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brotherblaze · 10 months

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weedkiller —miguel o'hara

summary: LYLA likes categorizing what you and Miguel have as 'too close to be friends' because Miguel doesn't let his friends make themselves at home in his office.

word count: 2,2k

warnings: n/a

a/n: thank you @starrysatoru for listening to me ramble about Miguel & lyla and all the other wips i infodump at you🥹

“Hey, Miguel.”

“Not now, LYLA.”

LYLA scrunches her nose at Miguel’s dismissal. She’s hovering over his shoulder while he’s discussing (more like lecturing) the matter of not letting a villain blow up the Parliament, no matter how shitty the British institution. Hobie doesn’t seem all that enthused about what Miguel thinks. Gwen just looks like she’s hoping for the ground to swallow her whole.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything interesting anyway,” LYLA cuts in with as much passive-aggressiveness as she can find in her code and makes a note to ask if it can be dialed up. “Just that Anti-Venom’s day ended like an hour ago.”

Miguel cuts himself off mid-sentence and his eyes shoot to the clock LYLA is oh-so helpfully projecting for him. She revels in seeing the panic blooming in his eyes, the stuttering of his vitals, and the subtle hitch in his breathing.

He’s beyond late to pick you up.

“Where are they now?” He’s scrambling for something. Something that doesn’t make it seem like he forgot. She can’t wait to see where this goes next.

“On the elevator.” LYLA jerks her head towards the door. This might be the closest thing to glee she’ll ever get to experience so she makes sure to soak up every moment.

Miguel runs a hand down his face. The sigh that escapes him rattles his whole frame and she takes a snapshot of the moment to tuck away for the future.

“Call one of the reserved spider-bots. I want it up here ASAP.”

“Wow, you’re really buying their forgiveness with imported candy? Wanna get a white van while you’re at it, too?” She raises a brow, arms crossed over her chest like she hadn’t set a spider-bot on hold the moment Miguel first dismissed her. Because she’s an amazing assistant who gets her boss out of trouble.

“LYLA!”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves him off like he’s a pest. She’d hauled ass to get those candies imported and now Miguel is using them as apology fodder because he dismissed LYLA’s routine reminder that your day was ending at exactly 5:45 PM.

Come next semester, she considers invading your university’s system and redoing the class schedules to maximize your time at HQ just to get Miguel to chill.

The door slides open and you pause in the doorway when you notice Miguel is not alone. Your fingers tighten around the edges of the pizza box in your hands. “Should I come back later?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Miguel motions you inside and you allow the long metal arm sprouting from the ceiling to wrap itself around your waist. It carries you over the room to Miguel like a very disgruntled cat and he holds his hand out to help you balance when you’re deposited on the podium next to him. “Why didn’t you call?”

“LYLA said you were busy.” You sink into your usual chair and place the pizza box on your lap. It’s still warm. “She also said you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Miguel sends LYLA a look. She sticks her tongue out at him.

You clear your throat to disengage them and hand Miguel a slice of pizza between a napkin.

“Gracias, mi luz.” He motions towards your captive audience with his free hand. “Hobie, Earth-138. You’ve met Gwen.”

You hum. “Again with the numbers.”

“How do you hate numbers, you’re studying programming.”

“You’d be surprised.” You wave to Gwen and Hobie. “Nice to meet you.”

Gwen waves back while Hobie merely nods in greeting.

“How’s a wanker like him know someone like you?” Hobie asks—he’s immediately jabbed in the ribs by Gwen’s elbow and a hiss of ‘stop’ under her breath.

You raise a brow.

“That a compliment or an insult?”

Hobie shrugs.

“Oye,” Miguel warns. You jab your foot against his shin.

“Alchemax,” you say. “I used to intern there when I was still studying biochem. Didn’t work out so I no longer intern there.”

“Uh, so, what do you do now? If I may ask.” Gwen hastily adds that last part like she doesn’t want to bother you. Her movements are jerky. She’s nervous. You look at Miguel and raise a brow, then turn back to Gwen.

“Oh, you’re in trouble,” LYLA whispers into his ear. Miguel swats her away.

“I study programming.” You jerk your head towards Miguel. “My first-year internships used to run until what, 11 PM, midnight-ish? And he didn’t want me going home alone that late, so he picked me up. Then we kept doing it for convenience’s sake.”

“And today he forgot.” Hobie shakes his head with a tsk. “Ignored the A.I., actually, by the way. Deplorable.” He looks towards Miguel. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

All eyes turn to Miguel. He glares back at Hobie. “I’m not explaining myself to a 12-year-old.”

You snort. “Remember that one jackass who threw a tantrum when I told him I was the intern and not the babysitter?” You look back down and hold out your hands, palms facing the ground. “Literally on his hands and knees crying in the middle of the hallway while his kid is standing there watching—god, I wish I had pictures.”

Miguel covers his mouth with a closed fist to hide the chuckle that escapes him. “His wife was divorcing him, by the way.”

Now you actually laugh. “I would’ve too.”

Miguel looks at the spiderlings below. “Fill out your mission reports by tonight. And no more blowing up the Parliament. You’re dismissed.”

Hobie opens his mouth to say something but Gwen has him by the scruff of his jacket before he has a chance to voice his opinion and quickly drags him out of the room. The door slides shut behind them and silence fills the room. It’s not uncomfortable by any means, both of you working on devouring your slice of pizza.

Even LYLA is sitting on your lap, munching on her own little pixelated slice of pizza.

“By the way,” you begin through a mouthful. You pause and swallow before continuing, “You busy tomorrow?”

“I don’t know yet.” He reaches to pick up another slice and you watch him devour it in three bites.

“Dude, are you even enjoying the food?” You deadpan. “I just… realized I haven’t seen so many old horror movies, and I wanna watch them. But not alone.”

“Scared?” He raises an eyebrow, wiping his fingers in a napkin.

“No. Just kinda lame to watch them alone. Was thinking of like, Carrie, maybe—speaking of horror movies: what’s stopping you from dressing like 80s horror movie hunks?” You rest your elbow on the chair armrest and your chin against your knuckles. One leg is sprawled out to chase off the oncoming pins and needles.

“What?”

“A nice crop top, short shorts, or low-rise jeans…” You shrug your shoulders but don’t look away from him.

“I’m 6’9”, do you know what a pain in the ass buying pants is?”

“So? Just saying you’d look really good.” You allow your eyes to slowly slide down his body and then back up again. “Like,” you begin again, almost breathlessly, “really, really good.”

“Yeah?” He leans over you, one hand on his hip, the other gripping the back of your chair. “You think so?”

Your mouth dries up abruptly and swallowing feels like someone’s scooped sand into your mouth. So, you only hum.

“What, cat got your tongue?” His voice has dropped and you can feel the warmth he radiates.

“Yeah.” Your voice cracks and heat floods into your face and you feel like you’re a volcano about to erupt. There’s a hollowness in your chest, a fuzzy, messy ball of feelings bouncing around your ribcage, and a tingle in your right leg and—

Oh, that’s a pinched nerve, not oncoming pins and needles, you belatedly realize. You tap on Miguel’s wrist to push it off the chair’s backrest and let it fall flat to allow sprawling out for comfort.

“You okay?” Miguel asks, hovering over your newly acquired horizontal position. You wince.

“Nerve pain again.”

“LYLA, have the infirmary send a heat pack up.”

“On it.” She materializes on your chest and suddenly you realize you hadn’t seen her blink away.

Miguel crouches next to your chair, fingers hovering over your skin. “Where does it hurt?”

“Hip.” You tap the spot with a finger, then return to willing the pain away until the heat pack arrives. Whoever said mind over matter better be right.

“Well, considering I’ve seen you sleep like a pretzel…”

“You sleep on your back like the fucking dead, dude.”

Miguel gently presses his fingers against your hip and the fabric of your jeans melts away enough for him to reach skin. His hand is warm. “Symbiote as pants,” he states, the corners of his lips curled slightly upwards. “That’s new.”

“Now, which one of us uses unstable molecule fabric as their whole spider-suit?” You let your eyes flutter shut, taking slow, deep breaths to cope with the stabbing pain under your skin. “Plus, this is the one pair of white pants in the whole world that will never get dirty, or be see-through.”

“Oh yeah,” LYLA appears again, as if she’s remembering something important, “hey, Miguel? I could use a new outfit.”

“What?” Miguel tears his eyes from you to look at his A.I. assistant like she’s grown a second head. For a moment, LYLA entertains the idea of having you modify her code to make that possible.

“Or seven.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Y’know what, the more the merrier.”

“You can just download them off the internet.”

“So?”

“I’m busy; I can’t just drop everything to give you new clothes when you can do it yourself.”

“But you do it so well!”

“LYLA—”

“Good boys who do what their A.I. asks get rewarded.” LYLA holds up a finger. “Now, shh, listen.”

She begins a list of items she would like, specifying colors and patterns, accessories—even a car. You stifle your laughter at her demands and glance toward Miguel. Despite his grumpy demeanor, you know he’s listening intently, interjecting every now and then for clarification.

It’s reminiscent of the Miguel you knew before he became Spider-Man. The man who had lunch with you at Alchemax (even though you were just a lowly intern) and who listened to you talk about the chemical compounds Venom and its siblings and offsprings produced without rudely interrupting. Even now, in the midst of his verbal sparring-turned-hostage situation, there’s the ghost of a smile creeping up on his features.

You’re drawn from the reverie when the sound of spider-bots skittering across the floor draws your attention. One parks next to Miguel and opens the container on its back. Miguel grabs the heatpack and presses it against your hip. Anti-Venom forms around it, keeping it glued to your side. One of the metal arms hanging from the ceiling collects the empty pizza box from your lap.

A second spider-bot parks in front of you once your chair is upright again and you slide off, kneeling on front of the bot on the floor. The hatch in its back opens with a chirp, exposing a handful of colorfully wrapped candies. All familiar.

“You had them imported all the way here?” You reach in and retrieve the candy, staring at the collection in your hand as if it’s the 8th wonder of the world. “I—I never even thought of checking if they export.” When you look up, Miguel is avoiding your gaze. The tips of his ears are burning, as indicated by LYLA on your Gizmo.

“He spent an ungodly amount of time agonizing over what flavors to get.”

“LYLA.” Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, effectively hiding his whole face from you.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t look at you but he does grunt out an acknowledgment.

The silence that follows feels a little prickly and you frown. Not prickly, per se, but… awkward, maybe.

“Are you uh…” you lick your lips and nod toward the screens hovering a few feet away. “Do you have work you have to get back to? ‘Cause I should get on with my homework.”

“Oh, uh—” Miguel glances back at the screens as you stand, pocketing the candy in your hand. “Yeah. I’ll drop you off.”

“Can I maybe stay?” You venture to ask. “Watch you work when I’m done?”

“You… want to watch me work?” You nod. “You’ll get bored.”

“But you look so pretty when you’re doing stuff I don’t understand.”

Heat floods your face and you clamp your jaw shut. You’re sure your heart skips several beats at once and suddenly you’re praying to be sent to the infirmary. No such luck and so, you slowly lower yourself onto your usual chair again to get on with your homework.

Miguel opens and closes his mouth a few times like a gaping fish before he finally closes it. A few beats of silence and then—

“Tú serás mi muerte,” he mumbles as he returns to whatever he does with the million screens he always has open. Maybe you should ask one day, but not this day.

LYLA appears in front of you, glowing a warm yellow. Maybe she should’ve asked for a new display color, too. She stares at you over her pink heart-shaped frames.

“Wow, smooth.”

part two.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spider verse #across the spider verse x reader #spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara x y/n

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ravenelyx · 1 year

Text

I love you in every timeline - Chapter 1: My Love Is As a Fever, Longing Still

← Prologue

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 14.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name usage for reader (only a few blank spaces), use of 2nd person for the reader, Sebastian is confused and doesn't know how to handle his feelings, and he's also struggling with his personality, veeeeery slow burn

Summary: "He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is long, and more is to come. It's gonna be a very slow burn apparently, but I hope you will like it. Finally Chapter 1 is here, it's been a while. Also, as much as I love fanon! Draco and Pansy, I decided to follow a more canonical approach here, sorry. Again, english is not myfirst language so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes. Never am I going to write about time travel again,my brain hurts.

I also made a playlist inspired by this because why not.

You can find the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please." - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147

You weren't her.

Then who the hell were you?

You briefly smiled at Sebastian and then turned back to the red-head, squinting. "Do you have the book or not?"

Ron gulped, avoiding your eyes. "It's probably in my dorm or something... I didn't have class, so I didn't take it with me."

"In your dorm, isn't that right?" Your eyes narrowed even more if that was even possible, and Sebastian was pretty sure you were about to hex him on the spot. Your leering didn't go unnoticed by either of the two Gryffindors and Hermione’s throat bobbed ever so slightly, eyes widening a little in alert.

"Well, as I said—"

"Here," interrupted Hermione suddenly, voice slightly squeaking. She looked into her bag and extracted her own copy of Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants. "Use this in the meantime. I take notes on the book too, unlike Ronald here, so it should compensate."

You accepted the book, seemingly calming down a bit. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said, enunciating her name sarcastically as you shot the other boy a nasty look, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel a touch of schadenfreude as Ron hung his head low, cheeks as red as his hair.

“I said I'll give it back,” said Ron, scowling. “It’s not like you need it anyway. Sprout doesn’t even make us open books!”

You politely smiled at Hermione, your eye slightly twitching at his remark, before said smile turned into a sneer as you looked at Ron again. “Then what the hell is taking you so long?"

Hermione sighed softly, dejectedly, and Ron shrinked on himself, sending Sebastian an unconfident look. But that only seemed to propel you to continue.

"And most people do open books for Herbology, my dear Ron, but I don’t expect you to know that. You’re too busy trying to find ways to whine and beg others to help your lazy ass later when they have other, more important things to do.”

Sebastian saw it happen, in a gradual, torturous slowing of time. There was something about you, in the way your lip quirked up, in the way your brows furrowed, giving life to that crease. Something that you couldn't stop, washing over you like a tsunami, drowning any possible thought of rationality and empathy. Control, in that moment, was appearance and nothing more.

He felt, for a moment, afraid; chilling his veins until goosebumps raised on his skin: a thrill, as if she was there. As if he was watching her unleash that godly power in all her beauty.

You were still, hands clammy at your sides, as he could see you open and close them repeatedly, and you weren't gloating. It was different; like that thick, foggy feeling that floods your brain when your opponent misses a step whilst casting Protego, or opens their arm a bit too much, making it easy for a well-aimed Stunning Spell to pass through, and it makes your cheeks turn red and your chest flutter, and Sebastian saw that twinkle in your eyes as you ignored Hermione’s pleading look.

The same thrill that makes his heart tug when he inevitably, nimbly raises his wand back. When the spell goes right where he intended it to go, and the deaf sound of a wand hitting the floor fills his ears.

It was that innate human side that took pleasure in pain. That part that could turn from a lambent glow into a Fiendfyre if you're not careful. Or if you really put your mind to it.

But you weren't duelling.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of the way with which you were slandering your — he supposed — friend. And in front of him, too. It made him slightly tremble, his lip slightly twitch. Part of him wondered if he was invisible, part of him felt a little too alert, part of him pitied the girl in front of him.

And while it seemed Ron and Hermione were just as shocked, they had a sort of weary gleam in their eyes. And any attempt at smoothing things over was futile. Hermione feebly tried to intervene. “Oh, we don’t need to go further—”

“You see Ronald, for a Prefect you should really put some thought into the impression you’re making on new students, not to mention the one you should give of our school—” you ignored her and sarcastically gestured towards Sebastian, who felt his breath hitch at the sudden spotlight put on him, “and yet, you’re always so comfortable acting like a dimwit . Pull yourself together and be responsible for once.”

Ron’s jaw fell open, completely at loss for words at your harsh words, and he shared a look with Hermione that Sebastian was able to understand completely.

What the hell just happened?

He couldn't agree more.

“I think you’re overreacting,” said Ron sternly.

“I think you’re disrespectful,” you replied just as eagerly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” said Hermione, putting herself between the two Gryffindors. “It so happens we have a guest here!”

Sebastian felt his heartbeat quicken ever-so-slightly as both you and Ron turned to him like you had just seen him for the first time. He shifted his weight uncomfortably; an attempt to get rid of that eerie shiver that ran down his spine as your incensed gaze fell on him.

That seemed to snap you out of it, and your cheeks flushed a bit in regret. “Fair enough...” you muttered, nodding at Sebastian. “Sorry.”

He nodded back, unsure about what to do as he shifted his eyes between you and Ron, letting them linger on your face each time he looked at you. Your nose had that same curve he always wished he could kiss, run his lips over with reverence… He shook the thought out of his head immediately.

“I should receive an apology as well,” muttered Ron, and Hermione nudged his arm as a warning not to add fuel to the fire.

"You have one day. Just one." You gave Ron an ultimatum, your tone sharp and, Sebastian thought, quite frightening. He hoped to never find himself in Ron's place. “And don’t expect me to help you ever again, I'm tired of it!”

You didn’t wait for an answer and began to walk away, only stopping briefly to look at the Slytherin boy. "I wish you the best of luck, especially if he— " you glanced at Ron again "—has to be the one guiding you through this maze they call a school."

Sebastian gasped and opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemed to be stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue. He let his eyes fleet over your face again, heart beating out of his chest as he tried to make out your features, like in a dream.

"I hope we'll meet again soon enough." You forced a smile on your face that looked almost guilty and embarrassed, and with that, you were gone.

His eyes followed you until you turned a corner and vanished from his sight, thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour — questions with no answers clouding his mind more and more each second. Who were you? Why did you look like her? And above all, why did you bear her family name?

Even after the theatricals that he had just witnessed, there was a certain hope in his heart: traitorous and wrong. A hope that she was really there, somewhere, waiting for him. A hope he immediately wanted to crush as soon as the image of your eyes and red robes flashed in the window of his vision again.

Sebastian Sallow was utterly, completely, absolutely losing his mind.

He was aware of the gravity of his situation — his body still spasmed uncomfortably every now and then as a result of having travelled through space and time — but, Sebastian realised, it felt more like a trance. A painfully aware and too tight reverie he couldn't find a way out of. After all, just the night before, Natty had asked him if he wanted to take part in Summoner's Court with her the next day, hadn't she?

And just a few hours after that, Sebastian had decided to try his last chance, opening the artefact that, he had believed, would bring him back to a time where her sister wasn't cursed — a time he could have avoided the disaster. And not just one at that.

He took a deep breath, willing the halls of Hogwarts to become brighter in his vision, more real. He was indeed in the future, he repeated himself, his ribcage evidently too small to contain the excruciating throbbing he felt in his chest. He had to accept that. He did. Probably.

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian heard Ron mutter as he also stared at the point from which you had just disappeared. “What was all that for?”

“Honestly, Ronald…” said Hermione curtly. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Still, Sebastian felt painfully calm at his situation: the sort of calm that he only experienced when he knew he was in trouble and couldn't do anything about it, or when he knew he was in trouble and had the solution for it lying in his hands, teeming down his throat like a treacly and old pint of Butterbeer, or a briquette of ice, whipsawed by the choice of safely travelling down his stomach and melt and leave him warm and satisfied or change direction and chill his lungs and cut his breath and bring him to a freeze.

What would Sebastian, a calm and collected person (and he believed he was, or tried, at least), do in a similar situation?

Two options came to his mind, clear and painfully bright.

To freak out completely until he was in shambles on the floor, addled and ready to break himself and cut the edges of his persona to fit into the new reality he now essentially belonged to, though he still didn't feel like it.

Or estrange himself from said reality, seeing it through lenses, analysing the world around him as if he weren't there until he found a way to go back, like a spectator, a reader. And he was indeed a reader.

In a way, the very core of one was tantamount to the other — both would completely destroy him. And Sebastian Sallow could not allow himself to be destroyed. Not like this.

But then there was another, the one Sebastian desperately willed himself to adopt, keeping his edges glued to himself and the lenses away from his perfectly working eyes.

The one he followed when everyone had lost hope for Anne.

And that was any option available, and every rational thought, even if the sound of them — or anything else, really — was still drowned by the loud pounding of his heart reverberating at the thought of the girl who just flipped his world upside down.

“What did you say her name was again?” Sebastian asked the two students, his eyes never leaving the corner you had just turned.

Ron and Hermione both looked at him with surprise; Ron opened his mouth with a scowl, as if about to make a snarky remark, but Hermione interrupted him, repeating your name calmly.

That was indeed the name.

And so he tried to be as rational as possible.

“Thank you,” said Sebastian quietly, lips parted, gaze musing. “I’d forgotten that just there.”

You were her descendant, a hundred years from his time.

Sebastian couldn't remember her having any siblings or cousins who bore her surname, but if you did, you had to have received it from a male member of her family, didn't you? She couldn't possibly have given you her name unless she married someone from her own bloodline, and Merlin, he hated that thought.

Or she had married someone else and decided to keep her own surname instead, and, once again, Sebastian knew — it wasn't his first thought, of course, but certainly one that plagued his mind — that he couldn't have been the one she had married, because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he'd have burned down the world just to get her to take his last name.

His thoughts circled back to her family, but try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint any related members from whom you might descend. He was starting to feel dizzy and sure to be on the brink of collapsing under the amount of information he was trying to process, but then Ron and Hermione pulled him out of his trance by starting to explain the rules of the castle, the classes to attend and some basic information about the Professors.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts changes every year; they say there's a curse on the chair or something," explained Ron, having calmed down a bit, and half-smiled, "so you won't have to see toad-face for long."

"Toad-what?" asked Sebastian absent-mindedly, his head still teeming with disjointed thoughts and meandering ideas which, Sebastian was sure of it, would never find a proper abode.

"Our new Professor. You'll see what I mean when you meet her for the first time."

Sebastian nodded occasionally as he listened to them talk about the other Professors, such as Snape, the Potions teacher, and also the Head of the Slytherin House. Ron kept going on about how annoying he was, trying not to show how much he was afraid of him. "You don't have to worry, though: Slytherins get special treatment from him," he said jokingly.

Ron, Sebastian decided then, was a nice fellow. He found himself wondering why you had reproached him so harshly. He had half-a-mind to ask, then, about your behaviour — and why both the two Gryffindors seemed to be far less surprised about it than he expected. He decided against it.

"Wait, what do you mean, she won't let you use spells?" Sebastian frowned as they talked about 'toad-face', alias Dolores Umbridge.

"She's from the Ministry," explained Hermione. "After what happened last year, we're sure they're doing everything they can to keep the school under control and make sure no lies—" she stroked the word sarcastically, "—are spread among the students.

"I'll explain everything later. We should focus on more important things, like your academic persona and your education," she added, noticing his confused expression.

She was definitely Prefect and worthy of her role too, at least if you went by the typical clichés.

The hours passed, and there wasn't a minute when Sebastian didn't think of her.

And of you.

Because the more time he spent walking, the more his rationality seemed weak and pointless.

He thought he'd go mad, her memories spoiled by your oh-so-similar but equally different features. He saw your eyes looking at him back in the Scriptorium, as she was ready to take the Cruciatus Curse rather than cast it on him. He saw a Gryffindor sitting by him in Herbology, stealing not-so-subtle glances while tending to the mandrakes. He felt like his mind was splitting in half, frustrated and embittered and close to tears as you tainted his remembrances of her.

He needed to see you again, talk to you, ask about your life, your family, your past. He needed to know every thought behind your eyes, every subtle expression towards him that could mean you recognised him, that you were her, that you remembered him, remembered your time together, that you'd follow him in all his antics, in all his mistakes, in all his choices, that your actions meant more than your words.

That you loved him as he loved you — as he loved her.

Her.

Not you.

Because he didn't need to talk to you. Because indeed your recent actions spoke louder than words ever could.

Because no matter how much Sebastian fooled himself into thinking that he wasn't alone, stuck in a world that had gone on without him for a hundred years, that she returned his feelings the way he thought she did, that somehow you'd look at him and know that she was meant for him, that you were meant for him, you weren't her . You didn't know him. You could never know him as she did, and not because he wouldn't let you in — he'd run to you even now and lay his heart open if it meant finding a faint resemblance to what it used to be — but because he couldn't allow it. He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her.

At that moment, Sebastian made the decision to stay as far away from you as possible.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he reached the Great Hall. He hadn't noticed that it was already lunchtime.

"Do you think Dumbledore will make a speech to introduce him or not?" asked Ron, not caring that the Slytherin boy could hear him loud and clear.

"I don't think he'd just let it go, but I hope it won't be as big as last year's," noted Hermione.

"Those were two bloody new schools, Hermione. This one must be different."

He felt like a new Honeydukes product hitting the shelves for the first time.

It turned out the Headmaster hadn't made a speech to introduce him, and Sebastian almost would have preferred it if he had, because he felt like a circus monkey sitting at the Slytherin table with a hundred eyes staring at him like he'd just broken into their home and stole a particularly rare card from their Chocolate Frogs collection. He looked around at the other tables and saw heads turning away so quickly that he was sure he would be the culprit in a mass murder with a thousand broken necks. He sighed as a girl with dark hair and green eyes sitting opposite of him handed him mashed potatoes.

"Do you want to eat or not? No one poisoned your food just because they don't know you."

Sebastian glanced at her and accepted her plate, munching his food slowly as if he didn't quite believe her.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson."

"Sebastian Sallow."

"Sallow? Never heard of that name. What's your blood status?"

He almost choked on his food at her blunt question. What kind of uncivilised conversation was this? And the way she looked at him, waiting for his answer, he knew that that question alone could decide his entire future — hopefully a short one — in that House.

"I'm a pureblood like you, I suppose," he lied, lifting an eyebrow as he blankly stared at the girl.

"I see," said Pansy, narrowing her eyes as if not fully believing him. And Sebastian knew it was probably time for him to make up a story, a lie he could tell everyone in the indefinite amount of time he was to spend among them.

He had put a great deal of thought into what wanted to tell in the past hour — he could, after all, be anyone. Anyone he wanted.

He could change his past, he could avoid his mistakes, he could pretend to be a normal boy with a normal life. He could just be.

In the end, it didn't matter, because while other people might look at him and see only a picture-perfect new student with a thirst for knowledge, he would look at himself and see the boy who tortured his friend, the boy who murdered his uncle.

They might not know, but he would.

He kept the edges tight against his body, and decided to opt for a half lie that made it easier for him to play on and not forget any details.

He told her that he wasn't from the Highlands. He told her how his parents were Professors at another magical school but died prematurely, and left him to live with his uncle, a former Auror. And he told her about his timely death as well, omitting, of course, his involvement in it.

"When he died, too, I decided to move here," he concluded simply, hiding the tremble of his lips behind a glass of pumpkin juice.

Part of him expected sympathy from her, or at least a hint of hesitation; that look he had become so accustomed to whenever people came to know about his tragic tale or something along those lines.

Surprisingly — though, for some reason, Sebastian wasn’t surprised in the slightest — Pansy Parkinson didn't seem to care at all.

"Were your parents true purebloods or filthy blood traitors like the Weasleys?" she asked instead, clearly showing where her priorities lay, and it was enough for him to know that his earlier hope that there would be no more discrimination was merely a child's prayer.

"They have magic. That's the only thing you need to know." Sebastian cut short before focusing on his food. He noticed the familiar badge on her robes and silently thanked Dumbledore for assigning him to the Gryffindor Prefects instead. At least they never judged him, not even for dwelling with time and space like a bloody idiot — though he believed he had seen a gleam of reproach in Hermione's eyes as she'd uttered the word 'misadventure .

"All right, I believe you." She shrugged.

Sebastian wasn't convinced.

Pansy nudged a boy beside her, who looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. He was pale, with sleek blond hair so light it almost looked white, and also wore a badge. He reminded Sebastian of Ominis. That must be Malfoy.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," — it hadn't been so hard to guess, though now Sebastian thought he'd rather not meet him at all — "I saw you walking around today with that skint blood traitor and that mudblood Granger. You should have been assigned to us. It's not worth it to taint your blood status by associating with such filth," he spoke venomously, a mocking tone punctuating his sentences.

Skint blood traitor. Mudblood. He was exactly like those boors Sebastian so enjoyed thrashing in Crossed Wands when they had the guts to join. Perhaps he could do the same with him — blast him with Bombarda until his hair turned black (or he went bald; any of them would do).

Sebastian didn't know why he suddenly felt like defending the honour of two people he had met that same day, but he wished he could poison his food instead.

"Maybe next time you'll be considered fit for your assigned role. I suppose all that purity didn’t take you that far this time," he replied just as rudely.

Draco Malfoy made a weird face — a mix between stunned and angry and that half smirk that had begun to creep up his face as he had expected Sebastian to agree with him, and that had died on his lips but not yet fully, and the whole thing was so comical Sebastian had to hold back a snort. Because that was not (not in a million years, no matter how many artefacts he accidentally opened) going to happen, and when Draco Malfoy realised it, he seemed to have a hard time closing his mouth back to a dignified expression.

"I'd be careful if I were you, new student. I'm a Prefect!" he threatened, squinting his grey eyes and finally gaining enough control to curl his lip into a small smirk.

Spoiled bragger, Sebastian thought.

"And what exactly are you planning to do — take points away from your own House?" replied Sebastian, smirking back, enjoying how his face turned back to that ferret-like countenance.

"We share the same dormitory. Choose your words carefully." Draco Malfoy pursed his lips, his face becoming even paler. Sebastian wondered if he had even an ounce of blood in that body of his.

"We do indeed, so I suggest you sleep with one eye open," retorted Sebastian. Part of him knew that, logically, he should have been more mature about the situation.

But Merlin, he was starting to despise the brat.

(And the other part of him was still fantasising about that Bombarda-induced vengeance).

"You think you can scare me?"

Draco Malfoy snickered, and the line of Slytherins sitting on his side began staring at the two boys with piqued interest, wondering what all the fuss was about. It was quite unusual for two Slytherins to argue so openly, and even students from other Houses had begun to turn their heads towards their direction. Two big students beside Draco Malfoy snickered, too, as if on cue. Sebastian felt a wave of repugnance at how pathetic they looked.

"Definitely not, especially when you have your guard dogs next to you." Sebastian nodded at the two students mockingly. "Tell me, does your father pay them to be by your side? They can't be that stupid to volunteer to be in your presence."

The blond appeared to want to eat him alive, while the other two took a bit longer to fully understand his words before reproducing the same angry expression. Perhaps Sebastian understood your outburst: it was indeed gratifying to pour his disdain out. Though, unlike you, Sebastian didn't feel an ounce of regret.

"All right, Draco, enough of this," interrupted Pansy with a sigh, before giving Sebastian a hateful look. "He's a blood traitor like Weasley, and he'd better take care of his priorities."

Sebastian ignored her, focusing back on his food and already dreading the idea of having to share his Common Room and dormitory with people like that. Maybe he could sleep in the Undercroft for the rest of the year. He wondered if that place still existed at all.

Strangely enough, the aftermath was quite unsatisfactory, and Sebastian felt his cheeks warm up as he realised he had indeed acted like an immature git, stepping down right at their level. He stared at his half-empty plate, abashed.

The time passing, then, felt particularly chilly under his skin.

After he felt content enough with his lunch, Sebastian stood up, ready to meet the two Gryffindors again. He faltered a little as he looked around their table, his chest squeezing as he caught a glimpse of you. And not just a glimpse.

He watched you as you engaged in a happy conversation with a red-haired girl next to you: she scarily resembled Ron, so he deduced that she must be his sister. The two Prefects sat opposite you, and on your other side was a boy with messy black hair and round glasses.

Sebastian noticed how you tried to avoid Ron's eyes, only glancing up at him through your lashes from time to time before looking back at the girl, and he wondered if you would even apologise or if you were waiting for the red-head to do so. How proud were you? How much did you care? To which length were you willing to go for the people you loved? Sebastian felt a compulsive need to know it all, a new wave of hunger right in the pit of his stomach, completely empty even after his heavy, albeit displeasing, lunch, and ready to be fed by what all he could find about you. He needed to know every last bit of information, if it was the last thing he did in that new world.

That eerie calm chilled his bones again, moderately assuaging his desire, like a glass of cold water before supper. Sebastian realised he was stuck, so he had no rush to do exactly that. He didn't need to be greedy, to devour — though the idea was tempting indeed — and to gobble up every bit of you yet. He could feast, he could savour, he could indulge in his sumptuous meal like he deserved. And then he would find his way back, satiated beyond belief.

Now that would take his edges off.

He shook his head, derailing that tingly feeling running down his lower stomach before it nestled, and averted his eyes, instead noticing that barely anyone had left the Great Hall, and he was the only Slytherin standing. He quickly walked out of the room and rested against a column, wondering if he should wait for Ron and Hermione to finish eating and meet him, or if he should just go alone.

Sebastian decided to walk to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, to the Undercroft, praying it would still be there, untouched by other students. When he arrived, he saw the familiar clock, and his heart swelled in fear and anticipation as he took out his wand and flourished it like he had done so many times he practically relied on muscle memory alone.

The clock hands started to turn, and he breathed a sigh of relief as a door opened to the familiar room that he considered an analogue to his house. He stepped in carefully and looked around. The furniture hadn’t moved an inch in a hundred years, still in the same position that Ominis knew by memory. He wondered about him: if he knew Sebastian would one day disappear forever only to remain stuck in the future, if he had waited for him in that same room hoping for him to come back, or if he was glad he was gone after all.

Sebastian wondered if he would ever return to his time: if Ominis and Anne had been waiting for him their entire lives, getting old without him, and if they had hoped that they would one day see him again, and then he had another terrifying thought: what if he went back yet it was too late?

What if all of his pals were much older than him once he did? What if, upon his return, he discovered Anne still suffering the effects of the curse, or worse yet, already deceased? What if Ominis had been made to return to his family, where he would have either changed into one of them or been tortured and murdered? What if she had found someone else to fall in love and share the rest of her life with, or what if the perilous journeys she was compelled to take killed her and he had not been there to save her?

"Scourgify!" he declared, pointing his wand at various objects around him to clean them, wishing he could reproduce the same effect on his mind.

Once he was done, he sat down, leaned against a column, and put his head in his hands, breathing deeply and feeling his eyes burn.

The calm had gone, replaced by pure, utter despair and panic. It had only been a few hours since he'd found himself there, confused and startled, and he knew it would be many more until he went back — if ever.

If ever.

The thought cut at his lungs like sharp glass, drawing quiet and wet sobs. He didn't know whether the artefact could ever be repaired at all. He didn't know whether he could control it enough to go back if it was repaired. For all he knew, he'd find himself in bloody Mesopotamia, if he was lucky enough to survive another travel. Or he'd get stuck between time and space, forever embedded in the threads between realities.

Based on those thoughts alone, Sebastian felt like he should be grateful to have found himself still in Hogwarts, as safe as he could be, but he wasn't.

He missed his routine, his life, his friends. He had disappointed Ominis, but he would give anything to hear his voice now, even if he yelled at him, to see Anne even if she did not want to see him, to read their old letters over and over again, to accompany her on whatever adventure she was setting out on. Heck , he wanted to hear Headmaster Black's voice scolding him for his horrible detention record, listen to Poppy ramble about her dear magical creatures, see Garreth blow up his potions, and even wanted to hear Imelda complain about Quidditch being cancelled. He missed it all.

He spent some time there alone — he did not know whether it was minutes or hours — weeping silently to himself. His wrists copiously moved to his eyes in a weak attempt to dry his tears, which kept falling nonetheless, undaunted, wetting his cardigan and shirt and skin.

Sebastian had always prided himself in his capacity to bottle up emotions, to avoid the crying and instead channelling those goopy feelings into something more useful, like studying or spellcasting. That had backfired, and Sebastian had to learn, awfully, that doing that didn't mean those emotions wouldn't force their way out in a way or another, and after what had happened in the Catacombs, where his feelings had exploded in the worst way imaginable, he had reluctantly decided that crying alone was the best way to let them flow naturally. With that and everything that had happened to him within a few weeks, not to mention the previous events, he felt overwhelmed.

He hated it.

After drying his tears as best he could, hoping that no one would notice his glistening eyes or swollen face, he decided to leave the Undercroft and find Ron and Hermione again; they were to give him his timetable, as he would join their class starting the next day. That was before he abandoned them.

He stepped out of the room and froze in his steps. You were sitting on the ground just outside, back against the wall, focused on your textbook. You looked up once you heard a noise, and saw a dishevelled and surprised Sebastian staring straight at you.

"Oh, well, hello again, new fifth-year!" You smiled politely.

He cursed under his breath, turning his face away slightly and rubbing the back of his hand under his nose again, in case any stray tears were still present.

"'Didn't know about another secret passage in the school," you continued, apparently ignoring his actions, before muttering to yourself, "It wasn't on the Map."

"Map?" he said in a rough, unfamiliar voice, surprising even himself.

You examined him, a quizzical expression on your face. "Have you been crying?" you asked bluntly, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Great job, Sebastian. Perfect disguise.

He felt his cheeks warm up, and he turned away again. "No... not at all." He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to switch up the conversation when his eyes fell on your book. "What are you reading?"

You frowned slightly, obviously not believing him, but understanding that he wasn't willing to talk about it, and looked back at your book. "My Herbology book. Ron gave it back to me at lunch. Finally, I’d say."

Sebastian paused for a moment, unsure whether it was appropriate to ask about what happened in the corridor, but then he felt that ache again, right above his navel, and the words slipped from his mouth without restraint. "Did you two—"

"Don't." You interrupted him and averted your eyes, staring down at the cover musingly. "Don't bring it up again. That was already embarrassing as it was."

Sebastian stayed quiet, his eyes never leaving your form. He would very much have liked to just plunge into your brain at that moment and make himself at home there.

Perhaps he needed to add 'Learn Legilimency' to his to-do list.

"How so?" he asked at length, quite stupidly, he realised.

"I lost my temper," you said simply, and forced your eyes back towards him. Your next words seemed to eject out of your mouth painfully, like they were unfamiliar to you, and it took a while for you to utter them. You sighed, "I— I suppose… I owe you an apology."

An apology never felt so forced and so sincere at the same time. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"I do. It wasn't the best impression I made of myself." Your lips parted as you leaned your head back on the wall. "I suppose I have to apologise to Ron as well — properly, I mean."

Sebastian stayed quiet, observing you curiously. Why were you telling him all that? "I... suppose," he uttered, not knowing what else to say. That appeared to be enough for you because you didn't even seem to acknowledge his words.

"He was looking for you, you know? Hermione, too. They said they needed to give you your schedule."

"Ah, yes, they mentioned that before," said Sebastian, glad to change the topic. "I’ll meet them promptly then, I was—"

"—Too busy hiding in a place no one else knew about," you continued for him.

That made him still in his steps, a chill running down his spine. Your eyes met: his open wide, yours unwavering and daring him to contradict your statement.

Perhaps the previous topic was way better.

"I just..." Come on, Sebastian, think!

"I just stumbled upon it!"

Usually he was one to conjure lies out of thin air, but being around you made his brain seem to melt. Sebastian thought that it was because he didn't really want to lie to you, or perhaps it was because, with the way your eyes pierced him, he felt as if you already knew all his secrets, all his lies, and you certainly wouldn't be fooled, not even if he made up a whole story full of intricacies and chapters worth publishing.

He knew, however, that the answer was neither, and it lay deeper than anything he was willing to admit to himself so loudly that he had to face it.

"Right."

You closed your book and stood up, facing him. He couldn't read your expression properly, but he felt his body start to uncharacteristically shrivel at the intensity with which you stared him down. He was in Ron's place.

"Strange, isn’t it? how the new student suddenly stumbles upon a secret room on his first day — a room not even Fred and George know about."

You had spoken that last part quietly, as if only to yourself. In fact, Sebastian didn’t know who Fred and George were at all. And, frankly, he didn't want to. "What can I say? I’m full of surprises," he replied smoothly.

"Or full of lies." You hadn’t missed a beat.

It was frightening how easily you had switched back to the girl he had met in the corridor. And he pitied it. And he liked it. And perhaps he was a fool for liking it, and an even bigger fool for pitying it. "I didn’t know it was illegal to be in this room," he said, scowling.

"Illegal? Oh, not at all. But certainly unusual for someone who has supposedly never set foot in this school before."

You took a step towards him, and he had to fight the urge to take one back himself. There was something wrong in the air — something goopy and misty and heavy, penetrating his skin like Mallowsweet fumes, inebriating and dizzying and frighteningly close to losing control. He had only felt it once, in Hogsmeade nonetheless. Electric and impatient, but, now, shrouded. That day, it had been galvanising. Now it was almost shy — almost… veiled.

"Hermione told me that she barely only took you through the first two floors. You're not even supposed to know about the classroom's whereabouts, and yet you seem all too comfortable with your surroundings," you continued, unaware.

He felt his heartbeat accelerate. Why did you have to be so inquisitive? Was he supposed to tell you the truth now?

Dumbledore’s voice came back to his mind: "...unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I don’t know what you're talking about. It was an accident, as I said," replied Sebastian in a poor attempt to reason again, knowing full well you wouldn't believe him.

"Certainly a convenient one." He twitched involuntarily, like he had just got a shock. The corners of your lips lifted in a sneer. "You are an interesting case... Sebastian, was it?"

He nodded hesitantly and narrowed his eyes, baffled at your countenance and your confounding words. An interesting case?

You shuffled on your feet in a nimble movement and pressed your back against the wall again, leaning onto it. "Don’t forget to show me that room sometime, too."

"And why would I do that?" Sebastian was growing impatient at your behaviour, while some part of him was thrilled at your nonchalance. The more you bantered with him, teasing him like that, the more he felt his stomach flutter. He hated himself for it.

He felt a sudden urge to leave. To run to his Common Room, or back into the Great Hall, where the noise cramming his ears would be enough to shut down each and any possible much-too-loud beat of his heart, as if the mere sound of those tiny pulses would beguile him into wandering proscribed feelings. A deceit of his own body he wasn't willing to face, not even through his love of the forbidden. The hunger and ache had to stay just that: mere curiosity, more about her and her family than you.

But he stayed in the silence of the corridor, with a loud pounding noise in his ears.

"Because it would be a shame if other people in, let’s see, higher power were to know about it, too, wouldn’t it?" You moved a hand through your hair to push it back, clearing your vision, and Sebastian watched as your locks fell around your face, a twinge in his chest. "Although I do believe Professor Flitwick would love to have another room for his choir practice. Is there a good acoustic in it?" You peered over his shoulder and towards the now closed door with a playful smile, clearly only teasing him, but the way the light fell on the tresses framing your visage was a bit too familiar to him. His mind stalled for a moment, and he didn't want those beats to stop anymore.

"Why do you care about this room so much?" Sebastian shifted his weight, now taking a step forward as well, and your eyes flickered down when you perceived the movement. Your lip twitched a bit.

"Why do you?" You simply replied, shrugging. "A secret room is a secret room. Don't you want to be a proper new student and get in good with the Professors?"

Sebastian felt his stomach boil at your singsong tone. "That seems to be more of a Gryffindor trait."

"Is it? And how much does a supposed stranger know about our Houses?"

His breath hitched and his resolve crumbled immediately at your quick retort. Sebastian warmed all over and stilled in his steps, feeling a bit too heavy on his legs. The image of the girl who lost her temper in the corridor was the one he had expected to evoke, pity even, yet she was nowhere to be found as your half-lidded gaze stared at him impishly.

"Besides," you continued, clearly feeding off his reaction with increasing confidence. "You should really get to know your Slytherin peers a bit more. Hopefully you won't become like them, but alas if you do, you'll end up snitching on this place yourself."

The thrill gradually disappeared, replaced by unadulterated annoyance. He found himself lowering his head, and he glared down at you, heart pounding in his ears. Your eyes stayed unwavering in his, though Sebastian noticed your crossed arms tightening marginally around your chest. "You can only wish to be like us," he hissed.

As you lifted an eyebrow daringly, he stepped forward again, finally free of that marbly perception that had spread through his body at your mockery, and towered over you. You tilted your head up, eyes never leaving his, the red and gold making them stand out in a way that only sent a new wave of anger through Sebastian's bones.

You could only wish to be like her.

"My dream in life."

Your voice rustled softly against your teeth, stretching with the smirk you wore, daring him to retort again. Sebastian felt it spread before he could even process your words entirely, burning through his guts all the way up to his trembling hands. That hunger. Craving. Ache. And something else — something that made the corners of his mouth tingle and his head tilt forward slightly more. He inhaled deeply from his nose, breathing out gratingly, air straining against his throat.

"Shall I serve as your future proxy and tell the faculty about it now?" you continued, voice glottal and purring, faring on the satisfaction of his heavy breathing on your face. "Might save you time ahead."

A low chuckle left his lips. "Even if you told the faculty about it, I could always pretend you were the one who showed it to me and kept it a secret all this time. After all, I am the new student, aren’t I?"

He grinned to himself as your smile fell slightly, squinting as you looked at him, but it only lasted a moment before you spoke again.

"And why, pray tell, would anyone believe that I would fraternise with a Slytherin enough to show said person a secret room?" You leaned your head on the side, and Sebastian’s heart jumped again. "And why would I turn myself in, given I would have, supposedly, kept my room hidden for five years?"

"It's my room," replied Sebastian lowly, instinctually, voice slightly trembling, blood rising to his head. Despite the height difference, he was starting to feel smaller and smaller every time you spoke, crushing his resolve word by word. It made him shrivel. "I knew it before. You're not welcome in it, nor is it any of your business."

"You knew it before," you repeated blankly, like you didn't care. "So you’re admitting to having learnt about this place already?"

What?

A heartbeat, a glint in your irises, and Sebastian's heart dropped pathetically as he realised he had given you exactly what you had been searching for — what you had wanted him to admit all this time. He shifted his weight back, leaning away from you. "No, I never said—"

"—I believe the Professors know about your true history — especially Dumbledore, you can't trick that one — so I know they won’t be fooled," you continued undaunted to shut each and every one of his possible retorts. "Plus, even if you told them that lie after I snitched on this place, they’d still let it go and take control of this room — Filch in particular. I won’t get into trouble just for keeping an insignificant room secret, but you would lose your special place."

His mouth fell open, for once at a loss for words. He could only stay silent as you threatened to reveal his hidden spot with that undeterred ragging tone of yours. Sebastian would usually brush off any threat against him, especially if it involved getting the help of teachers of all people — he was known for breaking rules on any occasion — but he couldn't ignore your words. He knew you had no idea how much that room meant to him; would you have cared if he told you? Would you have taken your words back? Why would he care if you had? He had promised himself to stay away from you, and that was exactly what he was planning to do. This conversation had gone on for too long.

"Who—Who says it's my special place?" Sebastian tried to salvage it, although his disingenuous and trembling voice betrayed him almost immediately.

"You reek of dust and humidity," you said with a satisfied smile, as if insouciantly waiting to shake his hand after your checkmate. "As if you've spent a lot of time in there just now. Also, no student in Hogwarts with more than a pea for a brain would ever refuse the comfort of a secret room no one has discovered yet."

You had deduced it... by his smell?

Sebastian had still been processing when you gathered your things and looked back at him, breaking into a genuine smile. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, and mind you, there are a lot of them in this school, so you'd better get used to it."

The corner of his lips quirked up against his will, heart gradually slowing down again. "Well, you did just threaten me in a way."

You chuckled — an unfeigned, carefree chuckle with no malicious hint — and shrugged. "I was never going to snitch on you, that would have been incongruous. I just wanted to see how this would go."

"I don't follow," he said at length, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow at that. "Were you just playing with me?"

Sebastian didn't know why he had asked. It had been quite clear since you started talking that you had only run rings around him like he was a bloody amateur. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks in chagrin. You averted your eyes with a smile still on your face, and Sebastian wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or annoyed.

"Call it an investigation." You raised your hands in surrender. "I’m no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but..."

"Sherlock who?"

"He... Never mind." You shook your head, and looked back at him for a moment, biting your lip as if facing a conundrum. You sighed. "The thing is, from your perspective my threat should've appeared empty, or unfounded, because, as you said, the Professors would have believed that I was the one who showed you the room, as a more experienced student."

Sebastian listened intently, growing more confused the more you spoke. "Wait, so—"

"So, if you had nothing to hide and had really just found out about the room, you would've been less... defensive ," you explained, and Sebastian found no contempt in your voice: it was neutral, a bit excited maybe, but not mocking — perhaps only a little condescending, he noted bitterly. "Or, more specifically, you would have been defensive about me being out of line rather than about the room itself — more annoyed , I believe, at the fact that I got all up in your personal business uninvited."

The way you spoke, with unalloyed certitude and indisputable pride — though with an almost riveting aspect in your self-assurance, if he dared to admit it — seemed almost preposterous to Sebastian.

"Also," you continued, "if you had really stumbled upon it so easily, you would've been more shocked about the fact that no one else in the school had, wouldn't you?"

That actually... Made sense.

“What if I were just a new student who had accidentally found a room,” began Sebastian hesitantly, although he couldn't stop himself from being rather dazzled — and envious. And definitely ill at ease at your aptitude at reading people — him specifically. “And had completely panicked when another more experienced student threatened to reveal me as if I had done something horribly wrong?”

You looked at him, eyes shifting between his right and left one in a sequence. “Yeah,” you finally countenanced with a blithe nod. “That would have been perfectly plausible, too.”

Sebastian’s face fell, exasperated beyond measure. He suddenly felt a wave of lassitude wash over him and let out a world-weary sigh that earned him a small smile from you.

"Just know that you don't know me as much as you think you do," he said at length.

“I don’t know you at all,” you confirmed with a bright smile. “But I definitely enjoyed this. "

You pointed between the two of you, and Sebastian faltered, following your hand with his eyes for a moment before his gaze fixed on you again. "What?"

"It's just… I didn't lose my temper this time, and... well — it was sort of... nice."

Nice. The word you had used was nice. Sebastian found it anything but that: it had been humiliating to say the least. But again, he was the loser.

"You didn't lose your temper alright," said Sebastian, looking away. "Though we may need to get even on that."

Your eyebrows lifted and you broke into a giggle. "Yeah, perhaps. Even if I'm sure I'm not as much of a smooth talker when you’re not in… well… emotional distress."

To his own surprise, Sebastian smiled back, genuinely and widely and almost tenderly, letting his chest tingle freely and a little more than needed. "So you took advantage of me."

"That I did." You nodded at him. "It’s a pleasure doing business with you." And with that, you started to walk away, leaving him stunned but smiling in the middle of the corridor.

"Ah, before I go," you suddenly added, turning around and walking backwards, and his eyes shot to you once more; "last time I saw Ron and Hermione, they were near the Grand Staircase, on the second floor. If I meet them, I’ll send them to you."

You waved at him and turned around, walking down the stairs and disappearing from his sight.

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indigo-flightly-falls · 5 months

Text

The four soldiers of Dogwarts perfectly fit with the four seasons: an unhinged rant of a neurodivergent minor who has had too much sugar

anyways the title explains the idea of this post ^_^

Let's start with fall bc I miss Halloween.

BigB is fall. Fall is a beautiful time of the year, with warm colors and leaves falling and Halloween and time to be with friends. And yet, fall is harsh. It starts out with the warm of summer, and ends a dreary, cold and wet time. Plants do not grow in the later weeks of fall. In the same sense, BigB does not appear threatening. He appears kind and docile, not ready to join the fight (and not one to betray anyone). And yet, just as the fall fades to bitter chill, BigB is capable of much more danger then expected. With or without remorse, betrayal is a option on the table.

Etho is winter. Winter is harsh, bitter, and a constant struggle. Plants are almost unable to grow, snow storms and blizzards can take out many people, and wolves and foxes prowl the forest. And even with it's dangers, winter is a beloved time of year. It's the season of togetherness, with Christmas (and other holidays of this time) and Valentines day both falling during the harshest time of winter. In the same way, Etho is beloved and regarded as a danger. Weither or not they're actually dangerous is up for debate. Winter can pardon those it cares for, and in the same way, Etho is much more loyal then they'll ever let on

Martyn is spring. Yes I know there's the whole 'never made it to spring' deal but bear with me. Spring starts out bitter and wet, with frosts coming to kill off plants that sprout too early. But spring also is full of warmth and sunlight and the promise of a new beginning. And, storms are a common thing to happen during the spring, which can be quiet dangerous if you're not careful. Martyn rarely shows his more loyal side, hiding it behind an uncaring front. And this uncaringness isn't always a lie, but there is small amounts of loyalty still buried like a seed waiting out the frost.

And finally, Skizz is the summer. Spring is the most loved season, promising freedom and warm days with cool nights, skies filled with stars and days spent playing with friends. And yet, summer is storm season in many places, and god forbid that your soil grows dry only to have a heavy downpour. That's a quick way for a flood. And on top of everything else, summer is fleeting. It seems to pass before you even started to enjoy it. In the same way, Skizz promises nothing but loyalty and protection and fun, but a quick switch, that when flipped, shows another side. A side of bloodlust and a hunger for battle. A side that still (despite it all) holds an instinct driven urge to protect.

@thenopequeen here because I fully relate to the need for more of them

@dingdinghq i know you also miss them so here ya go :D

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jeireilostt · 1 year

Text

This is an AU. I’m too lazy to go into details about it but i just wanted to write this lol💀

(Apologies for any grammar errors!! I ddint bother editing this. Also kinda cringe ngl💀 imma gage myself later for writing this)

BTW PEOPLE. THIS IS ABOUT GAY MONKEYS SO LEAVE IF YOU DONT LIKE IT💀

And yes this is a HTTYD reference

———

Monkey king was running hastily down a cave system dodging and weaving ever rock and crystal desperately trying to find a shadow monkey.

He felt as if he would pass out from exhaustion….or maybe it’s stress? He couldn’t really tell at this point and he quite frankly didn’t care.

He stopped to look around the area he was in not instantly noticing any direction Macaque could have gone.

He swore that he saw him. It had to be him.

But maybe he just saw some other monkey earlier.

Yeah, as if there was another celestial monkey just chilling around here.

Either it was a hallucination or the most special person that was in his life was alive.

He’s been running after this shadow damn near a hour now. And usually he’d never get tired this fast but he felt drained me

He felt as if he should give up at this point. It isn’t like he hasn’t though he saw Macaque before….

It’s just that he seems so real. Almost too real.

He glanced to his left spotting a small pathway. He sighed deeply and made his way over and went through.

He walked for a couple minutes before entering a pretty nice open space.

The whole place was illuminated with gems and crystals sprouting out of the floor.

He walked around them talking one last look around and took a quick turn back around to make his way out back.

He froze when he heard a small tap on the floor.

He instantly turned back around and ran toward the noises direction.

He put his hand firmly on a decent sized crystal and leaned forward, freezing in shock.

There he was. Macaque. He was staring directly at him with a pained expression.

Wukong felt as if the wind was knocked out of him and shoved right back in his throat.

He slowly came from behind the crystal and took one single step.

Macaque tensed at the movement and took a big swallow and shuffled back a bit.

Wukong kept opening his mouth but he couldn’t find words to say.

What are you supposed to say when you see your supposed to be dead best friend?

His breath was slightly uneven and he took one more step feeling his hand shake.

Macaque eyes glared at him as if he done something wrong.

“I know what you’re gonna say Wukong.”

Wukong froze hearing his low voice. He hasn’t heard it in so long. He’s really here.

He’s only twenty feet away from him but it felt like thousands.

“How long…” was the only words Wukong could get out before his throat closed. It felt like someone was squeezing his throat and shoving sand into it.

“Awhile…” Macaque said firmly crossing his arms close to his chest.

“How long awhile….?” Wukong voice shook slightly.

“Longer then a month I guess…” Wukong felt like he’d been stabbed in the gut.

“I know what you’re gonna say Wukong. How could I have done this?” Macaque looked away from him his bodily noticeably shaking, tail slightly twitching.

Macaque let out a scoff “Staying away and not telling you I’m alive after all this time?”

Wukong couldn’t help but just stare at him in awe. Even after all that even death couldn’t take away how beautiful he looked. He looks so different but looked the same somehow.

“Once I came back why did it I go back to you? To the mountain? Is that what you wanna ask?” Macaque’s brows were furrowed as he stared him in his eyes.

Wukong placed a foot forward.

“Well, after all this time I’ve been dead how would you have even reacted!? Last time we spoke we almost killed each other! What did you expect me to do huh!?” Macaque shouted throwing his hands in the air teeth looking as sharp as ever.

“I don’t even know why I’m even trying to explain myself to you!? You’ve always been so selfish and the biggest idiot I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting!!” Macaque cried out glaring at him as he took another two steps forward.

Macaque breathed heavily looking up at the ceiling of the cave.

“I know that maybe I should’ve seen you sooner and tried to mend things with you again.”

Wukong mouth was extremely dry right now. He seriously needed water or something cause it’s painful.

“But I thought you’d be better off without me.” Macaque laughed pitifully putting a hand to his chest clenching around the fabric.

“And maybe that was wrong. And I guess I can see that now but-” Macaque backed away from Wukong who was getting so close that he could almost touch him.

Wukong wanted to touch him so bad. He wanted to hold him so extremely bad at the moment. He hated seeing him like this.

Can’t say he was any different either.

“Oh my gods Wukong!!” Macaque couldn’t back up anymore but just glare at him.

“Stop being so silent!! Go on! Shout! Scream! Say something dammit!?” Macaque’s eyes were welling up with tears begging to fall.

Wukong felt his eyes water as he lifted a hand and put it gently on Macaque’s cheek.

Macaque mouth quivers and gasps slightly at the touch and try’s everything in him to not lean into it.

Macaque eyes are wide in surprise and Wukong who had tears fall down from his face.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.” Wukong whispered softly a sad smile spreading across his face.

Tears feel down Macaque’s face as he mouth was slightly open in shock eyes still widen at the soft sweet words.

Macaque leaned into his hand as Wukong stroked his thumb lightly.

Wukong couldn’t care less anymore and jumped at Macaque wrapping one arm across his shoulder burrowing his face into his shoulder and the other at his upper back.

Wukong hasn’t felt so vulnerable on his life and he doesn’t care.

Macaque finally wrapped his arms around Wukong shoving his face into his neck taking a shaky breath.

Macaque pulled back holding wukong face in his hand.

“I probably should’ve came to you sooner.” He whispered.

“Yeah. You should have you asshole.” Wukong glared with tears still falling and smile twice as wide.

Macaque rolled his eyes wiping the tears out of Wukong’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Macaque spoke quietly.

“I’m sorry too Macaque.” Wukong held Macaque’s jaw pulling his face closer placing his forehead on his.

They both closed their eyes taking each others prescience in.

Macaque pulled slightly away daring into Wukong’s eyes with a new warmth in them.

“God I missed you so much.” Macaque let out a choked out snicker.

“I mean who wouldn’t?” Wukong teased slightly.

“Ah. And somehow you’ve made me hate you even more.” Macaque glared with no heat behind it.

“It’s a gift.” Wukong shrugged with a smug grin.

Macaque smirked shaking his head. “Still the comedian I see.” He stared fondly.

Wukong face hurt from crying and smiling so much.

They just stared at each other with nothing but love in their eyes. Macaque was the first to lean in before Wukong instantly got the message leaning into a kiss.

Wukong couldn’t help but smile the moment he felt Macaque let out his own smile into the kiss.

It was weird. Not the kiss though- the kiss was amazing and extremely passionate. Tingly feelings and all. But it was weird to kiss him.

No wukong couldn’t help when his hands trembled.

Macaque pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth and back on his mouth held his hands tightly to keep him grounded.

They tilted their heads to deepen it feeling so free and happy. They haven’t felt like this in a long time.

Macaque softly backed away smiling at him with nothing but love.

“I definitely missed those.” Wukong wiggled his eyebrows.

Macaque couldn’t help but chuckle at that kissing Wukong’s cheek wrapping his tail gently around Wukong’s embracing him again.

Wukong sighed contently resting his body into Macaque’s as Macaque did to him.

“Hope you know I’m never letting you go again.” Wukong deadpanned.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way peaches.” Macaque smiled into his neck.

Wukong smiled at the old nickname tightening his embrace.

“Perfect.” He smiled closing his eyes.

They stay there in each others embrace feeling as if they unlocked the keys to the entire universe.

Neither of them wished this would every end.

But if it did it’d be ok. They would have each other and that’s all they need.

#shadowpeach #lmk shadowpeach #gay monkeys go BRRRR #lmk monkey king #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque

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lumine-no-hikari · 8 hours

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #131

I tried to have a normal day today. And this time, it worked out quite nicely.

I brewed a nice tea today. This time, I combined my vanilla-rose black tea with the strawberry rooibos; of all the teas I have, I think you'd like these two the best. This one starts out a shade of amber:

...You will also see Mogwai on the windowsill, being very cute, as Mogwai is wont to do.

I'm really glad that I was able to figure out how to photograph the subtle swirling in the water as the tea brews; I think it's a really neat effect, and I'm glad that it's one that I get to witness as a result of the glass mug:

Once it brews for a while, both kinds of tea end up resolving into a shade of red:

...And you'll see that by this time, Hoshi has taken Mogwai's place on the windowsill, as Hoshi is wont to do. It's nice outside, so the windows are open today.

From here, we add the honey and cream; the swirls made by the cream were particularly mesmerizing today, and I'm glad I was able to snap a good picture of it for you this time:

...If nothing else, I really wish I could share this part of my day with you. I think you'd like it a lot if you could be here.

Once that was done, J and I took a short walk around where I live. I tried to take a few good pictures for you; it's not much - just some flowers and some ferns in various stages of sprouting, but I hope you'll like these:

After this, J and I watched some Zeta Project together, and that was very nice. And then shortly after that, I went to meet with a friend and her little son at the local nature discovery center. I haven't really had an excuse to go there in a while, so I took some more pictures, just in case there might have been anything you might like...

This is a tree that they just... have. The whole thing and its whole root system is visible for all to see; one of these pictures has a tiny chipmunk statue, if you look hard enough:

I also met two turtles. This one is a common musk turtle; it's very excited about something:

...This one is a painted turtle. This one was perhaps slightly more chill:

...I also found an adorable book full of owl stickers:

...I love owls (especially barn owls!) a lot, but I did not get them. I did not get them, because I cannot be trusted with stickers. Even if I were to put them somewhere, the fact remains that I'm dyspraxic; I WILL put it on wrong, and I will be instantly filled with regret as a result, and then I will try to fix it, and end up destroying the sticker in the process (it's really very sad). And that's even if I make it far enough to the point where I can decide conclusively what I wanna put it on.

Hey, Sephiroth? Do you like stickers? Have you ever had stickers? If you had stickers, what would you get stickers of? And where would you put them? I wonder.

I did, however, get a cardinal plush that I found in the gift shop, in honor of our recently-passed feathered friend, as written about in yesterday's letter. If you squeeze this plush, it makes cardinal sounds:

...Maybe, at least in spirit, the one that died in my hands can live at my house if he wants to, where he can sing to his heart's content without worrying about his safety. My house is a good house; I hope he'd be able to feel the love and joy that permeates this space.

Finally, after that, J and I went to the local food co-op in order to hang with Br. There's a lounge space there and tasty food; so Br was over there doing her homework. It was pretty neat to hang out! J got some kind of hibiscus drink that smelled kind of like cinnamon. For whatever reason, hibiscus and cinnamon are, so far, my least favorite food smells. I don't know why. I know I should like them. I wish I did like them. Alas.

So of course, this meant I had to try it. I'm a little weird like that; sometimes I'll try things that I know I won't like, just for the sake of having the experience, especially if it's a thing that most people enjoy. Or sometimes I'll try things I know I hate, just because I know that my tastes do occasionally change. J felt it necessary to record the whole thing, and it was pretty funny. So here, maybe this will make you laugh:

Oh right. From the co-op, I got all the ingredients I need to make an epic breakfast, and a bunch of other tasty treats, too. I didn't take pictures of it though, because I wanted to leave it as a surprise and make it for you tomorrow! So look forward to it, okay?

...The last bunch of days have been really weird. So today I tried to have a normal day, and I succeeded.

This is all I have for today. It's nothing inspiring or insightful or profound, and... I think I'm pretty relieved about that, actually.

I love you. I'll write all about a good breakfast tomorrow, so please stay safe so you can read about it, okay?

Your friend, Lumine

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dragonsaltartales · 11 months

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(Ashwee belongs to Bunn / @hunnybunnyburrows ! All the info was written by her, art by me, Cheru)

Here's Ashwee! She's laid back, easy going, friendly, but also hot headed and fiery at times. "What you see is what you get" isnt a phrase that works with Ashwee, as looking at her, one would expect a rough neck trouble maker. Leather jacket, intimidating tusks, with a snaggle tooth and all! But you'd be surprised to learn thag Ashwee hasn't even got a parking ticket! She just adores the rock/grudge aesthetic and knows she's cool and likes to look it! She finds Bugsnax interesting and loves messing with them, catching em, or just watching them do their thing. She tried one once and that’s all she cares to ever do (She swears her stomach has never been the same). They love to go about with their camera and Walkgrump, taking pictures of scenery and what she finds interesting, while also being on the hunt for the lastest undiscovered cryptid.

BELONGINGS:

-Grumpboy

-Link cable for said Grumpboy

-Tape Player/Recorder + Headphones

-Camera

-Grumpagotchi

-Very out of character pastel journal with matching pens and chewed up pencils

-Switch blade Comb

-Prized Leather Jacket (She never leaves anywhere without it)

LOVES:

-Cherrly - Ashwee's journalist partner and beloved spouse!! Ashwee meet them while working at GNN and loved their art, and was sure to let them know it! Next thing she knows a coworker is pointing out how Cherrly had been silently following and sketching them for weeks without Ashwee's knowing...and how could anyone not find that adorable and endearing??? They start dating, fell in love, then got hitched. The usual fairy tale romance.

-Floofty - Look, it’s already clear that Ashwee loves em crazy. But in all honesty, Ashwee found them insanely fascinating (if not a little rude)...and easy on the eyes. But Ashwee found herself really enjoying Flooty's passion and, surprisingly, their compassion. They just want to make the world a better place at any cost. Sure it can be a little unhinged but how could anyone not grow to adore that?

-Chandlo - The purest grump she's ever met that wasn't Cherrly. Chandlo is a sweet, welcoming, fun loving guy who has everyone's best interest at heart. The dude believes in you more than you ever will. Like...come on. Bro builds homes for the homeless in his free time. Who doesn't love Chandlo?

-Wambus - Yeah he doesn't talk much and can come off stiff yet polite, but once you get to know the guy he's great! Ashwee enjoys listening to him talk about his garden, how to properly irrigate soil, and even just the weather. Wambus is someone she knows she can just go to when she wants to silently chill and hang. Also dude straight dunks on Chandlo, and threw a grumpus clean across a river. Wambus is a RIOT.

Babycake legs, Instabug, Charmallow - "These guys are the best...look at em go!! Living their best life!"

Eggler - "Aaaawww~"

Wee Mewon - Ashwee ADORES these weird little balls. She has a pet one that’s just a liiiittle more unhinged than the rest. She really looked at one that gave off the energy equivalent to a toddler hopped up on 20 pixie sticks and a whole cold brew and went "Yep that’s the one.”

-Sprout - Sprout!! The best boy!! The MVP!!! She loves this little guy and just how hyped he is to do EVERYTHING!

DISGUST:

None of the crew really disgust Ashwee. She worries for them more than anything. Everyone is going through their own thing and react differently to it. She believes everyone has their reasons and doesn’t like to hold it against em...even if she side eyes em from time to time.

Clumby - Ashwee's superior and the BANE of her existence. Ashwee is normally as chill as it can get but just the sound of Clumby slamming her table is enough to make it feel like a vessel is gonna burst. Ashwee hates how every story she wants to write about the newest and latest findings in the world of cryptozoology is met with mockery and dismissal. And don’t even get her STARTED on her Grumpfoot story.

Banopper, Scoopy, Millimochi - "For the love of gruMP GET IN THE TRAP OR ZONK OFF!!!"

Ribblepede - "I-it has BONES...why is it wiggly??? WHY IS IT SQUISHY I HATE THIS"

FEAR:

Buffalocust - "Why does it look like that? Why does it move like that?? Stay away frOM ME-"

Snaxquatch - "Wait whats tha- nopenopenopenopeNOPENO-!"

#bugsnax #bugsnax oc #ashwee fluffyfoot #grumpsona #snax #DAT art

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ruki--mukami · 1 year

Text

NONSTOP NUT NOVEMBER: DAY 1

Ruki Mukami x Female S/O | NSFW | Day 1: 69

“Make certain you lick me properly down there, Livestock. If you do, then I’ll return the favor in kind.”

Faint traces of vespertine moonlight filtered through the semi-opaque black curtains of Ruki’s bedroom as you laid supine and nude on the bed, backside wriggling up against the silky sheets as his immaculately sculpted body seemingly crafted in the vision of a deity hovered over yours. Everything from the well-endowed length of his erection at full mast, pulsating eagerly between his legs, came into view mere inches above your face. Lowering himself down into your hot cavern, the impressive thickness of his cock made your jaw ache.

Meanwhile, his own visage practically burrowed into your heat, his hands smoothly trailing up and down the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he spread you open for his lips to deliberately target everywhere but your sweet center. Of course, he intended to fluster and tease you further to pull the most salacious of whines from you in those honeyed sounds. Then, simultaneously as he managed to wrench half of himself in your mouth, the Vampire's kisses finally graced the tiny nodule that sent you under siege from pleasure you never felt.

“Ah… Take the whole thing in, or I’ll punish you until the sun rises. Open up your throat… I can’t go all the way in otherwise. Just relax and suck on me the same way I’m doing to you right now,” the Vampire ran a stripe with the flat of his tongue against her cleft alongside a prolonged roll of his hips, deeper in. “Here, you like it when my cock hits the back of your mouth, right? Feel more of me.”

Nearly suffocating you with both the onslaught of kisses and his shaft in which you could taste Ruki's dribbling precum and his comforting musky scent, a rather brutal descent greeted your soft palate, stretching your lips around his every twitch. Fiercely and harboring only a fraction of his vampiric force, yet enough to shame that of any mortal's fornication, he hammered himself inside as if trying to pierce through your skull from the sheer vigor alone.

Upon entry, your throat suffused him with such a captivating warmth, coaxing him to never want to leave your mouth. Although as much as Ruki wished to make a moaning mess of you from the very beginning, curiously enough he halted his movements, completely at a standstill to allow you the freedom of extending your own wet muscle up every delectable inch, delicately sucking the tip. Eventually you sprouted up to meet the base of his cock, earning a low groan from him.

For a while, you surprisingly managed to maintain the steady rhythm of lifting your face to welcome the place that made him shiver in wanton need. Letting his cock hang freely into your oral cavity, erect to the brim and exulting in the warmth that surrounded him, you flickered your tongue and swirled it along the slit with unparalleled aplomb. That is, until Ruki doubled his efforts versus you in a competition to see who could yield the fastest. Wet, squelching noises emitted from your sex as those slender and elongated digits you knew so well indulgently caressed your opening down to your sensitive nub. At this point, any last shred of hope or perseverance evaporated in the blink of an eye, clearly untenable in the face of jolting courses of voltage through your veins to follow afterwards.

After deftly pushing the bud out from its hood, stimulating it with his fingertips until it tingled, engorged, and surged you in the sea of desire, his lips as chill as a midnight gale wrapped around the clitoris to taste you the way he did with your blood. It isn't long before he languidly gyrates his tongue, flicking it upwards in perfect timing with kisses that had your toes curl, your hands clutch the sheets for purchase, and overall made you search for reprieve. If it weren't for his hardness muffling your voice, you would've bellowed his name.

“If only you could see the way your waist quivers towards me, as if your hips move to meet my every kiss. I can tell you want me to please you even further like the greedy livestock you are. Haah, I’ll make you wild for more, then... Hm, someone's enjoying this."

Incessant waves of rapture assailed you as his fingers buried deeper inside, drenched in the nectar of your flower that seemed to shed its own petals abundantly in moderate rivulets rolling down your skin glistening with sweat. Abdomen thrashing back and forth, Ruki's fingertips sought the innermost sensitive part of you. Tempestuous blues clouded in ecstasy, his extremities curled acutely against your walls, knowing exactly with areas to reach better than your own digits possibly could. Delighting in the sensation of arousal cascading out of you, the Vampire withdrew his fingers and kissed goodbye to your clit in one last suckle you unabashedly wished would never end, evinced by the needy moans of complaint you released. It grew increasingly difficult to focus on pleasing his cock when a familiar appendage stealthily penetrated your womanhood. Torrents of euphoria drew your body like a tightened drawstring of a bow as his tongue, agile and dexterous, rammed inside without relent nor mercy.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that. Go ahead and suck me harder then maybe, just maybe, I’ll bite you in that place you love so much. Yes… I’ll give you my fangs there as I take you hard and fast right here,” he gently bit down on her sensitive pearl and growled hoarsely. “Dirty prey like you ought to be thankful I even caress you in such a way. And don’t resist me, either. When I tease you on the inside and on your clit all at the same time, it must feel so good that you’re losing your mind… Is that right? Hah, ah… I finally broke you."

Starved and incredibly parched for a sensation only you could satisfy, Ruki's mouth and tongue feasted on your cleft in fervent strokes. Driving his tongue in and out of your slick heat, he would devour you to every decadent squirm beneath his body, every writhe that proved you belonged to him, helpless and vulnerable. His expert ministrations never once failed to guide you up the stairway of pleasure's apex in an intoxicated stumble, struggling to see beyond the haze of urgent and passionate friction that shied tantalizingly short of what his cock could offer instead. In a ruthless tempo, he alternated between swirling circles around the sensitive bud and then thrusting his tongue once more, beguiling you into wordless groans. Even more so than the usual couplings, his tongue retreated rapidly and in absolute subduing of your whole frame. From how intensely he ravished your center, the tapered ends of his fangs frequently rubbed against your inner folds, almost threatening to draw ambrosia.

“It seems I’ve found an exploitable weakness of yours. You like it best when I pinch this bottom part between my fingers, then insert my tongue as deep as possible in you, and sometimes even playing with them using my fangs, right…? Fuck, your mouth feels so good for me, too… but I want more of you.”

Further exacerbating the imminent release you felt in your groin, the Vampire could no longer keep still. Choking off your breathing with his cock, the sensation alarmed every nerve of your body when you realized air could no longer pass through. Suppressing a gag, sloppy tendrils of saliva rose and fell, emitting the most lewd sounds as Ruki thrusted himself in your mouth slowly and sensually at first, only to accelerate his pace to animalistic degrees. The flood of carnal fulfillment neared the zenith, although Ruki refused to float adrift. In tandem with his punishing strokes, he clamped his lips around your throbbing sex and sucked hard enough to push you off the precipice. Not only slaver, but also transparent droplets of white from the head of his hard member signaled that he, too, was approaching orgasm.

“You’re so obedient the moment I start fucking your face… Haah… That’s it… I determine when you get to breathe. Now clean my cock like the cum-glupping pet you are. ”

When he could sense your arousal surging to an all-time peak, Ruki wasted no time in plunging and lavishing his tongue into your soft aperture with renewed ardor. A frost breath snaked over your skin with each moan of his, thumb cradling your clit in precision with his wet muscle's lascivious maneuvers. The two of you engaged in nerve-thrumming duel, tongues entangling one another's sexes on the verge of climax. Wallowing in your sounds, exulting in your heat from both ends, and savoring the sweetness of your leaking nectar, the Vampire reminded you with every enveloping of his ownership over you, authenticating that you are his and his alone.

“Ahh, your mouth feels amazing stretched around me, I almost can’t take it anymore...! Hah, I’m getting close… Swallow it all or I’ll rend you apart. Do I make myself clear, Livestock...? Cum with me... Let's do it together...! At the same time...! ”

The rapture of your tryst together escalated to a crescendo as Ruki let out one final guttural growl of approval, eyes fluttering shut as he fed you every last drop, every last elongated ribbon of viscous white, deep down your throat in what would've been life-threatening asphyxiation before he hurriedly raised himself out of your mouth. Both of you ascended to the apex of pleasure simultaneously. Allowing you only a brief moment of repose, thanks to his vampiric stamina, the two of you met face-to-face soon enough. The cock that had just preoccupied your hot cavern aligned itself as your sopping entrance, still throbbing and ready to impale despite what transpired.

“Even if you end up climaxing over and over again, I won’t stop pounding into you until dawn. Brace yourself.”

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #dungeon #nonstop nut november #(( i said i would try to do this and now i must live up to my word. ))

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plushii-gutz · 1 year

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Never a better time to type a fanfic while in agonizing pain /hj sorry for the long wait, but a special someone wanted to make art for part 3! ^^ can't thank him enough, it's absolutely adorable! He asked to remain anonymous (and also doesnt have tumblr), but provided a watermark! Stinky_Pinky!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

The kitchen emptied itself of the many monsters. Apart from two, that is.

Attmoz was wiping down the table of its crumbs and sticky residue, a few visible handprints remaining even after its cleansing. Glaishur was cleaning and organizing the dishes he often forgot to attend to, mumbling to himself about how the water left his fur soggy and uncomfortable.

"Children are the most unhygienic creatures," Attmoz joked, "absolute specimens."

"Yeah, but they're cute, so we gotta' keep 'em," Glaishur shrugged

"Where else would they go, anyway? Other than Hornacle, I don't think they'd get very far."

The land these monsters lived on sat in the middle of a vast, everlasting ocean. The island had a sort of mushroom-like shape, curving in the middle and acting like a slide down to the stretched out base, where bits of grass and soil grew whatever life was able to sprout. Blasoom and Scaratar came to the base of the island often, having grown their own plot of grass and few flowers. They created bits of life, even fruits. Apart from their garden, there was nothing but shifting waters as far as the eye can see.

"Well, they are still young-"

Glaishurs words were cut short by the sudden shaking of the walls. The two fell awkwardly silent, looking to finish the cleaning as it began again. Just as it had every day. Their words were muffled, but were still very audible.

"Don't you think you could put in a bit more effort?"

"For what?"

"Come on, we're the ones in charge. It's our job to keep the rest in one piece. I just.. I feel like I'm doing everything."

"This isn't our responsibility, and it shouldn't be either. I'm not watching over monsters that are a year younger than me."

Furnoss grew louder. They always yelled so loudly.

"You know DAMN well I'm not talking about Glaishur or Attmoz - and you know even further that they aren't 'one year younger' either! There's five kids here who aren't even verbal yet. If it isn't our responsibility, then Whose is it? It's not like we can just let them fend for themselves. They'll manage to get themselves killed in seconds!"

"They'll figure it out eventually. We didn't have anyone to guide us."

"And so we shouldn't let THEM have anyone?"

Attmoz motioned for Glaishur to follow, taking him out of the kitchen and to the hallway.

"I don' think they should hear this," Glaishur spoke, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Yeah.. hey, you guys wanna go outside?" Attmoz spoke louder to the rest of the little ones, "Maybe play a bit?"

The excitement of the younger monsters overcame the yelling upstairs. Syncopite led the group outside, Attmoz following behind. Glaishur stood awkwardly, listening in on the argument upstairs.

"Do you understand how fucking difficult this is? Of course you don't! You don't even know which room is which, do you? Galvana takes a whole fucking hour to go to sleep! They're literally the element of energy! You probably didn't even pay attention to that, did you? Oh, or how about the 36 meals I have to make a DAY? How picky each of these little brats can be about what they will and won't touch? Is it so much for you to at least watch over them? Obviously, no one else is capable of that!"

"I do what you can't. I keep them in line. You can't do so much as raise your voice at them."

"Because I feel bad!.. I feel.. awful. They gave up so much.. it wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be fair to."

"And now we live like this," Loodvigg spoke in a chilling voice, "because of it."

Glaishur felt his throat tighten. He couldn't understand the next few words spoken, whether they were muffled due to the distance or the outside cheerful chatter. He was too scared to ask what they meant - what was "it"? Who gave up what? At the same time, he worried about being more of a burden. He knew how stressed out Furnoss was. He knew how little they already thought of him. Furnoss had enough problems. It'd be best to stay out of any more trouble.

"Hey Frosty, you coming?"

"Yeah, sorry!"

The cold monster let the door close behind him, happily walking out to the welcoming sun. The air felt nice, a comfortable warmth from the sun and a gentle breeze provided by Attmoz himself. This actually sparks and idea.

"Hey 'Moz, wanna make it a little more cool?" Glaishur asked, fidgeting his hands already.

"Eh? Oh heck yeah!"

Attmoz crouched down, only to make a quick jump to the air. A thick, fluffy cloud formed, catching the monster who now laid back with his arms crossed behind his head. The clouds surface caved ever to slightly to the monsters weight, hovering above the ground easily. Glaishur rubbed his hands together, flakes of ice falling between his fingers before being shot up into the sky and into the floating surface Attmoz had made. Snowflakes began to fall, covering the ground below in the chilling powder, and soon more snowing clouds covered most of the surface of the island. Even Hornacle had chipped in, adding a thin layer of water to cover the ground, bringing slippery ice to slide on. The stress previously had been mostly forgotten, now pushed from the many monsters' minds as they played in their own little wonderland.

Plixie, Hornacle, and Glaishur piled up enough snow to build a snow-monster, Glaishur using his own frosty friend to act as the head. The icy ground was being used to slide across the land, Vhamp and Blasoom putting on their own performance while Torrt used Glaishurs drums to add a little more energy with music. Syncopite watched uneasily, worried of any injuries that might come with the little monsters carelessness.

"Ah, they can take a few hits," Scaratar reassured, "It's part of the fun!"

Attmoz had a good look of the area, keeping each kid in check to be sure none strayed too far. A count of heads told him that someone was missing..

A sudden *bzzt!* caused the air monster to jump, turning swiftly on his tail. Galvana giggled, standing on top of their own little fort built specifically just to get Attmoz's attention.

"Oh, you think that's funny? You wanna be silly? Is this silly?"

Attmoz lifted the little monster up from the snowy steps, holding them up in the air and over the cloud. Galvana laughed up a storm, kicking their legs and sending small electric sparks from their hands. They weren't too high off the ground, and Galvana certainly trusted Attmoz enough to not drop them. Even if they were to fall, the freshly fallen snow would soften the fall. Of course, no one fell. Instead, Attmoz settled Galvana on the snow pile next to him. Unfortunately, only the air monster was able to rest within the clouds fluff without falling through.

"You're a lil goober, you know that?"

Galvana could only respond with a whistle, though they were visibly happy. Attmoz chuckled, resting his head and watching the electric monster run off to play with the rest. Sitting back and being able to see everyone happy was refreshing, especially Syncopite and Glaishur. He wished Furnoss would join them, but the idea of having to do so much as look in the fire monsters direction made him feel nervous.

Now wasn't the time to worry. It was the present. And it was just that - a gift.

#msm #my singing monsters #fallen stars #fanfiction #msm celestial #Fallen Stars MSM

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naussensei · 1 year

Text

Eruri Teachers AU - The One in Which Levi and Erwin go to a Field Trip

As agreed earlier, the different groups met at the Main Street in front of the Parliament building at lunch time, students and teachers sharing their experiences and making plans for lunch. It was the only real moment of freedom they had, able to walk around freely and choose where and what to eat with, and —Levi hoped— to drink.

After the students had regrouped with their friends, the teachers watched them scatter around the area, advising them not to go too far, as they would meet in about an hour again to continue the tour. Some of them took off instantly, others continued to take pictures with their friends, while most lingered around the main street like stray pups unsure of which road to take. Levi remained there for another minute, trying to decide which need he wished to fulfill first. Rest, eat, smoke, or pee.

“Levi,” he heard Erwin call, and turned to find him browsing in a hotdog stand in a corner of the street.

“Where’s Hange and the rest?” Said Levi, joining him.

“Not sure. They already went for lunch, I think,” said Erwin as he received the two hotdogs he’d just ordered, and thanked the vendor before he handed one to Levi.

Levi’s eyes narrowed at him with suspicion, but accepted the food either way, and followed Erwin across the street and into a park to sit on a bench.

“Thanks for the food… again,” Levi said, staring at his hot dog thoughtfully before taking a bite. “This is no good, I’m getting too used to being well fed by you.”

“I don’t see the problem with that,” Erwin said with a half smile as he took his first bite.

There’s no problem, Levi thought, except for what I’ll do with myself the day you get tired of me.

He shook his head, and saved the thoughts to himself, for there was no use in verbalizing them. He’d never been a man of many words, anyway; actions always spoke louder to him, and so action he would take.

They watched the people come and go into the park, eating mostly in silence, occasionally commenting on the trip so far. The sun was bright above them, warming the first leaves sprouting from the tree tops, a sign that spring was around the corner. And yet a breeze still chilled the air around them, and Levi had to pull up the collar of his trench coat to cut the cold air from his skin.

Just as he did, he felt the weight of a woolen scarf around his neck, and turned to find Erwin wrapping the scarf he had been wearing this whole time around Levi’s head until his face was nothing but eyes; the wool was still warm from Erwin’s body heat, and impregnated with his scent.

“Better?” Erwin said with a smile. It would’ve been the most charming smile Levi had seen from him so far, if it wasn’t for that miserable ketchup stain ruining the glamour of the image.

With his own napkin, Levi reached for Erwin’s face to wipe off the stain, Erwin’s eyes widening at him.

Satisfied by his work, Levi smiled now too. “Better.”

But the longer he looked into Erwin’s eyes, the deeper a feeling of uncertainty unsettled his stomach all of a sudden; the warmth around his neck too overwhelming to handle.

It was as if every time Levi took a step, Erwin always took two steps ahead. Was he doomed to always follow behind like a shadow and never lead? The thought was frustrating.

Levi suddenly rose from his seat.

“Wait here,” he ordered, and left Erwin sitting at the bench while he approached the ice cream stand to fetch a cone for each.

When Levi came back with two cones of ice cream, Erwin’s face lightened up instantly.

“Now we’re even,” said Levi.

“I think I haven’t had ice cream in a cone since I was a child,” he said, accepting the treat with the eagerness of a child trying candy for the first time, eyes glimmering.

“Were you ever a child, though?” Levi chuckled viciously, taking a seat next to him. “I thought you were born an old man.”

Erwin moved closer then, their legs now touching. “Look at you, making actual funny jokes that don’t involve defecation. I think Jean’s humor has rubbed off on you.”

“Fuck off,” Levi leaned on him in protest, although he was smiling, “the brat can be funny sometimes, I’ll give you that.”

Erwin pushed back softly, and they were soon bouncing back and forth, pushing and pulling, ever so naturally, as if they were on the couch of Erwin’s living room. Before he could even think about it, Levi was resting his head on Erwin’s shoulder, one leg resting on Erwin’s lap, and a hand on his chest. Erwin instantly recoiled, stiffening in his seat as he averted his gaze; his reaction reminding them both of where they were.

Levi straightened up in his place, looked around the park, watched the people passing by with hurried steps, many of them couples walking holding hands, some others teenagers in school uniforms, but all of them too busy to mind them, to Levi’s relief.

“Sorry,” said Levi, clearing his throat before he resumed eating his ice cream, now melting in his hand; the white viscous liquid dripping from his hand.

He licked his fingers thoroughly, making sure he didn’t get any of it on his clothes —it was already his second change of clothes that day—. He was about to look for a tissue in his pocket when Erwin’s hand latched onto his wrist to pull him closer. Their gazes met, and for a moment Levi feared their lips would meet, too. But Erwin’s mouth went to his hand, and Levi watched Erwin’s tongue run up and down his dripping fingers. His jaw dropped, both excited and horrified by the scene.

Erwin stared at him with hungry eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he licked his lips , pupils dilated. It was only a second, but it was enough to make Levi’s stomach drop and his face burn red. Erwin seemed to realize this, and was now searching for a tissue in his pocket to hand it over to Levi.

“Now we’re even,” he said with a faint smile.

“That’s hardly being ‘even’, Erwin.” Levi huffed in frustration, bringing his free hand to his face. But his frustration came not from an unfulfilled carnal need, it was something else he couldn’t quite grasp. Once again, no matter what he did, for every step Levi took, Erwin had already taken another two.

That’s when Levi realized that actions wouldn’t suffice. Not with someone like Erwin. He was going to lose him, and the thought weighed on him more than Levi had ever imagined, for in order to lose something, one must first own it, and Erwin’s was never his to begin with.

“Erwin—“ he began, but before he could even put his thoughts into words, Erwin’s phone rang in his pocket with a call from Hange.

Levi watched him pick the call, his anxiety spiraling as he took a moment to reflect on the words he was about to say, words he wasn’t even aware of until that very moment.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34050205/chapters/117758536

#eruri #erwin x levi #eruri fanfic #Teacher Levi #Teacher Erwin

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litgwritersroom · 2 years

Text

Yesterday

S1 | Tim/MC | 5500+ words | @mrsbsmooth

After Love Island, Tim really has it all; the career; the money; any girl in the world he wants ... well, maybe except one. Not that he cares, he definitely doesn't care.

Tim pulled the BMW into the studio parking lot, and threw it in park the tiniest bit too early, drawing a grinding, crunching noise from the engine.

“Whoops,” he muttered, as he grabbed his cap, scrambling out of the car. He left it parked slightly askew, knowing no one would trouble him about it. Not that he’d be bothered if they did.

His music switched from his car to his headphones, and he pulled them over his ears as he walked down the long, winding pathway and into the oversized glass building. He skipped through the samples he’d been sent, and yet again, nothing caught his interest.

None of the hooks were right. Or the pacing was off. Or the vibe… it just… it wasn’t…

He sighed. He was only about twenty minutes late for the meeting. On time, really, considering how irregularly he even remembered they were on.

But Talia probably wouldn’t mind. Probably.

Talia had taken over as his manager when they left the villa, mostly because she knew the industry and Tim didn’t. And she was a very good manager. A great manager. Didn’t take shit from anyone. Didn’t seem to care if he was late for meetings with the studio execs.

Except she’d been messaging him all morning.

Talia: Where the fuck are you holy shit

Talia: Get here NOW!!!!!!!

Talia: You are so fucked

Tim grimaced as he jogged up to the lift.

Timye: mate im almost there chill out

He watched the three dots appear and disappear multiple times, as he walked towards the conference room he always met the execs in. Pushing open the glass door, head bowed down as his attention went back to his phone, he was already sprouting out an measly excuse to his lateness.

“Sorry, mates, had a bit of car trouble and I–”

He’d looked up and his heart sank into his stomach, catching sight of the jet black hair and poisoned stare that he’d hoped to never encounter again.

Chelle.

“What’s she doing here?” He asked loudly to the room of people whose names he couldn’t be arsed to remember.

Chelle rolled her eyes. “She just got signed to this label.”

Tim turned to the execs, his eyes finding the only one he remembered. “Nicky, you signed her? Seriously? Come on! I’m like, your biggest client!”

Nicky raised his eyebrow, frowning at Tim. “Well, we were going to discuss it at the last meeting… but you weren’t present.”

Tim frowned, taking his seat next to Talia. “I’m not happy about this.”

“Well,” Talia raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be a whole lot less happy once they tell you why you’re both in the same room right now.”

And boy, was she right.

“Nope, not happening.” He shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Tim, you don’t exactly have a choice in the matter,” Nicky frowned. “You haven’t released any music in six months. You told us you’d have something done by February, and it’s March. We need a summer album release, and Chelle has assured us she can make it happen.”

“I can make it happen without her help.” Tim sneered, but Nicky just shook his head.

“Your reassurances won’t cut it anymore, we want something we can actually work with.”

Every fibre of his body was shaking with rage, yet the only sound that escaped him was a laugh. It was the sort of derisive sneer that could match one of Allegra’s, but he felt he’d outdone her with that one.

“Typical,” he said, the word coming out with the unhinging of his jaw.

“What was that, Big T?” Chelle spat. Her fingernails drummed across the table at her impatience with him. Nothing new then. “If you’ve got something to say, why don’t you say it with your full chest, big man?”

He spun to look at her directly, finally looking her in the eye. The fire behind her brown iris matched the flames behind his own. “Fuck you, Chelle,” he said, barely managing to get it out through gritted teeth. “How’s that for saying it with my chest?

She replied with a short burst of humourless laughter, before cooing at him, “Aww, poor Tim. Is someone making you do work? Boohoo.” She leant forward in her chair towards him. “Let me play you a sad song on the world’s smallest violin.”

“Alright, that’s enough, you two,” Nicky intervened again. He was pointing between the pair of them like he was giving a stern talking to some naughty school kids. “You’re working together. That is final. Now grow up, and get to work. We expect to see some progress by the end of the week.”

Tim’s gaze was hot on Chelle’s and hers right back at him. He left the meeting in stony silence.

Tim was lying on his couch, feet on the coffee table that was strewn with ripped magazines and scrunched up beer cans from the night before, losing to Mason 3-0 in FIFA. The roll up was in the ashtray, smoky tendrils filling the room, mixing with the stale smell of the room.

“My fuckin’ controller’s acting up.”

“That’s the exact sort of bollocks a Toby would say.”

“Gretchen, stop trying to make ‘Toby’ happen,” Tim whined, not taking his eyes from the TV for a second, as he snapped back at Mason.

An intense encounter had them both too distracted to do anything more than purse their lips and mutter out some self encouragement.

He was mid play, eyes pinned to the telly, when the lift dinged. He ignored the noise, ignored the two steps of Talia’s heels entering the open living room, the sharp clang of those pinpoint heels unmistakable on his expensive and cold floor.

Hard to ignore though, was the piercing way his name ripped from her lips. “Tim.”

She sounded like his mum. Now wasn’t the time to take his eyes from the TV, so he kept on playing, replying back in the same tone. “Talia.”

He heard her sighing heavily and made no comment on it. “I came to check on you and ask about the samples Chelle sent you today?”

At the mention of her name, his brows furrowed and his stomach twisted into a knot. “Yeah, I got them.”

He offered nothing more. The silence lingered as Talia waited, only ending up disappointing herself as he stayed quiet.

“And did you listen to them?”

It bothered him that the clear frustration in her tone was so directly and responsibly at him, with him. The knot in his belly only doubled, cinching his own frustrations even tighter.

“Why would I?” He replied, his mind wandering further and further from the game. Mason just scored, assaulting the air with a jovial pump of his fist. Tim just scowled even harder. “Just tell her they’re shit and send them back.”

As the screen cut to black before showing a replay of Mason’s goal, Tim saw a flash of Talia’s own scowl being directed at the back of his head in the reflection of the telly.

It was followed by the storming of her heels on the hard flooring. Crossing the room to the TV, she heartlessly ripped the power cord out of the back of the Playstation, sternly maintaining her silence over Tim and Mason’s loud protests.

Mason was very much forgotten about as Talia rounded on Tim, finger wagging at him as she slowly and surely closed the distance between them. “You’re not a fucking soundcloud rapper any more, Tim. You have a record deal. And you need to put something on that record if you want to keep it.”

Mason waved over at Tim. “He’s a number one selling artist. Lad’s entitled to a break if he wants it -”

“He isn’t meant to be on a break right now, this is meant to be when he’s working on something like he promised!”

Shaking his head, Mason stood, cracking his knuckles. “Pfft, man, if Talia’s about to pitch a fit, I’m out.”

Talia glared at him, as Tim tried his best not to laugh. He reached out, slapping Mason’s hand as a farewell on Mason’s way to the lift. He turned to Talia, and sighed heavily, lamenting the silence he was about to break.

“Ok, go ahead.”

“Don’t.” Talia said it with such heavy exhaustion, her eyes shutting alongside her weariness. She groaned in frustration, her eyes suddenly snapping open again as she continued, “Don’t fucking do that!”

“Do what?”

She threw her hands up around her head. “Every time I try to talk to you about it, you just make me feel like I’m lecturing you!”

“...But you are lecturing me.”

“You’re almost twenty-five, I shouldn’t fucking have to!” She pointed at him, the warning evident in her tone and bony finger. “I’m trying to fucking help you, Tim. You can’t just sit here and smoke your way to another number one!”

Tim looked away, and this time it wasn’t because he was pretending there was something more interesting. The knots in his stomach from earlier reached up to his chest, tightening beneath his ribs, squeezing him until he couldn’t breathe. But he could. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, his jaw unclenched.

His eyes were drawn to his phone screen flashing with another new notification on the table. Like always, another came through, and another notification after another notification. Text after text after text after fucking text from those who couldn’t get enough of him now that he was famous.

That’s all anyone ever wanted from him these days. A slice of the high life, a sliver of fame that came with knowing him. Ever since the show, they had gotten only more obvious; as his fame reached peak after peak, it only attracted more of the buzzards.

A cushion connected with his head, spearing him out of his slump. He blinked up at Talia as she demanded, “Pay attention to me!”

“I don’t wanna.” He sulked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, then you should’ve hired someone you hated.”

“I did.” He teased, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, making sure she laughed. She did, tackling him and armed with more cushions. She hit him with them until he felt his bad mood lifting, and started smacking her back. All of a sudden, Talia dropped her weapons and wrapped him in a bear hug.

He settled against Talia, resting his head on her arm. The moment was still, like a single drop of clarity. He sighed heartily, realising that out of everyone and everything in his life right now, the only thing he wouldn’t dream about changing was Talia.

“Thanks for coming round, Tar,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I’m a shit.”

Poking his chin with a finger, she spun his head so he had no choice but to look at her. “Talk to me, dude. This can’t just be about Chelle. This has been going on since before you saw her the other day. I hate to say it, but someone’s got to. You’ve been off your game for way longer than this.”

“Oi, I’m not off my game?” He frowned at her, a little offended. A part of him knew she had a point, but she didn’t have to say it out loud.

She quirked a brow up at him. “Oh yeah? Is that why you’re pretending her samples are going to be shit?”

He scowled. Her tone was much gentler as she prodded him with her next words. “Or is it ‘cause you know they’re probably amazing, and that means you have to acknowledge the problem is you?”

Tim sat up, his limbs stiff and his movements awkward. He stared ahead at the black TV screen, his reflection a mush of something only vaguely reflective of being a person. Of being him. His expression hardened and he looked away. “I don’t have a fucking problem. She’s the problem. Not me.”

Exasperatedly, Talia asked, “Have you written anything in the last six months? A single word?”

Tim got to his feet. He stalked away from Talia, his back to her, holding his body rigidly.

“Fuck off.” It wasn’t rude necessarily, just the sort of dismissive banter Talia had probably come to expect from him. It was meant to say ‘stop’, it was meant to mean ‘you’re pushing too much’. But it meant more than that to her.

“No, you fuck off. I knew you were having trouble. I knew it. Just tell me what’s wrong!? I can probably help!”

“Just fucking leave it, Talia!” he yelled. “Just go. Go away.”

“No! Tim, you can’t just tell people to leave whenever the conversation gets hard!”

He whipped his head up to Talia. She did not just fucking say that. He raised his voice even louder. “Seriously, just get off my fucking case!”

He pulled his shoes on, and threw on a baseball cap, pulling it low over his face. All the while Talia was at his back, a single decibel shy of losing her shit completely.

Tim just grabbed his keys, and walked out the door. Talia was the only person he had left who would tell him the truth.

But right now, the truth fucking hurt.

He got out on the second floor, making his way to the fire stairs at the end of the hallway, and pushed the door open. The staff always left the alarm off for him, so he wouldn’t have to face the paparazzi who constantly waited for him at the front of his building; eager to see which model or socialite or soprano was the most recent to grace the expensive linen sheets on his bed.

It was colder than he expected, though he supposed it was March. He pulled his hood up over his cap, covering as much of his face as he could, as he made his way around the back streets.

He missed home. He missed feeling like somewhere was home. Everyone knew him in Truro, so he couldn’t blend in there. Even here, in London, he couldn’t find peace. He couldn’t find a single place where he could just… exist. Just be. Be him.

Even now, as he walked down a side street of a city with 8 million people, he was getting sideways glances from waiters smoking cigarettes. Whispering to each other in a language he didn’t understand, but even so, he knew what they were saying. Because he heard the words every time.

Something, something, something, “Big T.”

So he’d just pull his cap down lower, find a different side street to pace up and down, trying desperately just to get out of his own fucking way.

The deadline was looming over him like a noose around his neck.

He didn’t want to do it again.

He didn’t want to be number one any more.

He didn’t want to be bringing home models, spending every weekend at whatever party the record label deemed ‘insta-worthy’ enough for him to have to attend. Have his entire life curated for him.

He didn’t even write his own fucking raps. He’d submit his lyrics, and they’d come back with ‘suggestions’ that shredded his words and replaced them with the marketable version. Sometimes, he’d get to pick a title.

God, he was just so fucking tired of it.

His feet were the only thing he could focus on, as he nodded his head to the pounding rhythm of them hitting the pavement. He put his headphones on, and tried scrolling through the relentless list of new music he was supposed to be keeping up to date with. But he couldn’t even get through a single song. It was too much for him.

It was all just so fucking fake. Like a pulse on a corpse, it was lifeless.

So he switched to the Beatles; the familiar melodies making him feel like he was back in Truro, on the bus, listening to the entire discography through a shared pair of earphones with…

Fuck.

He leaned against the wall in the empty alleyway, lifting his face toward the little sunlight that managed to broker through the dull, grey clouds. Looking at those rays of sunshine, he swallowed hard, wishing he could bask in the glory of the sun’s efforts, but the clouds were too many, the grey had blackened the sky too much.

Talia was right. She always was. He hadn’t written anything in months.

He wasn’t sure he even knew how any more. The record label didn’t care about what he had to say anyway. They only cared about whether or not it would sell.

Tim looked back down at his phone, his eyes hovering over his email app, the four-figure notification counter making him want to throw it across the alleyway and smash it to pieces.

But something made him tap the icon instead.

The very first name he saw sent his heart into his chest again.

Michelle Masika

Subject: Sample.

His finger hovered over the attachment, but before he had a chance to press it, his phone rang.

Chelle’s name and picture blared onto his screen, consuming everything, halting the never ending notifications and the incessant feeling of not doing enough in his stomach.

He wondered how she got his number. Was it someone at the record company, Talia, or had she been like him, and still had it saved all these years later?

He declined the call, and opened the contact record to look at the picture more closely.

He must’ve forgotten to delete it when they broke up. It was them, in the early days. Wrapped in Christmas scarves and matching goofy woollen hats. He’d taken the picture right as they’d burst out laughing.

It’d been a long time since someone had properly made him laugh. He used to. This photo showing up was almost spiteful, after everything they’d gone through. All the daggers she’d throw his way nowadays would never erase the look of love she held in the photographs.

His phone buzzed again in his hand, and her name flashed up once more. She knew he’d declined it.

Tim rolled his eyes as he hit the green button.

“What?” His voice was flat, empty, direct.

She scoffed. “God, you’re fucking rude.”

“What do you want, Chelle?”

“Come to the studio.”

“Why?”

“Just come, Tim,” she asked, exasperated, like she was pleading with a petulant child. She was softer as she said, “It’s worth it. Trust me.”

Earlier than he’d expected to, Tim pulled the BMW into the studio lot. He parked more slowly this time around, the amount of care in getting the spot perfect having absolutely nothing to do with the fact he was a little nervous to be in a room alone with her.

He walked down the dark corridor, doing his best not to engage with any of the staff. They busied on, making it clear that he really wasn’t all that special. Something he’d long since felt inside himself anyway.

He pushed open the studio door to the booth he knew Chelle would be working in, and sat down at the table inside, content to mind his own business and hopeful that it would interrupt her work to fetch him.

Chelle bustled around at the panels. She held up a finger when he entered, telling him to wait. Tim rolled his eyes. After a few minutes, she pulled her headphones off and made her way over, sitting down at the table across from him.

But she said nothing.

She just looked at him, and he looked blankly back at her. Eventually Chelle raised an eyebrow.

“So if I know you, you haven’t listened to it out of spite.”

Tim just shrugged his shoulders. He glanced up, and found Chelle’s dark eyes studying him the same way they always had.

But she said nothing.

Chelle always had a way about her. A quietness. It’d always been one of the things he loved most about her when they were together. The way she’d just exist with him, while he closed his eyes and worked through whatever it was he was trying to figure out in his head. She’d slip her hand into his, and squeeze it tight, silently telling him she’d wait forever, until he was ready to talk.

He’d never felt as safe as he had when he was with her.

But the silence between them now just hurt. So he broke it.

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

“What happened?” She asked, her voice soft, almost as if it was painful to see him like this. “I thought this was what you wanted?”

There was a long pause that was weighed down with gloom. He pictured the sky outside encasing that last drop of sun. “It’s not that simple.”

“Enlighten me then, Tim.”

“Forget it,” he shrugged. “It’s fuckin’ dumb.”

Chelle folded her arms on the table in front of her. “I’m not going anywhere. Tell me. If you can’t tell Talia, you can’t tell your mates, tell me. Of everyone in the world, you know I’m the last person who’d speak to the media.”

Tim glared at her. “Whatever I thought I knew about you, I was wrong.”

He watched the faltering in her face as Chelle’s eyes dropped to the table, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

And the silence returned.

They sat like that for a while, neither of them wanting to start, but silently begging the other not to let it go.

Tim heard her breath catch a few times, and he almost spoke, too.

“You know why I did it,” she whispered. Her voice was quiet. Shaky, but determined. Again, he marvelled at the self-assurance that never wavered within her, the perfect mirror to the crumbled sense of his own self-worth.

Shaking his head, his lips were pursed in a thin line. “No. I still don’t,” he spat. “We fought, I woke up, and you were fucking gone. Just gone.”

Her breathing hitched, catching in her chest.

She stared him down. “You know why.”

Every word was punctuated with its own seething menace.

“Because you got cold feet,” he said, throwing the harsh words in a soft tone, letting them brew in derision.

“Tim, we were twenty-two.” Her brows knitted together, her mouth pulled into a grimace of some desperation. “Twenty-two is too young to get married.”

The air conditioning must have switched on, because the room suddenly felt icy. He pressed his nails into the palms of his hands, the mild pain of it a welcome distraction from the pain that he could taste at the back of his throat.

“It wasn’t too young for me,” he whispered.

It was just as raw as when she’d turned him down. The look of panic on her face. The fear.

It still hurt. It hurt so much.

“We could’ve talked about it,” she said. “But you were so angry when I said it was too soon, and you just…”

“... Talked about it?” One half of his face screwed up as he met her gaze again. “You didn’t exactly make it easy for me to talk to you about it?”

She looked like she was about to cry. “I wasn’t the one screaming.”

“Chelle, you left.”

“You told me to.”

“You were supposed to stay.”

“You were supposed to come after me.”

The silence that fell was the loudest he’d ever heard. He was hanging on by a mere thought.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

His voice rattled like the front door had that morning; the very first thing he heard before his life slowly began falling apart.

He could see it as if it was right in front of him. The door of their old place, with its cracked window pane and slightly-loose handle. But try as he might, he’d never be able to reach it; he’d never turn the handle and follow her out into the freezing morning.

Because he never did. Never even thought to do it until now.

And it all felt so obvious.

“I was so scared, Tim. You were just starting out, and the parties were starting to get more and more frequent, and I just… I was so scared. That you were just going to get sick of being tied down, and would want to go off and be–”

“--Be what? Be a fuckin’ celebrity?”

The sudden volume of his voice surprised him almost as much as it surprised her.

“I dunno, you went on fucking Love Island. People don’t generally go on that to keep a low profile, Big T.”

He clenched his fist, and gritted his teeth.

“I didn’t go on the show to become a fucking celebrity. I wanted to be able to make music full time. The celebrity part of it is the part I fucking hate. The parties I go to, the people I hang out with, the music, the lyrics, none of it’s me. It’s all fake.”

“And I suppose the millions of dollars and endless stream of women is fake, too?” She spat.

The silence resumed, much more tense than before.

“Chelle, after you left, I lost every bit of motivation I had. I just did whatever they told me to do. I haven’t written anything worth releasing in years, Chelle. The stuff I release is completely made for me. This… the shit I’ve been doing? It’s not music. It’s a fuckin’ lie.”

He looked up at her, and saw something in her dark eyes that he hadn’t seen from anyone in a long, long time.

Care.

And not just for sales. Not for what they could get from him.

For him.

“I know.”

She took a deep breath, glancing down at her own hands.

“I know you used to rap about cars and bitches for fun in the shower. But I also know that that wasn’t what you wrote when it actually came down to the wire. I remember being on the receiving end of your frantic phone calls before your phone died. The ones after your walks?”

Tim smiled a little. “Yeah, ‘cause I knew I wouldn’t be able to write it down fast enough before I forgot it.”

Chelle chuckled slightly. “And you made me put it on speaker, and we used the voice to text on my laptop to try and dictate it all?”

He couldn’t help but smile a little wider at that. “And it always ended up recording the words wrong, and we’d be up until 2am pissing ourselves laughing and trying to remember what it was supposed to say?”

Chelle’s eyes were big, sparkling with the passion that used to light up his entire universe. “Tim… that shit you used to write… it was fucking poetry. It was beautiful.”

Tim blew a raspberry, scoffing slightly. “Whatever.”

“Tim,” Chelle reached across the table for his hand, but he didn’t move to meet hers. She placed her hand on his forearm instead, squeezing it gently. “It’s why I’m here.”

He furrowed his brow at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re everywhere, now. Every time I turn on the radio they’re playing your songs. Every time I turn on the TV it’s an interview with Big T, talking about your creative process and your inspirations. Every billboard, every conversation, every kid with their headphones on too loud… It’s your music. But not one fucking bar of it is you.”

His shoulders tensed defensively,

“So, what, you’re just here to help me? The giant paycheck doesn’t appeal to you whatsoever?”

She raised her eyebrows. “They didn’t tell you?”

He furrowed his in return. “Tell me what?”

Chelle laughed. “I get paid a percentage. Nothing upfront. Me getting paid depends on how well your album does.”

Tim furrowed his brow in confusion. He couldn’t wrap his head around why the fuck she would do that. She hated him. She’d screamed it at him with her gaze the second he’d walked into the conference room. “So… wait. You want me to do all my own raps? And try and make it a number one?”

Chelle let her head drop to the table with a dramatic groan. “Tim, you are seriously not getting this. I don’t care if it’s a number one. I just want to watch an interview where you actually believe a single word of what you’re saying.”

And like that, the silence returned. The air conditioning sending a chill through his skin. It must’ve done for her, too, because she shivered. He sighed, and pulled his jacket off, handing it to her like he’d done a million times before. Chelle looked a little surprised, but she took it, slipping her arms into the sleeves and pulling it around her.

He tried to stare at literally anything else in the room except the sight of her in his jacket, knowing what it would do to his heart if he let himself look.

He blew another raspberry. “Alright. Fine. I’ll listen to your fuckin’ track.”

Chelle nervously stood, walking over to the sound board. She passed him a pair of headphones, and gently slipped her own on, but said absolutely nothing. The imaginary noose around his neck tightened as he slipped the headphones on. What if he couldn’t think of anything? What if even her music wasn’t enough?

What if he really was completely fucking broken?

As if sensing his anxiety, Chelle reached for his hand.

And this time, he gave it to her.

As his fingers brushed against hers, he was worried she’d be able to feel his heart racing through his palms. But the familiar weight of her hand in his flooded him with a reassuring wash of calm that lifted the world from his shoulders.

How did she still have this effect on him?

A deep, low drum beat started. A slow, low-fi synth curled through his body, and every inch of his skin blazed with goosebumps. His lips parted slightly, as the deep melody started. There was something so familiar about it. He started humming along to the melody, trying to place it, and the words started forming in his head.

Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be,

There's a shadow hanging over me,

Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say.

I said something wrong now I long for Yesterday.

Tim turned to Chelle to comment on it, but stopped.

She was biting the inside of her lip, nervously shuddering despite his thick jacket wrapped around her. And God, did she look beautiful in it.

Her dark eyes were looking up into his, a little glassy, almost as if the song meant as much to her as it did to him. The beautiful synth beat was filling him with something he hadn’t felt in years.

Words.

But in that particular moment, there wasn’t a single one of them he wanted to use.

With the smallest movement, he turned his body to hers, and dropped her hand, curling it inside the warm fabric of his jacket, and around her waist. Chelle’s eyes fluttered closed as she tilted her head back.

And he kissed her.

He kissed her for what felt like decades. Lifetimes. Whatever was longest. And it was freeing, like everything was falling back into place. Every muscle in his body relaxed as he melted into her, her body falling into his hands as he pulled her closer. The world was righting itself, jolted back onto its course. The feel of her waist under his hands. The warm flick of her tongue as she stroked her fingers through his hair. The way her lips felt on his, music pulsing through their ears, just like they did on the bus, back when everything was easy. Back when everything made sense.

It had never occurred to him before that it wasn’t Truro that made him feel like this.

It was her.

As they broke apart, he pushed her headphones down to hang around her shoulders. She pulled his off as well, and he pressed another kiss to her lips. He rested his forehead on hers briefly, completely incapable of stopping the smile that was wrestling the corners of his cheeks. He took a step back, letting the smile win, as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never should’ve left. I–”

“--Shh,” he laughed, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his lips into her braids.

He pulled back from her, kissing her once again, then turned and walked toward the recording booth.

She shot him a confused, playful look, and he winked at her.

“I reckon I’ve got something for this.”

Chelle broke out in a wide smile, dropping her eyes, as he stepped in to the booth.

He had something alright. He had everything. The amount of words he had in that moment were almost overwhelming him.

But he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to forget these ones.

#litg #litg fanfics #litg writers room #writers room #litg fanfic #love island the game #character spotlight #litg tim #tim spotlight

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