held high next to her head brought out her (E/C) eyes while her shapely figure highlighted the defined curves of the jelly. Drool was quick to start forming at the corners of his lips but he was even quicker to wipe it away; he was starving.

“We’re going in.”

✿✿✿✿✿

To Saiki’s dismay, it was not the stunning (H/C)-haired girl who he had caught a glimpse of through the glass that ushered them to their table. Rather, it was a slightly less gorgeous maid-lady who had long, bright purple hair which was clearly a wig.

Fortunately for him, after she left Kadiou, Nendou and himself to take their seats, she rushed off saying that someone will come take their orders whenever they are ready.

Even with his psychic abilities, there wasn’t much he could think of to alter fate so the pretty coffee-jelly lady would end up serving their table, and besides that, he was way too caught up in gawking at all the mouth-watering desserts they had pictured on the menu.

Simply glancing over the menu brought a stupid grin to his face, he wanted to try every delectable treat presented in front of him. However, he knew he must exhibit restraint, which was fairly simple as he knew deep down there was only one thing on the menu that he was truly after. You guessed it — coffee jelly.

Usually, he couldn’t care less about what his friends comrades were going to order but in this case, he was tempted to try convince both Kaidou and Nendou to order something he liked so he could take a bite of whatever they were having, “What are you two going to order?”

Yet again though, he was ignored as Nendou and Kaidou were both too busy checking out other types of snacks to care about the ones on the menu.

Then, a movement out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention so his head jolted from the menu to his new target, the beautiful girl he had saw through the window earlier. Previously, she was holding a coffee jelly but now she was basically empty handed, until she approached the table and pulled out a notepad and pen, “May I take your orders?” She asked in the most calming, melodious voice Saiki had ever heard, the sounds that left her mouth were nothing short of angelic. Which made sense since her serving their table must’ve been god’s gift to Saiki for all his hard work.

Chills, Saiki got literal chills before he mused, “A coffee jelly, and two brownies for the pair of clowns.” His blood ran cold; curse his smooth sarcastic comments! Most of the time, he was able to filter himself but due to the nerves that arose while talking to you, he probably shouldn’t be surprised that he had a little slip of the tongue. But now, you probably think he is a bitch that insults people on the regular; which he is, but not usually aloud! Plus, he couldn’t even tell what you were thinking due to his germanium ring and your distant expression, awful combo!

While he was in the middle of feeling bad for himself and considering teleporting away home, a miracle happened, you burst out laughing. And somehow, your laughter was even more silvery than your voice.

Saiki had zoned-out from pure shock for a moment before coming back to reality, noticing that you had started jotting down something in your notepad, a sweet smile still lingering on your face despite the fact you had stopped laughing. “Alright, so one coffee jelly and two brownies. Anything else?” You asked, glancing back and forth between the three equally unique and strange men sitting at the table.

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Saiki telepathically communicated as he usually did, considering actually using his mouth to speak for a change so he didn’t seem weird but in all honesty, he couldn’t be bothered. In any other situation, he would’ve gotten a drink of water or perhaps hot cocoa but right now he was way too afraid of making another error in his speech to request something else.

Silently, he extended his arm to hand you the menu he was given when he entered the café, along with the ones Kaidou and Nendou were given too. His actions single-handedly shooting down your plan of leaning across the table to ‘take the menus’ but in reality it is just a subtle way of showing-off how nice your torso looked in this maid outfit, a trick you learned from your supervisor.

You nodded, closing over your notepad and making your way over to the kitchen, being sure to swing your hips just a little bit extra to impress the pink-haired megane at the table you just took an order from. You mentally cursed your stupid brain though for always crushing on guys/gals who don’t seem the least bit interested in you. In this case, the guy’s attention was divided between his star-struck friends and the desserts on the menu, rather than you which was an unusual sight in a maid café considering that most people would only come to ogle at the waitresses.

✿✿✿✿✿

“So, Saiki.” Kaidou finally landed back into reality after a large chunk of the waitresses roaming around were now in the kitchen which he didn’t have viewing access to, “What did you order us?”

‘So, he was fully aware that the waitress came to take his order, he just chose to ignore her and left me to order his food. What a child, it must be a side-effect of his eighth grade syndrome.’

Saiki couldn’t help but sigh, “I ordered you both brownies.”

Kaidou stuck out his bottom lip to form a pout as he crossed his arm over his chest like a toddler, “I hate brownies.” He muttered to himself, realising that if he wanted something done right, he’d have to do it himself.

An amused smirk tugged at Saiki’s lips but he resisted the urge to laugh, ‘I know.’ He thought, his masterplan to eat more food without looking greedy falling into place. “Oh well, more for me then.”

Suddenly, Nendou spun his head around to abruptly join the conversation, “Hey guys, did you see the hottie that was serving our table?” He inquired with starry eyes, as if he was a kid in a candy store.

Saiki nodded, ‘Obviously I did, you moron. I was the one who ordered the food for goodness’ sake!’

Kaidou shook his head, his eyes lighting up as he leaned in close to Nendou, “Nope! I was busy looking at the other girls, but tell us!”

Nendou chuckled at Kaidou’s enthusiastic reaction before glancing to the side, outstretching his arm and pointing at the waitress that was now approaching the table with the food in her hands. “There she is!”

‘Don’t point at her, you idiot!’ Saiki mentally insulted his friend but instinctively followed the guidance of the tip of his finger until his eyes landed on your shapely figure — accentuated by the nature of the maid outfit — slowly heading toward his table, holding the coffee jelly and the plate of brownies in the same graceful way you did when he saw you through the window.

The gleam of your gorgeous hair, the movement of your luscious lashes, the gentle bounce of your upper body, how your perfectly manicured nails clutched the base of the jelly glass; everything about what he was seeing made him believe that if/when he were to die, this would be his ideal first sight as he passed through the gates of heaven.

Before he knew it, you had reached the table and placed his jelly down on the table, gently nudging it towards him, “One coffee jelly for the cute boy with antennas.” You mused, making Saiki’s heart flutter in a way he was unfamiliar with. Then, you placed the brownies in front of Kaidou and Nednou who sat opposite from Saiki, “And two brownies for the clowns.”

If it wasn’t for the fact the pair of clowns were too busy leching over you in your maid outfit, they’d probably be curious as to your choice of words but luckily for both you and Saiki, they were way to entranced by your visible bra strap to care about the little nickname.

Saiki felt a light blush creep onto his face, which only got worse as you discretely sent him a playful wink before turning on your heels to stroll back to the kitchen, “If you need anything else, just give me a wave.”

All of them hummed agreement in unison until the waitress was out of sight, giving Saiki a moment to process the events that had just went down. Not only did you refer to him as ‘the cute boy with antennas’ but you also winked at him, if that wasn’t a clear sign you were interested, what was? However, Saiki still had his doubts since this was a maid café after all, perhaps you were just trained to do that with all your customers.

Luckily, the had the foresight to slip off his germanium ring to read your mind and that helped him come to the conclusion that you were either interested in him or you were just very competitive as the whole time you were serving the table your thoughts were along the lines of;

‘I’ll adjust my skirt- Ha! You looked! Try resist falling for me now, you hot lil’ megane! Your heart is mine and I know it! See, I’ll fidget with my corset too-- just make a move already, pinkie!’

Although he didn’t appreciate being called ‘pinkie’, he had no right to judge what was going on in your brain. All he could do is be thankful that you didn’t say that aloud.

✿✿✿✿✿

You sighed as you noticed the pink-haired boy and his little posy exit the establishment without so much as a goodbye, or even a wave!

It was disappointing as you had already mentally planned your future with this guy and he had the audacity to do the real life equivalent of leaving you on read. But oh well, it would be approximately a week until you developed a crush on a random customer that lasts for around 30 minutes and for the time being, you can focus on doing your job.

You glumly shuffled over to their table to gather their plates to be washed, then a piece of colourful paper attached to the empty jelly glass caught your eye. As you held up the glass to inspect it further, you realised that it was a sticky note with a message written on it in black ink and neat, cursive handwriting. It read:

‘Dearest waitress,

Thank you for the excellent service, we (myself) tipped accordingly.’

You hadn’t finished reading yet but you were curious as to what he meant by that, and apparently you service must’ve been exceptional as the writer had left a whole ¥2000 tip. That’s a huge addition to the demonia fund.

Followed by this charming little message was an extra tip for you; the writer’s phone number! Meaning that this little sticky note was something you had to protect with your life..so you shoved it in your bra for safe-keeping.

But not before taking a moment to giggle with delight at who the note was signed by,

‘Sincerely, the hot lil’ megane (aka Kusuo Saiki)’

#saiki no psi nan #kusuo saiki x reader #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki k x reader #saiki x reader #saiki headcanons #saiki k headcanons #kusuo x reader #saiki kusou no psi nan #kusou saiki x reader #saiki fluff #saiki k fluff #saiki k oneshot

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dreamties · 3 years

Text

Take A Step Out Of Your Head - Polyam!Ghostface Hurt/Comfort

A/n- I listened to a lot of dandelion hands while I wrote this, so if it emotionally wrecks you than um...you know why?

Also, big thank you to @venisonghost for beta reading this and @rakunko who was vv supportive and encouraging while I worked on it !! <3

Word Count: 2,256

You’re in the kitchen, occasionally stirring the big pot of macaroni on the stove. Stu comes up behind you, wrapping his long arms and lean frame around you. He nips at your neck, leaving tiny kisses as you giggle and try to escape him. "Not now, babe."

You can hear Stu whining in return. "C'mon, dinner can wait a bit. Haven't seen you all day," he murmurs against your neck.

You hum in return, trying again to push him off. "Dinner will be done in a minute, you think you can wait that long?"

You look at him, and he's giving you the biggest puppy-eyed look you've ever seen. "Fine. We can cuddle up on the couch later, drag Billy into it too- maybe watch some Elm Street?"

Stu excitedly nods, going back to peppering you with kisses and sucking at your neck.

"Fuck off, Stu," you giggle as he finally let's go.

"Aw, you're no fun, Y/n,” he says, dramatically sticking his tongue at you. He slips away to open the fridge, grabbing a beer, and silently offering one for you. You shake your head, giving the macaroni two gentle stirs.

He takes a few sips then sets it down next to the stove. You look up towards him curiously and he gives you a mischievous smirk. He takes you by surprise, gently dragging a finger along your jawline, directing your face up towards his. It had been much longer than you’d care to admit that you’d had a good, proper kiss like this. Between work and classes and the boys’ murder gig. You melt into him, cherishing how nice it feels this close to each other. His lips are soft and warm against your own, and you can taste his beer as he deepens the kiss.

Your sweet moment with Stu stops mid-way, interrupted by the front door slamming open then shut. Billy tosses his mask to the kitchen counter, landing with an angry slap- blood splattering against the tiled surface. You spot him trying to slip his Ghostface garments over his head, struggling as he makes his way to the bedroom.

"Should someone check on him?" Stu mumbles, feeling nervous.

You sigh, "I've got it, babe. Just keep an eye on the macaroni, it should only be a few minutes longer- and don't burn it like last time, okay?"

He chuckles, "I won't, I won't."

You roll your eyes, feeling unsure and worried about the decision to leave Stu in charge of dinner- but eventually settling on the feeling that it was for the best. Billy needed you.

Usually Billy did the caring- not to say that the rest of the relationship didn’t- but Stu and yourself were far more expressive of your own feelings than he would ever be- he would ever let himself be. He wasn’t much of a talker like Stu- but had an equally calming aura when he needed to be there for his loves. Aside from the physical comfort he’d provide, his attempts for comfort were subtle (unless it involved maiming a new victim…).

When it came to the few times Billy found himself struck with harsh emotions that he never quite learned how to deal with- it was tricky for Y/n and Stu to help him. It was different every time. Finding the right balance between treating him as normal and stepping into new territory- and depending on what set him off, it could always be easier said than done.

The bedroom door is left ajar, and you carefully move it further open- wincing as it makes a painful creak. Billy doesn’t seem to mind much- or hear it- as you find him sitting stock still on the bed, hunched into himself. His ghostface robes clutched in his grasp, dried blood packed into his nails and caking his hand- in parts they still shine as if freshly drained from his victim,

You let out a sigh, eyeing him carefully. His knife is placed hazardously on a towel next to him- if he moved the wrong way it could knick his skin. You move across the room, and tentatively entering Billy’s space you grab the knife- the handle is sticky and wet. You set it on the ground, not caring about whether it stained the carpet or not. You could deal with it later- all that mattered was making sure he was okay, that he was safe.

"Here," you motion towards the pile of clothes in Billy's hands. His eyes appear glossy as he clings onto them harder. You sit down next to him, putting a cautious hand on his back and the other smoothes down his hair. "Is this alright?"

He shrugs.

You sigh, "Can I take these? I'll put them in the laundry room, I'll wash them after dinner."

His grip on them loosens, and you get up, plucking them from his grasp. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, scurrying off to do as you had promised. You clean your hands off, before grabbing Billy some fresh clothes from the dryer that had yet to be put away yet.

When you come back, he's dutifully wiping the blood off his knife. You smile at him, leaning against the doorframe, "I'm gonna go check on Stu and dinner, you need anything?"

Billy stares up at you, smiling- it's something devilish but sincere. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow at him, but do as told. Billy sets his knife down on the floor, slowly slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you down into his lap. He gives a contented sigh, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

“You two just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

You can hear him murmuring something, but it’s muffled by him being pressed so close to you.

Usually when Billy was sad or overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do, he’d push those close to him away. There was a comfort in being alone- feeling like you deserved it, that this was how things were meant to be. It was rare that Billy accepted your care without a fight- so graciously, so calm. You begin to gently rub your fingertips in soothing patterns against his hands.

Every once in a while subtly asking him if it was alright, and receiving nothing more than a few mumbled words and grunts.

Stu shows up a while later, poking his head in the doorway. “It’s done.”

You glance at him, “You drain the water out before you put the packet in?”

He looks away.

Your face falls in mock anger, voice stern as you call to him-“Stu?”

He lets out a big laugh, grinning at you, “Yes, I did.”

You roll your eyes, presenting him with an exasperated look but gentle smile. “Why don’t you bring it in here, not sure if he’ll let go of me yet.”

“Totally!”

He comes back a moment later, setting the bowls of warm macaroni on the nightstand. You give a smile of appreciation towards him, and he takes that as his invitation to join the two of you. He lays down long ways on the bed, close enough to pull his arms around the cuddled mess of his lovers. He rests his head nudged against Billy’s backside. A bit of an awkward position? Maybe, but then again- that was Stu for you.

After a moment of allowing the quiet to overtake the room, you can’t help but laugh at the way the three of you had situated yourselves. You twist in Billy’s grasp, and he hesitantly moves his head upright. “Hey, Billy,” you whisper, “Mind letting go of me for a minute?”

The only response you get is him nudging you back to your position, and hiding his face in your neck again. He holds on tighter.

“C’mon, we’re gonna cuddle up with Stu. You’re gonna be more comfortable, babe.”

His grip tightens uncomfortably.

“Billy.” Your voice seems to startle him, and he lets go. His arms fall limply against his side. You sigh, gently removing yourself from him- his head seems to almost hang in shame as you part.

Stu moves himself up, so he’s sitting behind Billy.

Your voice comes out soft, as you try to assure him that “It’s okay.” You offer your hand out to guide Billy to a more comfortable spot on the bed. The three of you find yourselves laying down with Billy situated safely in the middle. Stu’s behind him, arms wrapped around his torso, hands tucked gently around his waist. You’re in front of him, giving him a gentle smile and very softly petting you hand against his head. He yearns to lean into your touch, but he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve this.

Billy feels small and angry, trying to shy away from Stu’s hold by slowly curling into himself. He’s got his back hunched and his legs awkwardly pulled up towards himself. He’s tired and he hates the two of you seeing him like this- but he knows it will be worse if you and Stu leave. He lets out an awful whine, clutching your shirt in his grasp. He ducks his head, so he’s staring down at your shirt twisting in his bloodied hands. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be doing this.

You spare a glance towards him, his sudden noise worrying you. You catch the sight of his eyes glossing over again, and him trying to blink away any possible tears. You want so badly to pull him into a hug and tell him it’s okay to cry, to let it out. But you can imagine his reaction to it vividly, him pulling away, an angry look on his face. And letting out some terrible, defensive noise. Him pushing you away for the rest of the night- and perhaps it would spill into the following days. It was safe to say that Billy wasn’t good with most comfort, and definitely not his emotions. You’re still surprised he’s let the two of you coddle him like this for so long.

So you don’t hug him. And you don’t tell him it’s okay. You lean in closer, pressing your forehead close to his. You start your fingers through his hair, you try to be gentle with it, but your fingers keep getting caught in little snarls and dried blood. You move your head to press a small kiss to his forehead, then move back and continue trying to sooth him.

“I love you, Billy,” you whisper.

Stu makes a muffled agreement and then, in an attempted whisper, he says almost too loud, “Me too!” He chuckles out an apology, and nuzzles his head into the back of Billy’s neck. Billy doesn’t say anything, but he likes the warmth radiating off of his boyfriend. It feels...safe.

It’s a while before Billy does anything again. His voice is much smaller than usual when he speaks- and it sounds like he’s holding something back. Trying not to let out teary, loud sobs.

“I don’t want you to go,” he mutters, pulling your shirt tighter in his fists.

“We’re not going anywhere, love.”

Billy holds his eyes tight, finally letting go of your clothes and hiding his face in his hands. So...so ashamed of you seeing him like this. Hearing him try to hold back his crying- it was pathetic. Billy was not supposed to be like this. Not around you, not ever.

He lets out a pained whine, and a few tears slip out. “I almost lost you and Stu.”

You try not to frown at him, sighing, “Why are you saying that?” And then you’re reminded of his bad mood as soon as he had returned home. “Did something happen when you were out?”

“I handled it,” he grumbles out.

“Handled what?”

“Just- it!” He nearly growls, barking it out harsher than intended to. “Fuck, fuck…” he grumbles to himself. He presses his hands closer and closer, till he has his palms pushed to his eyes and it hurts. He tries so hard not to think about a life on his own. One where their little secret came to light, and he and Stu- and worst of all, you, who hadn’t done anything- would have to suffer the consequences of their wrongdoings.

“Billy,” your voice cuts through his thoughts. You have one of your hands placed on his own, gently beckoning for him to remove them from his face. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he brings his hands down. He blinks a few times, and then rests his eyes shut again. He lets out a shaky breath. “Whatever happened- you're safe now.”

“Yeah, you’ve got us,” Stu says, giving Billy a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” you smile. “And we’re not going to let anything happen to you, or any of us. We’ve got each other now. Forever and always. Okay, Billy?”

Billy’s not sure what to say. A simple yes would suffice, but he can feel the tears finally begin to trickle down his face- and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He buries his head in your chest, and pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around you. Finally allowing himself to relax, and let Stu snuggle closer into him.

The three of you fall asleep that night, safely tucked away in each other's arms. Bowls of macaroni long forgotten, and more serious conversations left to be had. But for now- you had each other, and Billy was okay with that.

669 notes · View notes

thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

The Five Scares (and one revenge)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having a tendency to scare people, Corpse has gotten used to his friends being jumpy whenever he appears from the void into a Discord call with them. However, the one who has it the roughest with the spooks has to be his partner Y/N. Basically: The five times Corpse scared Y/N and the one time they scared him

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your lovely request it was a real joy to write and I had a ton of fun doing so! Hope you have equally as wonderful of a time if you happen to come across it and give it a read despite the long wait you’ve had to endure which I apologize for. Love, Vy ❤

Having had to go home for the night to keep an eye on their roommate’s dog, Y/N and Corpse agreed to have a video call before they fell asleep. They didn’t want to appear like that typical clingy and cheesy couple but after spending almost a whole week curled up in Corpse’s apartment, the two would feel each other’s absence to a very saddening degree to the point where they’d even forget the other isn’t around and would call out to them.

Letting the call ring, Y/N’s hand comes up to smooth out their hair. However, the touch reveals to them that their hair needs a bit more than a simple tap or a pat to be tamed so while they wait for Corpse to answer the call, they quickly head to their bathroom. Flicking the light on, their reflection greets them with the underwhelming news of the actual state of their hair at the moment: an absolute mess. They proceed to do their best with the single hair-tie they have handy. A bobby pin or two would be neat but they have no time to go and grab one right now, seeing as how they can’t recall if they even brought them back from Corpse’s apartment. If they didn’t, they would have to search their roommate’s room for some which would take an even longer amount of time.

Eventually, they manage to tame it in something closely resembling a presentable ponytail and exit the bathroom feeling more exhausted than before. With a loud sigh, they crash onto their bed, face-first into the sea of pillows, groaning at the slight sting of their muscles relaxing at last.

“Y/N?“ The decently loud mention of their name by a deep, familiar yet sudden and unexpected voice startles them to the point of squealing and jumping an entire inch away from where they were positioned.

They look around their room in a frenzy, wondering where on Earth that voice came from and how it could be here with them right now.

“Y/N, you there?”, before they could locate it, it emerges once again, helping Y/N get an ide of where it’s coming from - somewhere in the messed up bed sheets.

“Corpse?“ They finally find their voice, “Y-yeah I’m here. Question is: how are you...“ and then it all clicks, causing them to twist their face in an expression of utter disappointment and bury it in the palms of their hands, groaning.

“You forgot about the video chat, didn’t you?“ Corpse asks, amusement not even attempted to be hidden in his voice.

“Yup.“

It’s been one hell of a day. Y/N’s college lectures exhausted them to a max and their six hour job following their classes did nothing to help them AT ALL. Quite the opposite actually. Makes sense why they look, move and talk the way they’re doing right now: like a ghost, zombie and an elder combined in one. To add to their misfortunes for the day, they were met with the mocking ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign taped to the doors of the elevator, laughing in their face with the information that their hellish experience for the day is far from over.

Just the thought of having to climb to the fifth floor made their stomach turn in the most unpleasant way possible, but the though of how long that would take made matters even worse. Arriving at their designated apartment, they have every right to be pissed, cussing their heart out.

However, then comes a new problem: the inability to pinpoint the correct key. They proceed to curse themselves, the keys, the door handle and the door itself before punching the poor wood that did no wrong and just stands here, serving its purpose of keeping unwanted people out of the apartment it’s guarding.

Following their anger outburst and front-door-abuse, they proceed to try finding the correct key once again, this time slightly more calmly as to not accidentally miss it in their frantic rifling.

Right as they’re about to try the third key, however, the door opens. Well, it’s opened by someone on the other side, that someone being none other than their boyfriend Corpse who’s currently staring at them wide-eyed, one eyebrow raised, the word ‘confused’ basically written across his face.

While he’s processing the sight in front of him, Y/N lets out a little scream, jumping back and away from the door, a hand placed over their chest as their wide eyes scan their boyfriend who now seems equally terrified as a result of their reaction.

“Corpse?!“ They manage to gasp, barely hearing their own voice over the loud thumping of their heart and the rush of blood in their ears, “What the hell are you doing here?!“

The confusion on Corpse’s face deepens, reaching whole new levels as his eyes gaze deeper into theirs, searching for the meaning behind their bizarre question. “You mean...at my own apartment? What am I doing, at home?“

For a few seconds, the two just stare blankly at one another, processing everything that’s just happened. Suddenly, it all just kinda caves for Y/N and they burst out laughing, doubling over, their arms clutching at their stomach as they do so. Their laughter is contagious, so Corpse can’t help but let out a few chuckles himself.

“Alright, you’ve been driven to insanity, I can tell.“ He mumbles at his reckless partner, coming up behind them and wraps his arms around them, lifting them up and carrying their laughing ass inside.

III

Finally deciding to sit down and get this damn project started, Y/N already feels like they’ve had enough of it, burnout already creeping in and threatening to ruin their work and trip them up every step of the way. It wouldn’t have been so bad had the subject not been one they absolutely despise and wish they could get out of studying but alas they’re stuck with it.

They equip their headphones as soon as they plant their butt on the desk chair in their tiny room in their tiny roommate-shared apartment, putting their Spotify playlist on shuffle as they open a blank Power Point document. They work better with music blasting in their ears since the silence tends to be too loud and distracting when they’re trying to focus. So, that way they can also sing their heart out in peace and not get disturbed by the sound of their own off-key singing. Win-win, basically.

Singing ‘Never Forget You’ by Zara Larsson and MNEK, they get a little carried away, ditching the project to enter a full-blown music video they can imagine down to the detail in their mind.

However, there’s a surprise awaiting them.

As soon as MNEK’s part of the song begins, another voice apart from his echoes through their headphones, singing along to the song. Freaking the fuck out, they let out a loud scream, smacking the headset off them, sending the object falling and landing on their laptop keyboard with a crash that only serves to further startle their roommate’s dog which comes to check if they are being attacked or something only to be disappointed by the lack of action.

When pushing the headphones off, they did so with a force strong enough to snap the cable out of the laptop entirely so now the room is filled with the sound of that same foreign voice laughing his ass off.

A voice that belongs to no other than Corpse Husband himself.

“You gotta learn to disconnect from Discord calls, Y/N.“ The fucker says, still cackling wholeheartedly at his partner’s misery.

Pissed off or not, Y/N would have to admit he’s got a point. But they’d also rather never speak again than admit it so...

“Fuck you!“ is what they say instead, seconds before disconnecting.

Making breakfast is not something either Corpse or Y/N are used to, mostly cause they both either wake up late or skip the meal entirely. Regardless, having been given a day off from work and having no classes since it’s Saturday, Y/N saw no better way to start their day off than to prepare a nice breakfast for them and their boyfriend to enjoy. Problem is: they aren’t the most skilled in the kitchen. Sure they can scramble an egg or make mac and cheese, but in order to do it correctly they are not allowed to have distractions of any kind. Not even music, that’s how you know it’s serious.

Seeing as how Corpse has never seen them cook, he’s obviously unaware of theirs. The dummy straight up waltzes into the kitchen, unintentionally remaining unspotted and unheard by Y/N because he’s barefoot and because they have their back turned to him.

“Whatya cooking over there babe?“

Y/N’s focus bubble, being as thin as it is and considering they initially thought Corpse was still asleep, they have every right to let out the yelp they just did, dropping the egg they were gonna crack over the pan in said pan in its entirety - yes, shell and all.

A moment of silence commences: regretful on Corpse’s end and frustrated on theirs. Neither of them dares to say anything to avoid triggering the other. Well, that’s the case until Y/N decides enough’s enough and they turn to look at him, a wide, obviously fake smile plastered onto their face.

“Scrambled eggs, following a secret recipe, property of the L/N family.“

Seems like your pre-breakfast snack is an extra large dose of sarcasm, huh?

“So, how was your day? You sound pretty chipper so I take it wasn’t a nightmare like a few days ago.“ Corpse comments over the phone, listening to shuffling and shifting as Y/N moves around the apartment, getting ready to head out.

“It was great actually. Got some important results back and, not to brag or anything, but they were higher than I expected.“ They reply, a genuine wide grin refusing to leave their face as they silently count the amount of money they’ve got in their wallet. “I’m gonna go buy a cake so we can celebrate it. It’s no small deal, trust me, especially not when I initially thought I’d fail both these exams to the point of being pitied.“

“Wait...-“ Corpse attempts, his voice suddenly sounding strained and urgent but that’s the very reason he cannot seem to find or get the right words out of his system. Not that Y/N gives him any time to figure it out.

“No Corpse, you cannot change my mind. Cake and beers, we’re celebrating toni- SHIT!“ They scream as they throw open the front door, bumping square into someone standing on the other side, almost dropping their phone.

Taken aback by embarrassment and fear, they leap back, their eyes searching for the ones of the person whose personal space they just invaded. Well, to be fair, he was the one invading their personal space by standing right outside the door to their - well, to Corpse’s apartment.

The fear and irritation die down almost instantly when Y/N recognizes the person standing opposite them.

“Mind telling me why we’re talking on the phone when you could’ve come in and we could’ve had a normal person conversation?!“ They snap, ironically enough - they’re still holding the phone to their ear.

So is Corpse whos is smiling guiltily, “That’s why I called, I forgot my keys, but I got...carried...sorry.”

Well, at least this serves as proof Y/N’s not the only forgetful one.

~ ~ ~

Corpse has been stuck in his recording room for four hours now, never stopping his stream to take care of his basic human needs such as eating or going to the bathroom. This behavior of his has Y/N worried sick and unable to focus on the task at hand - an assignment they’ve been trying to finish for two hours now, sitting with their computer on their lap and looking hopelessly at the blank Word document waiting for them to fill it up while they are waiting for it to start writing itself.

Seeing as how neither are gonna happen, not until Y/N puts their mind at ease, they slowly put the laptop aside, standing up to carefully skip on over to Corpse’s recording room to check on him, stopping by the kitchen to grab him a snack and a bottle of water along the way.

The door to the darkened room is open a crack, as usual, suggesting they can enter without knocking - this also means he’ll probably not hear them even if they knock so the whole gesture would be pointless. Not that Y/N has a tendency to knock or anything... Waltzing in, they find that the only light in the room is the very faint and dark glow of the computer screen which is displaying a dark and dingy room from a first-person view of the protagonist of whatever game Corpse’s currently playing.

“Corpse?!“ They whisper-yell/hiss at him, trying their best to grasp his attention without startling him - they don’t need to be told that the game is of the horror genre and the last thing they need is for their boyfriend to flip backwards and fall out of his chair because they scared the shit out of him. “Hey?!“

Neither attempts prove futile so, despite their best instincts telling them differently, they walk over to him and tap him on the shoulder. The reaction, while within the realm of expectancy, is a lot more startled than they expected, accompanied by a scream on top of all. They’d never heard him scream in fear before, it’s quite amusing if they’re being honest.

They suppress a snicker as Corpse’s wide open eyes meet their squinting ones in the darkness, “Y/N...babe...what is it? Is everything ok?”

Y/N rolls their eyes, “No, everything isn’t ok. Your unhealthy habit of forgetting to take care of yourself, for example.” They put the snack and the bottle on the his desk, giving him their best disappointed-parent look before turning on their heel to strut their way out of the room. However, just as they are about to make their exit, they stop right at the doorframe, giving their stunned one final glance over their shoulder with a smug smirk playing across their face, “Oh and by the way, that’s what I like to call revenge.” Just like that, they leave, pushing the door back into its previous position.

And boy, is it some sweet, sweet revenge.

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311 notes · View notes

scrollypoly · 3 years

Note

If you haven't already, Ben for the nsfw alphabet 😳

It took 3 days since i started this for you guys to ask me about ben, yall should know i'm one of the biggest ben simps on this gd hellsite, i'm so disappointed in all of you 😤

That being said I now get to talk about my baby boy~ 🥰

Friendly reminder that my ben is very different from the generally accepted canon, and if some things confuse you, you can always shoot me an ask or dm, or go through his tag or my masterlist for a couple posts talking about him. A big one that i will bring up here tho is that Ben and BEN are two separate entities that share a body, and i distinguish between the two of them. I will be writing for both of them here, and when it comea up, I will differentiate between them by making BEN's notes green for you guys. Also, my Ben is trans, these hcs will reflect that.

Now time to gush about my baby 😫😫👏🙌

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS - DO NOT INTERACT, you will be blocked

Ben Drowned NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Aftercare is very important with him, because if he trusts you enough to have sex with you, you need to affirm it. He can have severe drops from his ptsd and get overwhelmed easily. Thankfully its not hard to calm him back down and assure him, just give him a good sturdy squeeze and soothe him a bit, reassure him that he's safe with you, and after a couple minutes of that he'll be good to tell you if he's okay to keep going 💕

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Being dead and forming his own vessel to use as a body, he got to pick how he wanted to look. Very lucky for him, because he likes almost every part of his body. Especially his eyes tho, he has his mom's eyes and now that she's dead its one of the few things he has to remember her.

On you? Boobs, if you're a woman. He also loves thighs and your neck, very fun to bite and suck on. Or just snuggle up into 🥰

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

His dick isn't technically real so most of the time, unless you've been working him up bad or edging him, he fires blanks He is a squirter though 😳💦

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's a dirty panty thief, none of your laundry is safe. He is pretty shameless about it too, if you catch him, he'll tease you for it 😤

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Ok listen . . . This boy is not inexperienced. However, most of the times he has done anything sexual previously was as a way to manipulate victims unfortunately. So in terms of an equal and enjoyable sexual encounter?? This boy is lost, but he's eager to learn 👀👉👈

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He doesn't have too much of a preference, but he likes to lay back and see you on top. Cowgirl, reverse missionary, amazon, any of them work cuz he loves the view 😏

BEN however is flipped almost. BEN is more dominant and will pin you down on any surface and leer over you and watch you freeze up or squirm 😈

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Def someone more casual and goofy, he knows he's nowhere near smooth enough to be all serious and sexy so why bother 🤭

BENs a bit more serious, mostly cuz it's more intimidating, so if it jokes around with you it has this weird threatening undertone thats pretty much designed to throw you off, and he plays it off pretty well but inside he's laughing his ass off cuz its so easy to fluster you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Clean but he doesn't care much to trim. He prob will if you ask nicely tho 👀😏

As for the carpet matching the drapes, well, he's not a natural blond. Take that as you will

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

The two of you will only have a sexual relationship if he trusts you a lot, so that intimacy will already be there. Like Jack, Ben is demisexual, and has some severe trust issues, so the intimacy is a prerequisite for a relationship with him. He's very clingy and affectionate, and that translates to sex as well. He's very touchy and doting and will absolutely melt at any gentle touch you give him 🥺

BEN also needs a lot of intimacy to be in any kind of sexual relationship with you, but being a sort of protector of Ben, it needs far more trust with you, and has also never really had a chance to receive or process any sort of physical affection. It will be more of a hard ass for longer than Ben would, but once you have proven to him that it can trust you, it will slowly open up to you. Once BEN realizes it can safely have this kind of physical intimacy, it might fry a little bit tbh, but it will get so soft and gentle with you. He treasures you now 💞💖

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He gets so shy when he masturbates oh lordy He has to drop the glamour when he does it cuz his glamoured dick doesn't get that much sensation, and thankfully his dysphoria isn't too bad anymore, but mentally its still an Experience™️ to get off with a vagina when he's so used to having a dick. He gets really flustered and tbh it makes the sensation much stronger, and it's really hard for him to be still. His whole body goes into it when he masturbates.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

If you both be careful, he'd love to choke you, just make sure you have a safe word or signal so he doesn't go overboard.

He also has a bit of an oral fixation, and it shows cuz he will kiss and nibble and suck on you so much. Let this boy suck on your fingers, he will be such a good boy for you

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Please just a bed jfksjfk Or his desk 👀 he def would not mind that either 🥴

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

If you dress up for him, there's no going back, his pants are off, you are getting thrown onto that bed, and you cannot get out of this no way sir, nuh uh, he is on top of you and kissing down your neck like you are air that he needs to survive 😩

Sending him any form of nude or audio will also make him go crazy and if you do that, be prepared for him to pop out of your phone and show you how much he appreciates that~

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Do Not ever choke him; I wouldn't even recommend putting your hands on his neck. I wouldn't recommend any impact play on his upper body or arms either, it's just too close to the abuse he used to receive. If he asks for it, anything below the waist is okay though. I wouldn't restrain him without his enthusiastic consent either.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

This boy could go down on you for hours if you asked. He has a slight oral fixation, and by golly he knows what he's doing down there too 🥴🤤

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Tbh he lets you control the pace most of the time, but he doesn't like to go too fast, he'll just kinda bounce you on his lap and watch your head roll back and be content~

BEN likes to go a bit faster and rougher, it's just that demon-like instinct

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Hell yeah, come sit on his lap and ride him rq while he's playing a game, he'll be putty in your hands

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Open to public risks, but not many more.

BEN is far more open to public stuff because he's a possessive little shit.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Decent, he doesn't really do much working out so for what its worth he can last 🤭 Him not being as sensitive helps more tho, but having other pretty sensitive spots on his body that you can exploit evens that out

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He got a few, might have stolen them might have not 🤭🤫 Hes got a bullet vibrator and a couple of different dildos, and somehow he managed to get his hands on a stroker, just in case

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be a tease~ He's very touchy and that's usually how he'll get ya, he'll sneak up behind you and start rubbing down your sides and playing with your neck

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Noisy boy lol, very whiny and groany and breathy. He might babble a bit too, if you get him too much into a space

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Listen I know everyone talks about how sensitive his ears are, and I hate to disappoint, but my Ben is not elf like 😔 He doesn't have the pointed sensitive ears you can play with, he's just some guy

His neck is sensitive tho 👀

Technically since hes also *technically* a demon, BEN can have cycles

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Alright This is where the bulk of my trans headcanons come out, yall ready?

BEN is, physiologically speaking, a demon. It was not born a demon, but when it was created, the digital process resembled the arcane process of creating a demon just enough that it developed those traits. That means that BEN has a shifting or glamour ability.

Ben's dick is not real. I'm so sorry to say. It feels real and looks real, about 6.5 inches and very pretty, a nice vein underneath thats a little more sensitive. It feels real to the touch, but because it technically isn't, it's not nearly as sensitive as a real dick would be unfortunately. The good(?) news about this is he can't be overstimulated this way.

Depending on how bad his dysphoria is, he might be okay with having sex without his dick. He hasn't had any hormone treatment or surgeries, he didn't have to after he died, so he has a normal vagina. Usually, he keeps his dick out as long as he can, but if he gets too weak or exhausted his glamour will drop. If he wants to keep going after that, most likely he will strap up.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive isn't super high, but it is pretty easy to get him worked up.

Unfortunately though, BEN has a very very low sex drive. It wasn't really programmed for that, and most of the time for it, sex is an act of service or manipulation. The thing that really gets it going tho is the trust and intimacy of it, which does make him crave it more.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If you wear him out, yeah he can probably fall asleep with you. He's such a cuddle big from being touchstarved most of his life, he really likes being able to be close and frisky with you like that and then just curling up in your arms and feeling good and safe and warm. Both of them do. Its very pleasant and reassuring to him, and it feels so safe.

If its during the day though, and you both have things to do, you'll prob still cuddle for a bit, but then its time for work

#ben drowned smut #kinktober #creepypasta smut #minors dni #my writing #my posts

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 84: Feeling of Belonging

"Draco!" Ron shouted across the room packed full of Weasleys celebrating Christmas.

He looked up at him and raised an eyebrow in question, he'd long since learned his lesson about trying to shout across a room full of Weasleys.

"Come give me a hand!" he called before entering the kitchen.

He pressed a kiss to Harry's temple by way of goodbye, and Harry squeezed his knee, continuing his conversation with Charlie about the new baby dragons that had just hatched.

Making his way through the crowded living room and dining room was no easy feat, every few steps someone stopped him to wish him a Merry Christmas and to ask him how his case load was with Ron.

When he reached the kitchen Ron was pouring champagne into glasses, "Can you get them onto the serving trays?" he asked.

"You're asking her?" he asked then, unable to hide his grin.

Ron shrugged, a blush staining his cheeks, "They're just all the family she has at this point, I thought it would be nice. Christmas, you know?"

Draco nodded, "It's a great idea," he encouraged him, "You've been practicing, you've got the whole speech down."

"Thanks to you," the other man laughed. "All those hours you spent listening to me in our office between cases and helping me iron out the details."

"Taking out all of the awful food metaphors," he added as he finished putting all of the champagne flutes on the serving trays.

(Read more below the cut)

Ron clapped him on the shoulder, "Thank you," he said. "You've been a really good friend to me."

"You've made it easy to be a good friend," he replied. "Now," he said, clearing his throat, "Enough of the sappy stuff in the kitchen, save it for Hermione."

"Too right," Ron replied. "Can you-?" he asked, gesturing to the trays.

"Yeah," he replied, "Yes, go. I'll bring these out when the time is right."

He watched from the doorway as Ron got everyone's attention and declared his love and intentions for Hermione. Then he clapped and cheered with everyone else when she said yes.

Afterward he levitated the trays of champagne around the room, sharing in everyone's joy, and being asked several times when he and Harry were going to finally make things official.

When he finished handing out champagne (sparkling grape juice to the littles), he saw that Harry was still talking to his best friends, all but glowing with joy for them. And it all became just a little too much for him.

He slipped outside when no one was looking, pulling the sleeves of his lovely, pale blue Weasley jumper down over his fingers. He leaned against one of the railings leading up the drive and stared up at the stars, thinking about his life and how he'd gotten here.

It wasn't long before he heard a set of footsteps heading up the drive toward him, then a set of well loved arms wrapped around his waist. "Hey," Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of Draco's neck and send a little shiver up his spine.

"Hi," Draco replied, pressing back against Harry.

"Ron was raving about you," he said, "he thought you might come over so he could say thank you again."

Draco shrugged, "There wasn't anything to thank me for. He could have said anything and she would have said yes."

Harry laughed, "I'm sure you're right, but I'm equally sure Hermione appreciated the finesse just the same."

The corner of his lips tipped up, "Well it was no hardship to help."

"Why'd you leave?" Harry asked.

"I just needed a minute to think."

"About?" he asked.

Draco hummed, trying to get his thoughts in order, "Ron said something before he proposed," he started, "about how this was the only family Hermione really has at this point."

Harry nodded, "The Weasleys are good at adopting people," he murmured. "They adopted me when I was just 11 years old for all intents and purposes."

"I never really felt like I fit in my skin," Draco said, remembering all of the years he spent trying to be something he wasn't, trying to fit into the roles that had been assigned to him; heir to the noble house of Malfoy, servant to the Dark Lord, Death Eater, Pureblood, the list went on and on. "But I feel like I belong here, you know? Like they all accept me and love me, they want to support me and see me succeed. They want me to be happy."

Harry nodded, "They're your family," he murmured.

He turned to face Harry, "But only because I'm with you," he said. "If we broke up, I wouldn't be welcome here an-"

"That's not true."

Draco protested, "Yes it is. You brought me here with you, their history is with you-"

"I thought the same thing," Harry said, smoothing his hands up and down Draco's arms, "When I broke up with Ginny. It made it even more difficult to break up with her, I was so afraid of losing my family."

"But it's different," he said.

"It's not," Harry replied. "They care about you, too, you know. And maybe if you broke up with me in some awful way they'd want to protect me for a while until I healed up. But the same would be true if I broke up with you in a way that traumatized you."

Draco frowned.

"But it doesn't matter anyway," Harry added, "Because I don't have any intention of breaking up with you and I hope that you don't either."

"Of course I don't," he replied.

"I might consider proposing right now," Harry said, "except that I don't want to steal Ron and Hermione's big day."

Draco laughed, leaning his forehead against Harry's, "It'll keep."

"I love you."

"I love you, too," he murmured, kissing Harry and basking in the feeling of belonging with Harry and with the family that had found him.

-----------

Day 83: Arcade | Day 85: Old and Still In Love After 50 Years Together

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #established relationship #found family #Weasleys #love

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sunnyville36 · 3 years

Text

Mamihlapinatapai {part 1}

See {overview} for more info!

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: mentions of death/war, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.2k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

Bond | Kingdom of Gu, present day

“Good morning, Your Highness,” you called, entering the prince’s room and walking to open the curtains, revealing the cloudless sky behind them. Of course a beautiful day like today would have to be ruined by the very event you were here to collect Chan for.

Chan’s head peeked out from around the dressing panel, smiling softly as you pressed the shirt he’d clearly been looking for into his hands. “Good morning Y/n.”

“Your father’s in quite the foul mood this morning,” you said, leaving Chan to finish changing as you tidied up his dresser and prepared the many pins and beads bearing the royal crest that would adorn his formal attire for today.

You could hear the scowl in his voice as he grumbled, “Only he could manage to be upset during an event solely orchestrated by him and his insufferable band of so-called advisors.”

You nodded your head, indulging him in his ranting. Better he get it all out now with only you here to hear than cause a scene in front of the court. The prince took his responsibilities seriously and hardly ever openly clashed with his father, no matter how much they disagreed. But this had been an exceedingly upsetting matter for him, and, by extension, you as well. You’d spent the majority of the last week attempting to keep the peace between him and his father, as well as show your support for your friend as best you could.

Chan stepped out from behind the screen, and you had to stop yourself from doing a double take at the man in front of you. A far cry from his normal outfit of loose breeches and dirtied, tattered tunics, his cleanly pressed white shirt was tucked neatly into snug fitting black trousers, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim figure. You were sure he hated the confines of such an ensemble, but you were equally sure he would turn every head in the kingdom during today’s events, and you smiled at having the privilege to see him here first as he struck a nonchalant pose and asked, “So, how do I look?”

“Very handsome,” you replied, stepping up to pin his bright red cloak around his shoulders and set to work attaching the fineries to the outside.

“You do as well. Look very nice, I mean,” he corrected sheepishly, pose all but forgotten and head tilting forward as a blush formed on his cheeks.

You glanced upward, smoothing his hair that had gotten tousled from his rushed dressing. “Thank you, Your Highness,” you replied quietly. You decided to throw in a humorous quip, hoping to lighten his mood as you finished decorating the course, red fabric. “We couldn’t have the prince’s personal attendant looking like she’d just had a spar with a knight and lost, now could we?”

“Certainly not,” he laughed, then quieted as he continued, “And you’re still wearing the flower.”

You reached your hand absently up to the flower that was perched behind your ear, and you felt his fingertips ghost over yours as he gently pushed your hair to sit behind it.

“Of course, Your Highness. Is it not our tradition that I wear it until it is completely bare of petals?”

“Mhmm… our tradition,” he hummed, his hand lingering next to your cheek.

“We really must be h-heading out.” You cringed at the unsteadiness of your voice. You needed to get out of here, needed to get him out of here. You straightened the clasps of his cloak and tapped your hands on his chest.

“There. Now you look like a real prince charming,” you said, forcing a smile to your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He shook his head as he half chuckled, half grimaced at your words, lips forming into a straight line. “Then I suppose we must go meet my future wife.”

You Have My Bow | Kingdom of Gu, 19 years ago

“Mama, Mama, look what Papa made for me!” you squealed, bounding into your tightly-packed cottage and nearly crashing into your mother’s legs as she stood boiling soup at the stove.

Your father had taken you to the woods that morning, your favorite place to go with him when he had a rare spare moment away from the castle. You had thought he was taking you for your usual ritual: fishing by the river’s edge in the hopes of catching something to use for dinner. Instead, when you reached the riverbank, your father knelt down and pulled a tiny child’s bow from his knapsack, small enough to fit in your four-year-old hands.

“I’m going to teach you how to use this bow Y/n. Not many girls will know how to, but you need to be able to fend for yourself and your mother if anything should ever happen to me.”

“Why would anything happen to you Papa?”

“Well, Papa helps the king to keep our home safe, and there are some people who might want to make it unsafe.”

“Like the Lajorans? Or the Mirohans? The ones with the missing princess?! Or the Sillans? I heard old man Jerrald talking outside the tavern, and he said Lajorans like to ...”

“Yes, just like those,” your father interrupted your enthusiastic babbling, “though you shouldn’t believe everything old man Jerrald says, alright?” You nodded as he continued, “The king does everything he can to keep the peace, but sometimes our peoples get into fights. Really big ones, where people use swords and bows like this. And I want to make sure that if that ever happens, if one day a fight should come here, that you can keep yourself and your mother safe. Do you think you could do that for me, Y/n?”

You’d agreed of course, your little body bouncing with excitement as he pulled you in for a hug then took the bow and began to show you the basic principles. The two of you had spent the rest of the day practicing, and you couldn’t be more excited to show your mother what you’d learned.

“Y/n be careful,” your mother admonished, kneeling down to your height as she gave you a tight squeeze. “Now let’s see what that father of yours has cooked up for you this time.”

“It’s called a boo!” you all but shouted, whipping the bow out from behind your skirts and drawing back the string in a mock archer’s pose.

“A bow, Y/n, it’s called a bow sweetheart,” came your father’s voice from the doorstep. He crossed the small space to pull your mother into a tight embrace as he said, “And be careful with that in the house, or your mother will have my head.” You nodded back at him and he sent you a mischievous wink over her shoulder.

Your mother turned to face him with a wary smile as you started galloping in circles, pretending to ride an imaginary horse. “Giving our already rambunctious child a deadly weapon, Minhyuk? You want to get her into trouble, I see.”

“Julietta, you worry too much,” your father whispered, pressing his lips to her temple in a gentle kiss. “Besides, I’d be more concerned about the trouble she’d be in if she didn’t know how to take care of herself.”

Little did you know that everything you learned that day would soon come crashing into your life, taking many precious things with it when it left.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold | Kingdom of Gu, present day

You struggled to keep up as you walked behind Chan, the two of you heading to the throne room where you were sure a very short tempered King Bang would be waiting to reprimand you for your tardiness. Sure enough, when the guards opened the doors, you saw the king pacing in the small space in front of the raised thones, his head snapping up as he heard your footsteps approach.

“You’re late. I told you to have him here 20 minutes ago Y/n, did I not?”

“It’s not her fault,” Chan defended. “Besides, they’re not here yet, are they?” He gestured around to the otherwise empty hall, save for the usual servants and guards, then slumped into his seat at the right hand of his father’s.

“You would do well to lose that attitude before they do arrive. I will not have you embarrassing yourself or this court because of your petty feud with me.” Chan gave a hollow laugh at that, eyes closing to block out the mere presence of his father.

You took your place behind Chan’s throne, hands coming up to rest on the ornately upholstered back. You liked keeping your hands there; it made you feel like you were supporting Chan in some way, the closest you would ever come to being able to actually hold his hand the way you wanted to right now.

After a few moments, you heard the telltale sound of trumpets and the growing shuffling of a group of approaching footsteps. Chan straightened in his seat and his father took his place at the head of the room.

The doors opened, and you were greeted by a small party of what appeared to be political ministers and guards, in the middle of whom stood a woman clad in a yellow gown. She was beautiful, golden hair spun up into a twist and a delicate silver circlet resting above it. You would know she was a princess from a mile away.

The Gu herald spoke first, gesturing towards the two men seated at the thrones. “May I present His Majesty, King Bang Geun of the Gu Kingdom and his son, His Royal Highness Bang Christopher Chan, crown prince of the Gu Kingdom.”

The gaggle of people gave a quick bow, then parted to allow the woman through. She stepped to the front, then dipped into a low curtsey. “I am Princess Korenna Dormio of Lajor,” she spoke, her high, clear voice ringing in the chamber. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

The king stood up, walking towards Korenna with you and Chan trailing behind. He took her hand and kissed the top of it, his voice exclaiming in a fake bright tone, “We are honored you could join us in our kingdom! May I present my son, Christopher.”

Chan stepped forward at that, hand outstretched to take hers. “I prefer strangers to call me Chan.”

You could feel the icy gaze King Bang was sending to his son, but he pressed on, ever the politician.

“This is Y/n. She is Chr- err Chan’s personal attendant, and will be at your service during your stay. Go to her with whatever you may need.”

Korenna eyed you with a curious look, and you knew why. It was unusual, though not entirely unheard of, for a prince to have a woman as his personal attendant. Not only did they complete duties for him in the domestic sphere, but they also served a professional purpose, a sort of squire, scheduler, and strategist all in one, roles typically reserved for men. The unique circumstances surrounding the time of your’s and Chan’s upbringing had made having you as his attendant a logical choice, but you could understand her concern about the man she was supposed to marry spending most of his time in the company of a woman she knew nothing about.

You knelt into a curtsey, head leaning forward as you heard Korenna’s voice. “A pleasure to meet you Y/n.”

“You as well, Your Grace,” you responded. Glancing up, you saw that Chan was not even looking in her direction, gaze apparently trained on a fascinating branch just outside the rightmost window. Well this was off to a wonderful start.

“Very well,” King Bang said tentatively, “I will let you two become acquainted. Y/n, I believe you were given their itinerary for the day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the king made his way to mingle with the rest of Korenna’s visiting party, Chan turned to the both of you, eyes almost glaring at the princess.

“I don’t want to be here, and I doubt you do either, so let’s just get all of this shit over with so we can go back to our normal lives.” With that, he stalked towards the door, leaving you and a highly affronted Korenna to follow in his wake.

***

The next few hours only got worse.

The pair were thrust immediately into making a multitude of decisions about the wedding ceremony: What kind of flatware did they want? Which cakes were their favorite? How should the shrubbery around the edge of the garden be trimmed? And all the while you stood between them, relaying information to the various servants charged with these tasks and corralling the two royals between each of their stops.

Your latest one was with the palace groundskeeper, to determine what flowers would adorn the wedding canopy.

“We can always have tulips brought in from the highlands, Your Grace.”

“Tulips are fine, but I was thinking something more along the lines of white roses or lilies.”

Chan’s annoyed huff at her words was impossible to miss.

“Can you at least try to give some input about this?”

“We’ve barely met and they have us making all these asinine decisions about something weeks away! What do you even care what I have to say about flowers anyway?!”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this.”

“Isn’t that what your people are good at?! Picking a fight with someone who never asked to be involved in the first place?”

You hated seeing Chan like this. His normally kind, generous, and thoughtful demeanor, that you knew to be his real self, not just some facade put on to impress the nobles or win ladies’ affections, was being replaced by this antagonistic attitude, intent on ruining any chance of finding common ground with this woman. You knew he was doing it to protect himself, both from his father’s antics and from his own fear of being open, of letting someone in and risking actually wanting to keep them there. But under different circumstances, you knew he would never want to be seen treating anyone like he was right now, let alone a princess from another powerful kingdom. And she didn’t seem to be so bad; if she felt the same malice as he felt towards her, she at least did a better job of hiding it. You needed to stop him before he did something you knew he would regret.

“Your Highness, I believe Prince Minho wanted to brief you on the latest border patrol, seeing as he is back in the city for the time being. Why don’t you meet with him while I escort Her Grace to the ladies afternoon tea?”

“A wonderful idea,” Chan muttered unenthusiastically and began walking towards the closest castle door as you guided the princess in the opposite direction. You looked back and locked eyes with him, reading the expression of thanks on his face.

When you were out of earshot from Chan, Korenna turned to you almost immediately and asked, “Is he always this standoffish?”

You were unsure how to answer that question, wanting to make it clear he wasn’t always like this without getting her hopes up that he would change his attitude about this particular situation any time soon.

“His Highness is not especially fond of this arrangement. It has nothing to do with you personally, Your Grace.”

“Well I am also not especially fond of this arrangement, but it’s the arrangement we have at present and at least I’m attempting to be civil towards him.”

“Perhaps you should tell him of your similar feelings, to establish some common ground?”

Korenna became agitated at that suggestion, visibly tensing as she said, “And risk my father finding out I feel that way. Absolutely not.”

You understood that apprehension, that fear. Stories of her father, King Eunther, had spread often throughout your kingdom, and from what you heard, you knew he was not someone you wanted to cross.

You walked in silence for the rest of the way, until you rounded the corner into the courtyard where you could hear ladies’ voices and the gentle clinking of fine china. Korenna turned to you, placing her hand on your arm.

“You and him seem to be… close. Maybe you could talk to him, ask him to try to appear like he doesn’t despise me and everything I do or say?”

You had a feeling that would only make it worse, his oldest friend asking him to grin and bear it for the “good of the kingdom.” You also knew his political protest against his father might not be the only reason for his general disdain of everything that had happened the past week. But Korenna seemed like she was genuinely trying to put in some effort, and you couldn’t bring yourself to outright deny her request.

“I will try, Your Grace.”

As you left Korenna in the garden, you reached up to feel for the flower by your ear, and found that all the remaining petals had fallen off.

Arrangements | Kingdom of Gu, 1 week ago

“Have you heard anything? From the staff, about what this announcement might be?”

Chan was walking briskly ahead of you, voice coming out slightly strained. You knew why; his father calling an unscheduled meeting with the entire court, alluding to some mysterious “announcement,” had everyone on edge, Chan most of all. The king still kept his son in the dark about the majority of his political proceedings, much to Chan’s frustration and chagrin, and no one but his closest inner circle had any inkling as to what this might be about.

“No, Your Highness. It’s been quiet in the servants’ quarters; everyone is equally surprised.”

“Well, whatever it is, promise to take my side?”

“Have I ever not?”

The two of you entered the throne room, and despite your knowledge of what a full court gathering was, you were still taken aback by the sheer amount of people present. Every nobleman, every knight, every person who wasn’t otherwise occupied was here, filling the space along the wall and facing the dias at the head of the room where King Bang sat, the empty seats to his right and left standing out amongst the crowded room. Even Prince Minho, the king’s nephew and second in command of the royal guard after Chan, was back from his post on the Lajoran border.

Whatever this announcement was, it was serious.

Chan approached his seat next to the king as he usually did on occasions like this, but was stopped by his father’s voice.

“Chan, please remain there. You are the subject of my announcement today.”

You saw Chan’s face pale as he remained in the center of the room. You were still standing behind him, debating whether or not you should stay beside him or step back to one of the walls where the servants stood. As you scanned for your mother in the crowd, that question was answered for you.

“Y/n, you too shall stay where you are. I will have instructions for you as well.”

You bowed your head slightly in acknowledgement of his order, and took your place slightly behind Chan’s left shoulder to await whatever insane proclamation King Bang was about to make.

Nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his mouth.

“Chris, I have made you a wedding match. You are to be married to Princess Korenna of Lajor in six week’s time.”

The entire room was silent, every person holding their breath to hear what the prince’s reaction would be. This was not something anyone was expecting, Chan least of all. It took every ounce of your willpower to school your face into a neutral expression as you tried to contend with the hundreds of thoughts flooding your mind.

Chan was to be married? To someone from Lajor? One of Gu’s oldest enemies suddenly wanted to form an alliance, and through marriage? What would that even entail? Who would hold what powers? Why was the ceremony so soon? Who would be in charge of the preparations? How would this change your relationship with Chan?

After what felt like hours, but was more likely only several seconds, you heard Chan’s voice echoing one of your thoughts out loud.

“A Lajoran?! But father, they are responsible for - “

“You need not remind me what they are responsible for, Christopher.”

“Then I don’t understand, how did this come about?!”

You couldn’t stop the low ringing slowly building in your ears, accompanied by a sudden wave of nausea. You vaguely registered the king’s voice, explaining how King Eunther had approached him, how he agreed “it was time we put that mess behind us,” and how his daughter would be a suitable match for the Gu prince. Your mind wandered, remembering how many times Chan had told you he never wanted to be used as a pawn in his father’s political games, how he hated the idea of being forced to marry a stranger. You couldn’t seem to register any other information, thinking solely about Chan, the man you’d known since childhood, your friend, having to be married off to satisfy his father’s need for power. Finally, a loud voice cut through the fog in your head.

“Y/n, are you listening? Look at me when I’m talking to you, girl!”

You looked up in surprise to see the king’s unpleasant expression looking down at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Chan’s pained face turned slightly towards you, waiting to see why his father had kept you in the center of the room as well.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”

“You will serve Princess Korenna when she arrives for her introductory stay here a week from today.”

You heard a scoff from next to you and glanced to see Chan’s face growing angrier by the second. “First you lay this on me, now you’re taking away my servant?! How do you expect me to cope with all of this?”

You sucked in a sharp breath at his words. You knew he was simply talking in a language his father would understand, explaining how it would be an inconvenience for him to not have someone available at all times of the day, to keep track of his schedule, to clean his clothes, bring him his meals, prepare his horses and armor. But you couldn’t help the sting of being referred to as a “servant”; surely Chan saw you as more than that, just as you saw him as more than just your future monarch.

“You will manage with half of her normal attention,” the king answered, his tone laced with a hint of irritation at his son’s current attitude. “Besides, you’ll spend most of your time with Korenna, so she’ll be with the both of you regardless.”

The anger was coming off of Chan in waves, so palpable you felt like you could reach out and touch it. Finally he set his jaw, facing his father.

“Is that all you had for me?”

“Well that’s all for the matter of the marriage yes but - “

Chan turned on his heel, walking out of the room to the sound of hushed whispers and his father’s increasingly pitiful protests.

You wanted nothing more than to run after him, to pull him into your arms and soothe him, tell him everything would be alright. But you knew better than to leave, not having been dismissed by the king yet. So you stood there, heart aching so badly, feeling exposed, like everyone could see the shattered pieces of it that had fallen at your feet.

“I’ll go look for him,” you heard Minho say as he passed by you, the king nodding and waving his hand to dismiss the rest of you. You heard your mother calling for you but you ignored her, wanting to get out of that stifling room, to go somewhere, anywhere where you could be alone. You knew where Chan had gone, where he always went when he was upset and needed time to think, but no one bothered to ask you in their search for him.

***

He returned to his room that evening like you knew he would, the door creaking open as you stood across the room ironing his rarely used formal wear with the glass smoother.

His voice came out choked as he whispered, “I’m sorry for what I said. For referring to you as my servant.”

“It’s alright, Your Highness. I know you were upset - “

“That’s no excuse.”

Feeling his presence close behind you, you turned to him, reaching for his hand. “I forgive you.”

He brought his other hand to your cheek, and when you looked up, you saw his eyes staring at you, imploring you to stay, to talk to him. It was so tempting, the desire to give in, to lean in to him and let him hold you like you knew he wanted. But you had to be strong, for him and for yourself. And you knew if you stayed, if you opened up to each other, tried to confront the feelings you knew you still had and could only hope he reciprocated, neither of you would ever recover. So you took his hand from your face, holding both of his in yours between you as you said, “You should get some rest, Your Highness.”

“Y/n please,” he murmured.

“It is done. There’s nothing you or I can do.”

He made one last attempt, turning and holding your wrist lightly, but let you go as you pulled away. Opening the door, you wished him goodnight, desperately trying to hold in your tears as you left. Your footsteps took you down the hall quickly, but not before you caught the small sound of a sob coming from behind his door.

{part 2}

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #blood tw #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #immortal whumpee #vampire #vampirism #vampire fiction #horror fiction #original fiction #whump writing #chris the strawberry blond romantic #vampire chris au #past torture

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bush-viper-cutie · 3 years

Text

I’ll be your Valentine

Pairing: young!severus X reader

Word Count: 7,350

Rating: T for teen

Plot: Severus is humiliated once more by his friends in an attempt to fit in. It was a miscalculation on his part, but he couldn’t have predicted how disastrous his mistake would be. It had taken you days, weeks, months to build up the courage to confess your feelings to your crush, but what did you expect to have happen when doing it on Valentine’s day?

Warnings: Bullying, kissing, slight angst

A/N: Happy valentine’s day everyone! I hope everyone is having a good day :D Wrote this just for today and took some inspo from @violet-knox’s the Lion, the Snake, and the Locket series, (SPOILER: more specifically the locket! :D )

Posted: 2/14/21

Masterlist

—–

(Y/n) = your name

~*~*~

~*~*~ = change in POV

~*~*~ = time skip

—–

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Severus was bent over his journal, quill scribbling across the pages at rapid speeds, feather dancing through the air as Professor Flitwick went on and on about the creation of information charms. Words like ‘impossible’ and ‘far too advanced’ only made him roll his eyes. If wizards like the Great Ciera Vela and Sir Wicksley Brightington could create inventions such as the early telling clocks or talking chips at mere fourteen years of age, then who gave Flitwick the right to deem it impossible for a seventh year to create one?

Severus jerked his head up at the sudden bang of the classroom door as it flung open, almost giving himself a horrible headache at the sudden motion.

Flitwick jumped on his stool and turned wrathfully. “Who is interrupting my lecture!” A little man, half the size of Flitwick himself, came storming inside just as annoyed with himself as Flitwick was of him, and held up a bouquet of flowers. “Ah… alright, alright, get on with it.”

The dwarf, dressed in a bright red robe with fake angel wings and a halo too small for his head, approached a Hufflepuff boy on the opposite end of the class. He pulled up his robe, which revealed his real clothes underneath – grass-stained trousers and steel-toed shoes – and took out a folded note from his pocket. “Oh Huegert,” he began in a raspy voice, reading out the poem as unenthusiastically as possible.

Severus groaned and sat back in his seat. His eyes narrowed in dislike at the Hufflepuff who didn’t seem to care that his admirer had interrupted class. As annoying as it was to hear Flitwick squeak away on a tangent about the creation of the type of charm they were learning about, he much preferred it than this.

The dwarf cleared his throat as thunderously as a rockslide down a mountain and bowed, ready to head out after completing his job.

“Psst,” a voice whispered from the back. “Snivellus!”

Severus ignored them, and turned to his fellow Slytherins instead. They all looked as annoyed as he felt and smirked when he caught their eye. The Slytherins had their own way of showing their “admiration” and it didn’t include embarrassing poems or gawky flowers.

“Snivellus!” The voices behind him snickered. “Where’s your flowers?”

“Doesn’t anyone like you?”

Flitwick went on with the lecture and Severus went back to writing feverishly until class was over. He packed his things and followed his friends out the door, keeping at their heels. He pulled out his scarf and wrapped it around once, twice, as the chill from the open arched windows blew through.

“Let’s head down to Hogsmeade. I heard the Three Broomsticks is serving red butterbeer today, bet it’ll taste different.”

“It never does. Not the green ones, or the purple ones – ”

Severus slung his pack over his shoulder and followed his friends down the corridors, out the castle doors, and down the frozen lawn. They talked about food, their significant others, and the gifts they’d given and received. Some had gotten golden cufflinks, diamond pressed watches with metal so smooth it could reflect a candle’s light from a mile away, while others had received nice ties or new shoes. They’d given expensive bracelets with dancing charms, glittering jeweled necklaces, and remarkable earrings that reformed with every wear so as to never be the same twice.

“So how’s it possible to make those woodchips talk to each other from anywhere in the world?” the tallest of them asked.

Severus pulled his eyes up from his scrappy shoes and looked at the Slytherin. He was referring to the talking chips. “They’re cut from the same wood, precisely from the opposite sides of the tree and bound with a complicated spell.”

The Slytherins around him nearly jumped, forgetting Severus was among them.

The tallest one, Zander Ervingwell, whose father owned the Daily Prophet, rubbed his chin and smiled. “That so? Then, could we chop any of these tree,” he motioned at the forest as they walked down the trail to Hogsmeade, “and make one of them?”

The others turned to Severus and he reveled in their attention. He kept his face straight and shook his head. “We could. If we could get the charm from Flitwick.”

Zander nodded thoughtfully. The rest reformed around him and they kept walking down the trail until they reached the popular little inn. They pulled the door open and were met by warmth, the smell of roast turkey, and wary eyes from the students of other houses.

Severus took his seat at the table they crowded around and refrained from ordering the red butterbeer they were all looking forward to. He pulled the strap of his bag over his head and shoved his patched up bag under the table.

“See? Tastes different.”

“I’d cut my tongue off and have Pomfrey regrow it if I were you – ”

Harold Binny and Regis Dunmarten always tended to natter about anything they could disagree on that held little to no importance. They never discussed anything with each other that could ever lead to an agreement, and Severus knew they took after their fathers, who were avid Wizengamot councilmen.

Zander looked to the others, Marcos Jugson – one of the many brothers – who was looking at a group of Ravenclaw girls, and Mumford Wilkes who stared impassively at the dark oak table. Zander turned to Severus. “You think you could make one, Severus?”

Severus stammered. “We wouldn’t be allowed to chop down any tree – And I’d need the charm…”

“If you’re so smart,” Mumford’s eyes pierced through Severus’ defenses and made him want to dissolve into the air. “Why don’t you make one. You’re always saying you can make spells but when we ask to see them they’re never ready.”

Severus wanted to disappear from the very seat he sat in. In this moment he much preferred his usual spot, behind them all, hidden from view of their scrutinizing eyes; but now every one of them looked his way, expectantly. “I can make one,” he said, as evenly as he could muster. They were all rich purebloods who could smell unease and weakness from a hundred yards away. “Easily.”

“You could get in trouble, expelled even, with the way information charms work. Sure you’re not scared?” Marcos folded his arms, eyeing him down.

Severus hated him. Almost as much as he hated Lupin and Pettigrew, but not nearly as much as Black and Potter. After all, Marcos had saved him on more than one occasion with his mere presence. And unfortunately, Severus knew what his words hid. It had been just yesterday Marcos had walked in on him pinned to the ground by a group of sixth years, three standing around with their wands drawn on him while their two ‘braver’ friends tried singeing his eyebrows off. As soon as Marcos had hexed them off, the minute their grubby hands had released his robes, Severus had crawled away behind Marcos.

It was a stupid moment of weakness fueled by fear driven by the sight of the flames bursting out of wands so close to his eyes. A mistake he’d let himself make. Severus clenched his jaw and looked him steadily in the eyes. “Of course not,” he gritted out.

Distant laughter caught Marcos’ attention for a split second, and when he turned back his lips quirked up in a smile. “Why don’t you give us a taste of your bravery then? An assurance you’ll do it.” He jerked his head back, motioning at the table of Ravenclaw girls. “It’s Valentine’s day, so why don’t you ask one of them to be yours? Its only just midday. I’m sure one of them’s not yet taken.”

Severus kept his face even and hands clenched tight under the table, unwilling to let them see how badly they trembled. He risked a glance at Zander, who looked at him with folded arms and an equally level expression. Harold and Regis exchanged similar looks, eyebrows raised, and Mumford smirked. There was always a risk when hanging around certain groups of friends, and this one constantly pushed him to the brink of humiliation.

He stood and made his way around their table to face the crowded space of the bar. Everyone was distracted, talking to other patrons or spilling drink down their faces. There was a stool knocked to the ground between him and the girls who only knew he existed from either rumor or witnessing one of his countless humiliations at the hands of Potter or Black. They’d either know him as Snivellus, or as the Slytherin who knows as many curses and hexes as there were words in a dictionary – although it never seemed to matter how many curses he claimed to know, he was never someone anyone feared.

He took a step, and then another, and kept going until he stood beside their table. He cleared his throat but it was as if he was invisible. He cleared it again and the closest one to him, the louder of the bunch, glared up at him.

Great, he had their attention… Now what? He cleared his throat again, made awkward by their obvious attention to him. “Would… Would you want – ”

“Which one.”

Severus blinked at them. “What? Oh, err… Anyone?” The look on their faces made his own go red.

“Oh? Any of us? Doesn’t matter who?” The closest one to him said, looking back at her friends with raised eyebrows and a smirk, causing a chorus of laughs. “So what is it?”

Severus wanted to turn around and bolt out the door. This had been a mistake. A miscalculation. His friends had lured him into a trap and he jumped right on it. He couldn’t run though; they were still watching most likely. This was about him proving he wasn’t scared.

He swallowed what little of his pride he had left and opened his mouth. “Would anyone want… to be…” All he had to do was say it, no matter how humiliating, how embarrassing this was. “My valentine.”

Done. He did it, now he could turn around and go back to Zander, head held high. He didn’t really care what any of them thought. He already knew their answer before he even got out of his chair. He turned around as they laughed in his face, ready to face his friends and get back to business.

“Wait! Severus!” one of them called him back.

He stopped. Turned. And stared at the Ravenclaw who had stood up. She waved him back with a shy look on her face and his heart leapt into his mouth. He swallowed it down and walked back, feeling his blood rush into his cheeks.

“Severus,” she said, shyly twirling her finger around the mouth of her cup. “I haven’t given you an answer.”

“You’re answer?” He couldn’t help the tremble in his hands now. He started pulling on the loose stitching on his sweater.

She smiled up at him… And in the blink of an eye she snatched up her cup and threw its contents in his face. “Of course not, Snivellus!”

Severus gasped as the cold liquid splashed his face, drenching his sweater. He spit out cherry colored butterbeer and wiped his face with his wet sweater sleeve. He turned away from the laughter, but it circled him. He blinked through red-tinted droplets and scanned the faces of the crowd. It’d be easier to look for someone who wasn’t laughing because every face his gaze landed on was one that made his chest constrict.

He turned to his table, to his friends. They were all doubled over with pure glee, laughing as dignified as they could all while he dripped on the floor, the mock of the inn. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, unwilling to let any more of this scene get stored in his brain. He stumbled through chairs and stools and pushed his friends aside to get his bag. He pulled it free and threw it over his shoulder. He stumbled some more as the laughter continued and threw his body against the door, throwing it open.

He ran out the door, out of the warmth of the inn and into the cold. The streets were nearly empty as wizards settled into homes or restaurants for lunch. He ran as fast as he could back to the castle, not caring about the sting of the wind as it scraped along his skin. His eyes burned and he felt tears begin to form as the realization of what had just happened began to bubble in the pit of his stomach.

He almost slipped on the bridge and as he reached its crest hands gripped his arms, stopping him on the spot. He blinked tears away and cleared his vision, looking up from the ground, ready to fight whoever had stopped him. He didn’t have to tilt his head up very far, easily staring into the eyes of another student, though he couldn’t immediately tell what house they belonged to.

“You almost bumped into me,” she said, releasing her hold on him.

“You should have cleared my path,” he spat.

She shrunk back and gripped the edge of her cloak. “Well I’ve been looking for you…”

Severus stared at her. He couldn’t possibly fathom why. He’d never seen her before, never talked to her before, and couldn’t imagine what she’d want from him. “I’m here aren’t I?”

She swallowed and nodded. “I… I have something for you…”

“Then hurry up,” he growled. It was cold and the butterbeer was starting to freeze.

He watched her open her cloak and noticed she wore a light red dress, almost pink. He wanted to hex it and turn it black from how sick of everything Valentine he was. The cloak pulled back further and she pulled out a single pink carnation with a green ribbon tying a note to its stem.

Her cheeks blushed as she held out the flower for him to take and he couldn’t help but stand there motionless, waiting for his brain to think something, say something, act and do anything other than gawk at her.

“Will you be my valentine, Severus?” she said, as if the flower hadn’t signaled just that.

He noticed his hand moving to take the flower while he remained stupefied, petrified, and perplexed. His heart, shattered and broken as it was, beat with immense longing as he pulled the flower to his chest.

“I… who are you?” He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t asking more important questions like ‘why me’, ‘is this another prank’, or ‘are you real’. He could feel the air changing around him as hope seeped into his soul, giving him a breath of new air that seemed to revitalized and mend the most broken parts of himself.

She smiled and stepped closer, making his breath catch in his throat. He could feel a warmth radiating off her, reaching out to him, banging on his walls, begging him to let her in. Her eyes looked up at his and he felt his legs go weak. He wanted to run, to apparate away and corral his thoughts, but he also wanted to stay and stare back into the depths of hers. It was different the way her eyes looked at him. He couldn’t see any hatred or disdain like so many others had in theirs when their gaze ever landed on him.

“(Y/n),” she said. “I’ve seen you around school and… Well I’m ashamed to say I’ve sort of been hiding from you.” She blushed and looked down at her feet. “Severus,” she whispered. “I’ve had a crush on you for quite a while.” She looked up at him then and gave him another one of her gentle smiles.

He accepted her words without another thought and regarded her truthfully, willing to open his heart to her. Her smile melted him, her eyes dazzled him, and, he realized finally with one long look, she was very cute.

“So, will you?” she asked again, taking another step closer.

He gripped the flower tighter and it finally hit him. She liked him. She really liked him. Someone had a crush on him and – Merlin, she was cute. Could he really be so lucky?

He opened his mouth when he realized something. She had broken his barriers and shields and so he hadn’t had the mind to analyze his surroundings. Laughter. He heard laughter coming closer. He turned and cursed the world for allowing anyone else but her and him to remain. It was the group of Ravenclaws making their way to the bridge.

“I – ” He couldn’t get any other word in before the group had reached the very spot on the bridge they stood in.

The girl closest to them spotted the pink carnation instantly, pointed, and laughed. They elbowed each other, making sure everyone had noticed him and the flower, and stopped next to them.

“Snivellus! Why didn’t you get us any flowers!” one of them guffawed.

The closest one stepped closer and crossed her arms. “(Y/n), don’t let him fool you into thinking you’re special. He just came from asking for any one of us to be his valentine. He didn’t even care which one.”

(Y/n) eye’s filled with tears and she looked up at him, expecting him to deny everything. Severus realized he’d never felt true heartbreak until now. He knew now that the shattering he’d always felt was nothing compared to the pain now, like stakes were being hammered into his still pumping heart one by one, emptying him completely.

He could lie to her. He could deny it all. But that warmth he’d felt radiating off of her… that’s what he’d imagined safety to feel like. If he could only step closer and feel it once more. If he lied, he’d be bringing thorns and barbs into something so precious and delicate.

He took a step closer to her and lowered his head, ready to feel her pull away that warmth she offered him. “I can explain it. Please listen – ”

She jerked back from him and the cold of winter swooped in to fill the air where the heat had disappeared.

~ * ~ * ~

The air was cold and dry, sapping the warmth from your hands that had, moment ago, been as hot as coals from the pure adrenaline that had coursed through your veins. The amount of courage it had taken to finally admit your feelings to Severus had taken you days to carefully collect. You had spent hours pushing away your fears, and now something much worse than rejection was taking place.

Your truest crush had asked out another girl, or many other girls, and your foolishness had landed you at the bottom of his list. Was what they were saying true? You didn’t want to believe it but… he didn’t deny it, no matter how much you begged him to with your eyes.

You closed them shut and sniffed. When you opened them again you marched right through the group of Ravenclaws, right passed Severus, and headed down the road to Hogsmeade. What a fool you were, charming your old dress into one you hoped would turn you into Severus’ dream. All those breaks spent following him around, hiding behind pillars and admiring him from afar, watching how he always pushed his long black hair behind his ear when he got ready to read… Or the way he bit his lip when he paused to think before jotting things down in his journal. You’d even swooned at the way he walked, like a sulking cat trotting from one shadow to the next hoping to remain unseen. You had seen him. You had seen him and loved what you saw.

When you reached the low lamp post right before town you turned and wished you hadn’t. Severus was watching you, with his dark glimmering eyes that very rarely ever looked up from the ground. He never gave anyone his attention, but he was giving it to you now. His large nose was almost pink and nearly-invisible lines trailed down his cheek. He stood there, tall as he was despite always slumping his shoulders, holding your flower to his chest.

You sighed heavily and turned, starting back on your way down Hogsmeade’s cobbled road.

~ * ~ * ~

There she went with his heart in her pocket. Was it possible? Could someone so suddenly appear in his life, shake his world upside down, and then walk away like she hadn’t just changed him forever? Love; now whenever that word would be spoken, he’d only think of her. Kindness; only her face would remind him of the definition. Safety, hope, happiness, dreams; her eyes, her smile, the softness of her curves, the allure of her scent, the wonder of what her hugs could have felt like, and that warmth that had melted away his armor. All his life… he’d never felt that warmth. Not from his mother, not from his friends, and not even from –

He winced as the numbness gave way to a heavy emptiness that hollowed him out. He began walking back to Hogwarts as if nothing had ever happened, except he’d acquired a single pink carnation. With every step he heard voices, familiar and sharp, that stabbed him with words he’d heard a million times before. He knew he was hated, despised, and unworthy of good things. He had just hoped, fueled by the encouraging gentleness of her eyes and welcoming smile, that he could finally be wanted.

~ * ~ * ~

Severus stepped into the common room and pulled on the strap of his bag, hearing several patches groan with protest as the seams threatened to come undone. He headed to the boy’s dormitory and slouched on the wall, unsure if he could make it another step without collapsing. He felt crushed, pulverized, like his life energy had been spent and he was finally coming to an end.

A door opened in the distance and he straightened, staring at the stone floor as his housemate walked by, ignoring him like a ghost in the corridors. He let out a sigh and dragged his feet forward until he reached his room. It was empty, save for a spoiled grey cat which slept on a bed.

He dumped all his things on his bed. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep until he could no longer remember how beautiful her name had sounded coming from her lips. He held out the carnation and rolled its stem between his fingers. “(Y/n).”

He set the flower down on top of his things and pulled his sweater over his head. He threw it into his trunk and toed off his shoes, settling into the bed. If he slept he’d be forced to replay the events of today in some horrible nightmare. He pushed things aside – keeping the flower close – and took out his charms journal.

He could work on the information charm and show Zander and the others how capable he was. Maybe then they wouldn’t try to humiliate him. They’d finally accept him. He pulled out his journal and reviewed his notes. All an information charm really was is an incredibly invasive bonding spell. A spell that tied two things together and forced an object to display information about the other. The telling clocks told its owners where certain people where, and the talking chips merely displayed what their partner chips spelled. As long as he kept it small, it would be easy.

For the next few hours he worked on his spell, thinking about nothing more than the charm itself. He sat on his bed, legs crossed, bent over his journal and books as he crossed things out and rewrote spell after spell. It wasn’t working. Everything he tried was too complicated. He could barely get information out of and of the objects he tried. His quills were too old to withstand the bonding spells, his journals gave too much information. He sat back into his pillows and sighed.

He needed something with more purity, something which he knew he didn’t own. He looked around the room, searching for some sort of unused object, some material that could withstand the spell to even initiate the charm… His eyes landed on the carnation he’d moved to his night stand.

Would he have been enjoying a romantic date right about now? Would she have tried to hold his hand? He would have been too nervous to do it himself but… He held up his hand and looked at it. What did it feel like to hold her hand? It would have been smaller than his, warm, and soft. He would have held on forever and never let go. What was she like? Would they have been perfect for each other? He thought of her smile and of her lips, supple and eager as she spoke…

He sat up fast as flashes of kissing her filled his head. No, he couldn’t endure this torture. He scrambled for new material and growled when nothing he owned fit what he looked for. He got out of bed and looked around, eyes glancing everywhere but the flower. He got on his knees and searched under beds until he found something gleaming and silver flashing back at him.

He rolled up his sleeve and stretched his arm under his dormmate’s bed as far as it would go. His hands found the cold metal and closed around it, pulling it back to him. It was a small necklace with silver metal beads that encased delicate diamonds. He remembered how it got there, thrown aside for not being flashy enough, or expensive enough for his crush.

He held it in his hands and sat back on his heels. It had a round charm, flat as if calling out to him. The surface would be a perfect spot to display something small… a single word… a name perhaps. He ran his tongue over his teeth and felt he was on the verge of something great. All it would take was a single spark of an idea and he could create something grand and – as Flitwick seemed to think – impossible for any Hogwarts student to pull off.

He groaned as he stood and made his way back to his own bed. He set the necklace on his knee, and on his other began to write. It took precious more hours of writing, scratching out, and re-writing until the spell was as condensed as possible; long spells never worked well, the shorter the phrase the better.

Now that he had the bonding spell perfected… what could he use? He stared at the necklace and knew the answer. He sighed and took the necklace in his hand again and began the spell. It was quick to read, and as he moved his wand over the silver metal the air began to shimmer. His lips moved carefully as he focused his intent and finally, at the last word he pointed his wand at himself.

He felt a slight breeze brush his skin and shivered. It was done. He and the necklace were bonded with him as the information giver and it, or more precisely the flat round charm, as the information receiver. He thumbed over the metal and squinted… but no word showed up. The spell was to force the metal to engrave the name of his crush… but her name did not display.

Maybe he got it wrong. He looked through his notes, flipping only the last two pages where he had condensed the spell, and frowned. It is as it should be, unless his logic was somehow flawed… but no, it rarely was. If there was one thing he could count on, anything or anyone in the whole world, it would be himself and his ability to reason correctly.

He stared at the charm again. It could be… He furrowed his brows and pinched his nose… It could be that he didn’t have a crush on her? Not a true one… not like he’d know what that really felt like. But he did like her, very much. He opened his eyes and fell back into his pillows, defeated. What was this even for? Would he really show this to Zander? Was he so foolish to believe Zander would look at her name engraved into this necklace and be impressed with him? No. He wasn’t.

So then… He sat up and looked at the flower once more, as if begging it to give him answers. Was he doing this for her? Did he really think he could fix what he’d done? Right the misunderstanding and win her heart? “I want to…” Then what must he do?

He pushed out of bed once more and dug in his trunk for a new sweater, pulling it over his head. He’d go down to Hogsmeade and find her, tell her the truth of what happened and then… then he’d kiss her. He swallowed and slowed down. Could he kiss her? …If he’d been brave enough to ask out a group of girl’s he’d never met before knowing full well what rejection awaited him, then he could ask out the kind and gentle girl who had offered him her heart so willingly.

He slipped into his shoes and headed out the door, out of the boy’s dormitory, out of the common room and ran up the dungeon stairs. He needed to find her fast before Hogsmeade hours came to an end. He ran through the castle and shoved open the doors, plunging head first into the cold February air. He sped down the slippery grass of the sloping lawn and nearly tripped out the gates. He caught his footing and continued down the trail, huffing and puffing at the exercise and hating the metallic taste in his throat and mouth.

He grimaced as he crossed the bridge and headed right into town. He checked the Three Broomsticks, she wasn’t there. He checked shop after shop, in alleys, behind houses, and even the lake’s edge and under every tree. She was not eating, shopping, wandering, or sitting anywhere in Hogsmeade. “Where is she?” he growled. Of course this is happening, he knew better than to believe luck was on his side. He walked back down the street slowly, and saw the door to Madam Pudifoot’s teashop open. A couple left, laughing and holding each other by the waists.

Severus swallowed. Was she in there with someone else? After she had realized her mistake in liking him, had she given her heart to someone else, refusing to let this day be a waste? He shook his head and looked away. He couldn’t give up hope, not this time, not with something so rare to ever happen to him. He had to believe the best of her, this (Y/n), who had so bravely confronted him and admitted to her long-standing crush on him. He knew very little about her, but he couldn’t imagine she’d give her heart out so flimsily.

He started his way back to Hogwarts, keeping at a slow and somber gait, and made it back to the castle just in time for dinner. He was too late. Valentine’s day was practically over. He filtered in with other students and took his seat at the Slytherin table. Zander was there, with a spot open next to him but Severus couldn’t take it. He had nothing to show him and after today… he didn’t know how he could show his face around him. Severus took a seat at the back of the table with some lower years and ate in silence, his hand in his pocket, thumbing over the cold metal of the necklace.

~ * ~ * ~

You tried keeping your eyes on your friends, on the food, on your plate as you ate, but your gaze kept lifting to the back of the Slytherin table where a gloomy boy with inky hair sat bent over his food, barely touching it. Severus looked sad, sadder than most days. His nose was pink still and his cheeks red. Had he been outside again? In Hogsmeade… maybe… maybe looking for you? You shook your head. Of course not.

All through dinner you watched him eat alone and away from his friends. Had something happened? When you met him at the bridge he looked a mess with his soaked sweater and hair plastered to his head. And that group of girl, who so readily laughed at him… Maybe… maybe he did have an explanation for what had happened.

Your heart began to beat again, slow at first, and then faster and faster as if hope had filled your soul once more and given you life. You wanted Severus so badly, so badly it hurt and, could you really have him? Was it possible to have the boy of your dreams? If you listened to his explanation would he fix everything and give you his heart in return?

You bit your lip and looked up at Severus once more. You wanted him so bad… It was a chance you needed to take.

~ * ~ * ~

As dinner came to an end, students filtered out of the great hall and into the entrance hall, making their way to their houses. Severus walked among them, defeated and empty. His arms swayed limply by his sides and his head hung low, eyes glued to the ground in front of him. He turned the corner and kept to the shadows of the walls. He didn’t want to be spotted or looked at or found by anyone. There wasn’t a single person in this prison he wanted to see, none except for (Y/n).

He dragged his feet as he made his way through the corridor and nearly yelped when two hands pulled him deeper into the shadows. He stumbled backwards and heard a door slam shut. It was dark and the thud echoed off the walls. He squinted and saw nothing. He fumbled for his wand – he always kept it on him, ready for anything – but someone pinned him to the wall.

“Lumos,” a familiar voice whispered.

Severus stared into the glittering depths of warm, kind eyes. “(Y/n),” he breathed.

Her face was pensive as she stood there, looking him over. She was unsure of him.

Before she could say another word he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the necklace. “I-I made this for you… er, well the charm doesn’t work…”

She took the necklace he held out to her and looked at it carefully. “What’s it supposed to do?”

He heaved a quick sigh and looked away. “T’supposed to display your name… er – display the name of my crush.”

She regarded the necklace and gave a breathy chuckle. “Of course…”

Severus frowned. “Of course what?”

“Of course it doesn’t work. You don’t like anyone!” She laughed and stepped back, the wandlight illuminating more of the empty classroom she’d dragged him into. “You didn’t ask out a specific girl, you asked out that whole group. You didn’t care who it was, so long as someone accepted to being your valentine. And I’m…” She closed her eyes and sniffed. “I’m just someone who has a crush on you. That’s all you care about.”

Severus blinked at her for several long seconds. “(Y/n)… I… I want to like you.”

She scoffed.

“No! I mean – I – You – No one has ever liked me and – ”

She shook her head and reached for the door. Severus jumped in her way, desperate to continue talking, to clear everything up. He liked her, he did. She was nice and warm and everything about her made his knees weak and heart pound like crazy in his rib cage. She was pretty, far too pretty for him, and her voice was soothing, and she was perfect, he just knew it.

“Please let me explain what happened,” he begged her.

She stepped closer and placed her hand on the doorknob stubbornly. “I don’t need an explanation.”

She was so close to him, he could smell her hair, smell the piney scent of Hogsmeade blown into her clothes, infused by the wind. He pressed himself to the door and looked down at her. “Please.”

The look on her face told him she was done. She was done with him and she was done talking. He couldn’t keep her trapped in this room no more than he could make her listen. And yet, he still kept on the door, not letting her pull it open. She huffed and before he could think, she gripped his sweater and pulled him away from it forcefully, shoving him back into the classroom where he tripped and fell onto a seat.

He looked into her eyes. She was fierce. Not the gentle, delicate girl she first appeared to be. There was stubbornness and power to her being. No one could control her if she did not wish it, and the only reason she still stood before him was out of that same kindness that radiated out of her.

“I’m really sorry to have done that, Severus. You don’t deserve to be pushed around like that… but I want to leave… and I will.” She turned around and stepped out of the room, letting the door close behind her.

His heart beat harder than ever before. The way she shoved him, with a calculated caution that told him even when he’d gone too far, when he’d pushed her beyond her patience, she still cared for his wellbeing. She was kind, warm, strong willed, fierce, beautiful, and courageous. The more he learned the more he wanted to her to like him…

He sat there and stared at the wall. She’d been so close he could smell her. She’d grabbed his sweater and for an instant he’d thought – he’d hoped she’d kiss him. Merlin, he wanted to kiss her now. To press this fierce girl into him and kiss her long into the night. He didn’t know how to kiss, and imagined he’d be horrible, but every inch of his body told him he was craving her with an intensity he hadn’t ever felt.

He wanted her, and he wanted her to like him. Needed her to like him again. His hands found the ruffled part of his sweater where her hands had gripped it, and he closed his eyes, imagining her hands still there.

He heard the door and his eyes flew open. Someone stepped in and closed it.

“Lumos.”

A wandlight shined and he could see (Y/n) standing there, looking at the necklace in her hands. He held his breath, waiting for her to speak.

She looked up at him and turned to necklace so he could see, although he was still too far and the engraving would have been too small. “It says my name…” She stepped closer. “If this is a trick – ”

Severus shook his head and sat up. “It’s not a trick.”

She stared deeply into his eyes. “Please explain.”

He nodded quickly and licked his lips. “Ervingwell and his friends – they had me ask out those Ravenclaws to prove I wasn’t too scared to make an information charm… I don’t know why I did it. I thought, knowing they’d all say no, it would be an easy way to prove to Zander I wasn’t as pitiful as he thought I was.” He lowered his head.

There was a long silence, one that made him feel worse than he ever had. He really was pitiful.

“May I touch you?”

Severus jumped. He looked up into her eyes and nodded. “You can do anything you’d like.” His own words made him blush but it was true. She giggled and his heart felt lighter by the sound. Her hand brushed back his hair and he closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of her finger on his temple. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I would never mean to.”

Her fingers pulled back. “You’re saying everything I want to hear… It almost seems too good to be true.”

He stood up and slowly reached for her hand, giving her enough time to pull away, but she didn’t. His fingers hovered close to hers. “M-may I?” She nodded and he took her hand, soft and small in his. “I want to be yours, if you still want me.”

She wrapped her fingers in his and looked up at him. “Do you want me?”

“More than anything.” He couldn’t help but glance down at her lips. Did he want her? His whole heart, mind, and body screamed at him ‘Yes!’

He wanted her in so many ways. He wanted to know her, to have her friendship, to feel her caring ways, to feel her. He wanted her touch.

“I want you, Severus,” she whispered.

~ * ~ * ~

You breathed in the feint scent of ink and page. He was so close. His face lingered just above your and his eyes, those deep wells of pure darkness that looked your face over with lust that could not be hidden. You could tell he wanted you, and despite knowing he wanted your touch and, perhaps, to touch you as well, his eyes glanced up into yours with intensity; like he couldn’t keep himself from acknowledging your very being. You no longer felt like just a girl who had a crush on him… You felt important to him.

“I need you,” he whimpered.

Without thinking you got on your toes and kissed him hard. He didn’t need any more encouragement than that. His hands quickly found your waist and he pulled you into him with a wild neediness that made you melt in his arms.

His arms snaked around you and pulled you closer into his body. He was warm and your own hands wrapped around his neck, playing with his hair, pulling it as you pleased. He moaned and stepped back suddenly, and you almost gasped as you felt him falling back.

You opened your eyes but his hands gripped your waist and pulled you onto his lap. He sat in a chair and waited for your arms to find themselves around his neck once more. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, tasting him, biting his lip, moving your head with his. His hands pulled you closer to him and he whimpered once more.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be. I’ll do anything to make you happy. I’ll – ”

You pressed your finger to his lips, quieting him. “Severus… I just want you to be you.” His eyes trailed down and he looked away. “I like you the way you are… You don’t have to prove yourself to me or do anything to make me like you… Just be… Mine. Just be my valentine.”

You brushed a tear out of the corner of his eye and pulled his chin up, meeting his eyes. He nodded and pulled you closer, pressing his face into your chest and sobbed. You held him close, rubbing your hands over his shoulders and back in slow gentle circles.

He pulled his face back to look at yours, as if checking to see he wasn’t ruining anything by displaying his feelings so openly. You bit your lip and smiled. Even with delicate tears trailing down his cheeks, he looked cute and dreamy, as he always did.

“I really like you.” You kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and finally, his lips.

He moaned and closed his arms around you again. “Will you be my valentine?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” You smiled and kissed him once more, feeling him draw you in closer.

“I’ll be your valentine, (Y/n). Yours and only yours. Forever.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

—-

General taglist:

@setsuna-meiou31

@severuslovebot

@bionic-otp

—–

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demonologistfucker · 3 years

Text

In Love with an Artist💛✨

Obey me! Boys x gn! Mc who is a professional artist. I try to be vague about what sort of art you make so that anyone can fit in. As well as what your goals are as a professional artist. This could be someone who just posts art online, does commissions, whatever. I put in some gallery shows cuz those are fun to think about.

this is SFW Fluff💛 rest of the brothers under the cut

Lucifer

- he saw on your file that you did art, but wasn’t really thinking too much about it. Though when you arrived to your dorm you were greeted with a set of art supplies. A nice sketchbook, a couple pencils and pens. As well as rather high end paint set and brushes. He will never bring it up.

- if you do art out where others can see he’ll try to get a look as what you do, but if you’re private about it he would be respectful. Lucifer doesn’t enjoy when people step over his boundaries, and wouldn’t want to do that he you. He knows enough about artists to understand that ones work is personal.

- when he does get to see what you make he will be internally blown away, but outwardly just ask questions about your process. Trying to figure out if there is symbolism you are drawn to, or what you were trying to capture. There is always a little more to art than just the subject.

- if you want to continue being a professional artist in the Devildom he would be a great support. Would give you advice on who to contact and what venues would be best for your work. He seems to have had the information all prepared. He wouldn’t flex his power too much because he wants this to be your own effort, but is happy to help if you want it.

- At shows he’s a an easy presence besides you. Though he likes to be admired. he knows when to step back at let you shine. If nerves catch your tongue or the social work becomes to much. Lucifer will step in with smooth answers. He knows your work backwards and forwards. So can easily answer any question a patron might have.

Mammon

- “oh you should draw me!” It’s up to you if you actually do, but that’s one of the first things out of his mouth when he learns you do art. He does have a pretty face, and would make a good life model....

- Doesn’t verbalize that he thinks your art is cool, but he does want to see every little thing you make. Finds even your doodles to be mesmerizing. So if you’re do art while he’s around be prepared for him leaning over your shoulder to get a good look.

- If you’re trying to make money off of your art Mammon is extremely helpful. his sway over people’s spending could magically get people to be interested in you, but he’s also just good at setting prices. He will not stand for you setting your prices too low, and will come after people who try to skip out on paying.

- Will try to get your art hung up in every establishment he has a connection too. Not every place will be your vibe though so you get to choose where your art actually ends up.

- Though his room style is more modern minimalism. He has several of your pieces framed around his room. A couple you were sure had been sold...

Leviathan

- as a proud otaku he knows how to treat artists right 👏🏻👏🏻 if he wants you to draw something for him he’s gunna tip out of his ass. Leviathan has definitely worked with artists before. Commissioning cosplay, or fanart, and each time he tips outrageously. So be prepared for what he might do to try and impress you.

- Initially gets a little over eager with the commissions, but is able to figure out that.. you might want to do some art just for fun. Or enjoy other things too. Talk to him and he’ll relax. He just wants to support your beautiful art!

- really loves it when you show him what your working on. Especially when you show sketches or work in progresses. It makes him feel really special to see the unfinished product. Being trusted with your genuine ideas and imperfect thoughts means a lot to him.

- if your art is story based at all. He will want to hear All about it. Might say it reminds him of anime’s he’s watched but he means that as the highest compliment. Your idea are just as good as his beloved shows. Your ideas might even be better because he gets to love the person who made them.

- If you have an art show... He will leave his room for you. He will look so dashing, but so uncomfortable. There with you as long as you need him, but if you are fine on your own he might hang out in a corner. Or go home early.

-When you get home he will make it up to you✨

Satan

- He isn’t going to push you to show off your art if you don’t want too. Even if you are drawing in the same room as him. He just can’t see himself being able to interrupt you. Your focused expression is delightful. Though curiosity will eventually get the better of him if you don’t show him yourself.

- Once you do he is captivated. His face is still calm and collected. Expect for his eyes which are wide and sparkling. If you let him he’ll spend a full hour looking at just one of your pieces. Satan will try to spot every little detail, and see how it all comes together. Both as a reflection of what your are trying to capture but also you. What he see’s only makes him more captivated.

- Asks good questions about what you’re working on, as well as complimenting by comparing to other artists in the realms. You had no idea what he meant when he said your worked reminded him of the great Venia the Dark Slayer. So he showed you his books on Devildom artists. You were surprised that Venia the Dark Slayer really did have something in common with your work. Weirdly enough. He also has sections for earth and the celestial realm artists. You are more then welcome to look through them whenever you like.

- When you’re not around he talks about your art a lot. Always so proud of the latest piece he saw you working on. Satan conveniently forgets that some of his friends are gallery owners. He won’t sign you up for any shows without your informed consent, but he definitely help you get shows much easier.

- Whether he helps you get the show or not. He wants to help set up. His eye for detail makes hanging all the frames easier, as well as making good labels for the work. Whenever you can’t come up with a name for a piece. he’s pretty good at coming up with something clever.

Asmodeus

- Also going to lean over your shoulder to see what you’re making. Then is absolutely captivated by what you’re able to make.

- ART DAY! Asmo wants to be creative with you as much as you’re willing for. So you’ll both take up a table and have your art supplies shared in the middle. Asmo is planning his never dress design, or possibly a make up look he’d want to try. Stops to talks to you a lot. Wanders the room and ends up against you to peak at what you’re working on again.

- He’ll ask for your opinion on his outfits and make up, as well as any other creative project they’ve gotten involved with. See’s you as a creative equal.

- Thinks everything you made is brilliant, but also gives good constructive criticism when you want it.

- When you get your first Devildom Galley. It’s going to be the biggest event that whole week. Asmo will not stand for anyone not going to this wonderful event. Takes over most of the party planning. Which makes you worried it’s going to be a big flirty party with Asmo at the center of attention. When you get there it is beautiful. Asmo has decorated the place to fit the theme or your art. There is catering and drinks. All of which again are themed to your art or just your favorite foods.

- He’s so proud of you of course he had to make this event special.

Beelzebub

- :OOOO

- Really blown away by what you’re capable off. Asks you to send him photos as you work on pieces. Very quietly supportive. When you do art with him around he feels so happy. There will be a small smile on his face the whole time. Which breaks out into a beam whenever you show him what you’re working on.

- If you need a life model👀👀👀 Beel wouldn’t mind posing for you.

- Very used to you coming up and asking him to hold something, or do something with his hands. So that you can reference it. Either holds the pose or asks you to take a picture if busy.

- Commissions you to do art for his brother’s birthdays. Not only does he get to support your work, but he knows his brothers will be thrilled to have one of your pieces.

- If you give him any art it will be treasured till the end of time. Neatly framed and kept somewhere he can see everyday.

- Makes sure you stretch before and after doing arts. Making art requires a lot of fine motor skills that can put serious strain on your body. It’s important to take breaks and stretch.

Belphegor

- His face makes a good desk when he falls asleep on your lap

- Might want to do art with you from time to time. He’s got a lot of thoughts in that brain and getting them out on paper feels really nice. If he can’t come up with something to make. he still gets to watch you make art which is always nice.

- Wants to know the meaning behind your artwork. Even if he doesn’t particularly like an art piece. He wants to know what it meant to you, and its importance. Or lack there of. Some art is just shits and giggles. Belphegor just wants to know the intent of what you’re doing.

- Has never gone to a gallery before, but for you?? He will be there on time. Hair brushed, face washed, and freshly shaved. Maybe even wearing a suit.

- “How many commissions have you been doing? no get your ass to bed.”

- Very good at reminding you to take breaks. Or getting in your way so much you can’t work and Have to rest.

#this is my first time doing something like this aaa #Obey me!#Obey me! Headcanons #Obey me! gn mc #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeous #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! belphegor #artist mc #headcanons #demon brothers

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