I Love Non-sexual Intimacy And Astarion Having No Bloody Idea How To Handle It, So Of Course I Couldn't

i love non-sexual intimacy and astarion having no bloody idea how to handle it, so of course i couldn't resist writing 3000+ words about it. enjoy!

let the pulses run (astarion x gender neutral!reader, baldur's gate 3)

Astarion waits for it. Expects it.

A beseeching glance, a teasing smile, a flirtatious remark. Hells, even an outright proposition - he can’t quite imagine you pulling it off, but at least it would be something familiar.

And yet - nothing.

Well, he amends as you settle beside him before the campfire, perhaps not nothing.

“How is it?” you ask, a solemn slope to your brow as you take in the wound on his arm. A lucky shot from a rather unlucky goblin, who’d received your rapier to the gut for his troubles.

“Oh, this?” He raises his arm, nonchalant. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. “Barely a scratch, darling.”

Your brows furrow. Liar, they say.

“You’ll need blood.” You take a second glance at his arm and grimace. The scent of iron clings to the air. “A lot of it.”

Astarion tilts his head, allows a few silver curls to fall artfully across his brow. You track the movement, though your gaze is quick to dart back to his own. He fights a smirk and loses. “Astute, aren’t you? Yes, I’m afraid I’ll need to do more than my usual share of feeding tonight to fix this mess.”

You say nothing in response, not at first. He wonders if you’ll actually say it, or if you’ll hem and haw yourself to death trying to free the words from your tongue.

“If you truly have need of it,” you begin, reaching up to touch your fingertips to your throat. The mark from his first feeding had long since faded, but you remembered where his fangs had struck.

“How generous!” Astarion exclaims, a little touched despite himself. It took a certain amount of fortitude to offer yourself to a hungry vampire, after all. “If you’re certain - “

You don’t answer with words, merely tilting your head and baring your throat to him. Astarion longs to draw out the suspense, tease you with the anticipation of his bite, but that furrow hasn’t left your brow and he finds himself unwilling to add to your worries. Besides, his body cries out for the meal you’ve so graciously offered, practically rejoicing as he lowers his mouth to your throat.

There’s a certain… intimacy to be had during the act of feeding, he’s learned. Not so much in the bite itself, but in the aftermath: the pull of precious blood, the quickening of a pulse, the flush of warm, living flesh.

Astarion has never felt the like, not until he first drew blood from you. To know that this is what he had been missing for all the centuries he’d spent feeding on vermin makes his hatred for Cazador climb higher, though he pushes thoughts of his former master far from his mind before they can truly take root. He will not think of his tormentor here, not with you.

You draw in a breath; it sticks in your throat, your pulse beating like a drum in the back of Astarion’s brain. He can smell your skin, the sweat and blood from your latest battle mingling with the scent of sweetgrass and rainwater, the scent of you, light and sweet against the back of his tongue.

He can smell more than that. Unease and pain cling to you like a film while he feeds, but beneath that, clinging to your flesh like a limpet, he finds what he’s been searching for - the familiar musk of arousal.

Well, then, he thinks victoriously, feeling a shiver work down his spine as your blood coats the back of his tongue. There’s all the proof I need.

He had wondered if your lack of amorous advances had been due to disinterest, but no. The body doesn’t lie, and yours was basically singing, crying out its need with increasing frequency the longer his fangs remained buried in your throat.

So then why? Why did you flit away from his advances like a rabbit evading a predator? He knew what you wanted and had no qualms about giving it to you. It would cement your trust in him, bolster your growing bond. Your union would be advantageous to you both.

He’s so consumed by his thoughts that he doesn’t notice your hand moving until it’s braced against the back of his neck, your palm warm against his skin. He waits for your signal to move away, hungrily swallowing another mouthful of your sweet blood in case it happens to be his last, but all you do is reach for the riot of curls at his nape and pass your fingers gently through them. Once, twice more, until you’ve built up a steady rhythm.

It feels… well, it feels rather nice, actually. It’s far from the first time someone has ever run their fingers through his hair, and yet your touch feels… lighter in comparison, unweighted by sensual delight or a precursor for greedy lust. You’re not touching him in anticipation for more - you’re just… touching him.

It confuses him so greatly that Astarion finds himself pulling away before he’d truly wished to, feeling more than a little bereft when your fingers slip from his hair and land, half-curled still, in your lap.

“That will do, darling,” he mumbles, pushing himself to his feet. It’s a good thing the blood loss has dazed you somewhat, or else your eagle eyes would have quickly taken notice of the bewildered expression upon his face. “A boar or two will more than suffice for the rest. You should sleep, while you’re able.” His nose wrinkles, and he can’t help himself from adding, “But perhaps bathe first.”

Your eyes narrow at the thinly-veiled insult, but you push yourself clumsily to your feet and head for the river flowing near camp. “Keep your eyes about you while you hunt,” you call to him over your shoulder. “There may still be goblins about.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that goblins - and hunting, for that matter - are among the last things on his mind. He merely watches you walk away, his fingers creeping to the thatch of curls you had so gently carded through, and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do with you now.

Your growing affection for him remains more than apparent as the days pass. You’re devoted to finding a cure for the parasites that writhe within your minds and playing savior for everyone you meet along the way, but in the moments between - slivers of time carved out for rest and respite - you gravitate toward Astarion, leaving the vampire torn between petty satisfaction and growing confusion, because you simply refuse to acknowledge his increasingly thinly-veiled offers to fuck you.

It’s ridiculous. Madness, really. The number of conquests under his belt had grown too numerous for Astarion to recall, his expertise in the art of seduction unmatched, and yet you remained unmoved by his every attempt. Oh, you would flush, your eyes would flit about as though you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, your body itself would sway towards his like a tree bough rocked by the wind, but still you would play at ambivalency.

Astarion might be inclined to believe himself incorrect - a rarity, to be sure, but stranger things have happened; that your reaction to his bite was merely a result of the intimacy of the act rather than any true desire you might hold for him, and yet your behavior afterwards serves to lay that theory quite soundly to rest.

You’ve become quite… tactile, with him, as of late. A bracing hand on his shoulder whenever an enemy’s attack knocks him off his guard, elbows brushing whenever you’re gathered near the campfire, even a rather memorable moment where you’d brushed his curls free of his brow late in the night, your hand hovering in the air between you and a bewildered expression writ across your face, as though shocked that you’d actually done it.

It’s driving Astarion mad, wondering what could possibly be going on inside that skull of yours. The thought of tapping in to the tadpole’s power just to catch a glimpse passes swiftly through his mind, but to his eternal chagrin, knowing somehow feels more daunting.

Besides, he’s… curious. Curious as to what you’ll do next and how he may react to it, and so he doesn’t ask you to stop. You would, if only he were to indicate a dislike of your touch, and yet to do so would prove the vampire a liar, for he finds that he actually quite enjoys the fleeting brush of your fingertips across his brow, or the firm, comforting weight of your shoulder against his.

Gods, what has he gotten himself into?

He ponders his plight late into the night, until his eyes slip closed and he’s confronted by another new pressing issue - nightmares of his former life and dear old master, memories of previous torments and casual cruelties assaulting his mind from every front.

Astarion twists upon his bedroll, fingers spasming atop his chest as Cazador flits through his mind like a phantom. Sweat beads on his temples, leaving his curls damp. Fear bubbles through his blood like some molten creature.

“Astarion.”

He awakens with a shout, his dreams clinging to his mind for another awful moment before their claws finally release him. You’re the first thing he notices as soon as he’s set himself to rights, kneeling by his bedside with a discomfited expression upon your face. It had been your voice, then - yours, not Cazador’s - that had called out to him, broken him free of his agony.

His lips try to twist into their customary smirk, but fall short of the goal and tremble instead. He presses them into a firm line. “Apologies, my love,” he murmurs, grimacing at the drying sweat along his brow. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head. “I had first watch,” you explain. Your hand twitches at your side. You want to touch him, he realizes. Reassure him. By the gods, with the way he’s feeling right now, Astarion might actually let you do it. “Are you alright?”

“Wonderful,” he bites out, reaching up to push sweaty curls free of his brow only to find that you've beaten him to it, your fingertips callused and blessedly cool against his skin. The urge to swoon like a damned maiden is nearly overwhelming, and yet Astarion resists, only allowing himself the luxury of closing his eyes and indulging in your touch for a few brief moments.

“Nightmare?” Your voice is low, dreadfully soothing. Keep talking, he thinks, pushing his brow into your palm. Don’t make me do it.

He hums in the affirmative. Your fingers drift to the crown of his head, smooth through the flattened curls at the base of his skull, and rest there, holding him.

“Cazador?” The name sounds like a curse on your lips, and might as well be for all the vitriol you spew it with.

Astarion’s lips twitch. It shouldn’t thrill him, the ire you hold for a man you’ve never met, but he knows it’s there simply because its bearer has caused him harm. You’re protective of those you hold dear.

“The one and the same,” he mutters into the curve of your shoulder, having allowed his chin to rest there while your fingers curled around the back of his neck. You smelled of embers from the fire and the sweetness of the cool night air, and Astarion breathed deep, soothed by the scent.

“What do you need?” It’s a gentle query against one pointed ear, and for a moment Astarion stares beyond your shoulder, beyond the camp, all the way to Baldur’s Gate and Cazador’s cold, cruel gaze, waiting for his return. You’re silent, patient for his response, and in that moment Astarion is certain that you would give him anything, if only he would ask.

He could ask for you - for the distraction that your body would provide this night, and you would give it to him. You would trust him with it.

He can see it so clearly, the rapture of it driving the echoes of Cazador’s voice from his head. But he can see the aftermath, too, and your disappointment when you realize that it’s all he can truly give you, and only because he knows of no other way to be.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs into your shoulder, and it’s the truth, for all the good that does him.

He feels you nodding, feels your cheek resting against his hair, feels more than hears you say, “Let me know, whenever you figure it out,” and listens to the faint beat of your pulse until his dreams seem like nothing more than misshapen fragments, unimportant, without teeth.

Something shifts between you then, or perhaps it’s more appropriate to say that something settles. His machinations cease, insomuch as he stops trying to manipulate you into bed, though teasing you with ill-concealed innuendo remains a habit he can’t quite shake.

You’ve promised to help break Cazador’s hold upon him, and judging by the sharpness in your eyes whenever the subject is pressed, you’re determined to uphold it.

You care about him; of that, Astarion is more than certain. He sees it in the way you look at him, feels it in the touches you bestow. He hears it, your pulse as clear to him as the warmth of the blood in your veins. He’s earned your trust, your affection, your protection. And you’ve earned his.

How could he keep it from you, when you’ve not only unearthed his past but vowed to help him escape it? How could he guard himself against you when he’s seen that fire in your eyes, watched you wield it against that vile drow who’d called him a thing and urged you to allow him to bite her?

Astarion shudders at the reminder. If it had been Cazador in your place, he would have taken the offer without thought, without care for Astarion’s comfort. But not you.

It had angered you - not just the drow’s request, but her flippant disregard of Astarion’s autonomy.

“Astarion is his own person,” you had said, practically spitting the words through gritted teeth. “And he said no.”

You were still angry, by the looks of it, if your gritted teeth and flashing eyes were anything to go by.

“Are we going into battle?” he calls out, catching you as you’re about to stomp by.

You jerk to a halt and give him a look, completely confused. He bites back a laugh.

“It certainly seems so, judging by your face.”

“My face?” You reach up as though to check, and this time Astarion does laugh, a soft huff that seems to startle you, but also leave you looking incredibly, undeniably… fond. It’s… well. It’s a nice look on you.

“You’re angry,” he explains, reaching over to rub the furrow from your brows. You go cross-eyed trying to watch him, and another laugh bubbles from his throat before he can stop it.

And ah, there’s that fondness again upon your face. He feels warm beneath that look, full, as if he’s freshly fed.

“I am angry,” you murmur, drawing closer. “Her ignorance, her arrogance - it infuriated me.”

“Obviously,” Astarion quips, lips twitching as your mouth twists in annoyance. He allows the humor to drain from his tone before he continues, a touch more solemnly, “Thank you. I appreciated that.”

Your head tilts. “What did I do?”

Astarion huffs a breath, astounded by your obliviousness. “I spent two-hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back to my Master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered.” The memories, though old, are fresh, and he does his best to shake them free of his mind. This isn’t about that. This is about you. “You could have asked me to do the same, but you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

“I never would,” you return, and your words are firm. Resolute. You need him to believe them. “It wouldn’t have been right, forcing you to do something you didn’t want to do.”

“You’re the first to think so,” Astarion murmurs. “The first not to make me feel like something to be used and discarded.” He had still been living as though he was exactly that, he realizes. Still a puppet, a pawn to be ordered about at his master’s whim. But that wasn’t who he was, anymore, and he would never be that way again. You would aid him in making sure of it, and not simply because he’d seduced and manipulated you into doing so. You would do it because you wanted to. Because you cared.

Because you were his friend.

“Thank you,” he repeated, a lightness to his shoulders that he hasn’t felt in centuries.

You stare at him, throat working for a moment as if you don’t know what to say in return, and he smiles. Silly thing.

But then you’re stepping forward, a determined glint to your eye, and Astarion is left with no other recourse than to gawk over your shoulder as you wrap both arms around him. Your cheek comes to rest against his shoulder, your chest settling warmly against his, and Astarion -

Astarion crumbles. His arms come up to wrap around you, gingerly at first, until he hears your sigh - a soft thing, sweet, happy - and then he’s squeezing you against him, brow falling to your shoulder.

Gods, when was the last time someone had embraced him like this? He wracks his mind and still fails to recall a single moment where he was gathered so close without an ulterior motive to facilitate it.

He doesn’t want to let you go. It’s an intimidating thought. A terrifying thought. And yet the terror doesn’t make it any less true. For the first time in centuries, he wants - he actually wants something, just for him, just because.

He wants you.

It would be easy for the fear to consume him, then, fear that this will crumble to dust beneath his hands like so much else, and yet you won’t allow that terror to seep through. It can’t, not with your arms curled so sweetly around his waist, your smile tucked against his shoulder, your pulse a soothing beat in his ears, assuring him without words that he had been right all along.

You want him, too.

Forgive Me - Brennan Sorrengail

Request: "Your eyes are already saying yes, now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.” (enemies to lovers vibe)

Summary: In a matter of moments, the man you thought you knew becomes someone you barely know. Desperate to get your attention again, he corners you to find out why.

Warnings: 18+, smut, NSFW, orgasm denial, oral (f receiving), fingering, slight praise, angst.

Kinktober MasterList

I avert my gaze as his eyes meet mine across the throne room. All week he’s tried to catch my eye, try talk to me, do whatever he can to get my attention. But having the identity of someone I thought I knew completely flipped definitely had me questioning a lot.

I always knew he kept things from me, unable to tell me everything that was going on with the rebellion. But somehow this hurt more. I remember the way my heart dropped as Mira reacted to seeing him. The recognition in her eyes before anger took over and punched him. And that’s when it clicked. I’d barely seen him around Violet when we’d brought her here. And when I did, I had clearly missed their reunion. But seeing all three of them together had made the pieces all click into place.

I remember the panic in his eyes as he’d looked over and seen me, seen my reaction to what I had figured out. I’d quickly turned and run off, not wanting to talk to him incase I said something I would come to regret later. That was over a week ago.

”We’ll need a volunteer to leave right after this meeting and scout out these locations.” His voice breaking me out of my thoughts.

Garrick goes to raise his hand to volunteer like he always does. “I’ll go,” I call out as I push off the wall, drawing the attention to me.

It wasn’t uncommon for me to go out on patrol when I was here, but I never volunteered first. Usually waiting to see if they needed extra riders.

Brennan goes to object but Xaden cuts him off as he pushes past him to hand me a scroll. “All the locations are listed in there, as well as what we want to confirm. I’d recommend memorising it and disposing of it before you go.”

I don’t meet Brennan’s eye as I take the scroll from Xaden and return to my position on the wall next to Bodhi and Garrick. I feel them eyeing me, clearly noting something was up. But they know better than to question me, knowing it was better to leave me be till I talked to them. Which wasn’t happening any time soon. Not till I was back at least.

As soon as we are dismissed I bolt out the door to go grab my pack from my room. Luckily it was already packed and ready to go, deciding it was better to have it ready in case I needed to leave at a moments notice. And right now I was very much thanking past me for that decision.

My door bangs closed behind me as I kneel on the floor, reaching under my bed for my pack, fingers curling around the leather strap as I pull it from under the bed. I quickly unlatch the top, making sure everything is still there. Satisfied I have everything I need I fasten it closed before grabbing the flight jacket I’d left on my bed this morning.

With both items secured in my hands, I turn to leave the room to make one last pit stop at the kitchens to grab some food and water to tide me over for a day or two. But as I open the door and step into the hallway I collide with something very solid, strong hands grasping my arms to stop me from falling over.

The familiar smell of parchment, mint and a smell I’ve now associated with trees meets my nose. I don’t even have to look up to know who stands in my way, who is holding my arms so tightly it hurts a little.

”You’re not going anywhere till we talk,” he says softly, as if scared I’ll run away. Impossible seeing as he’s blocking the entire doorway, no way for my to sneak past him.

I should have known he would follow me, or at least come here to find me. I should have forgotten my pack and headed straight to the kitchen and my dragon. But I’d come here, just like he knew I would.

He pushes on my arms, guiding us back into my room as he kicks the door closed behind him. I swear I hear it lock into place as I turn and sit on the edge of my bed.

”There’s nothing to talk about.” I mutter, casting my eyes downwards to the floor as I drop my pack next top me with a loud thud.

I hear him exhale loudly, almost like he’s laughing. “I beg to differ love. You’ve been ignoring me all week. You’ll barely look me in the eye.” I feel the bed sink slightly as he sits next to me. “So we need to talk. Please.”

I don’t know why but my anger flairs, more than it has all week. “You want to talk?” I snap back as I stand, turning to look down and meet his eyes for the first time all week. “Fine, lets talk about how I had to find out you aren’t who I thought you were and if it wasn’t for seeing how Mira reacted to you I would have no idea. To me you would still be Brennan Aisereigh, the Lieutenant Colonel I’d started stupidly falling for. But no, you’re the long lost, thought to be dead son of General Lilith Sorrengail, who also happens to be one of the reasons my parents are dead!”

The silence is deafening as we stare at each other, my chest rising and falling heavily as a tear rolls down my cheek. His amber eyes following it as it trails down my cheek before dropping to the floor. I see the sadness and guilt in his amber eyes as they look back up at mine. It makes me want to run into his arms, go back to normal or as close as we can, go back to whatever it was we were doing. But my brain screams at me not to. Feeling betrayed at what I’d learnt.

”I wanted to tell you, trust me I did.” His voice wavering slightly as I scoff at his words, shaking my head in disbelief as I turn away. “But I couldn’t risk it getting out who I really was. Especially if someone got captured.”

I know he’s right. With signets like Dain’s out there, it wasn’t safe to know that kind of information. You could withstand all the torture in the world, and they’d still find out. All that training we get put through would have been for nothing. But it still hurts so much.

I startle as he lays a hand on my shoulder. I go to step away but his hand tightens as he turns me around to face him. Being this close to him makes my heart scream to forgive him, to pull him into an embrace, to take him to my bed and to forgive it all.

”Can you forgive me? I can’t lose you.” He pleads, his hands reaching up to cup my face.

I clamp my eyes shut, releasing a shaky breath as I prepare myself for the words about to leave my mouth. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t.” His hands twitching slightly. No, they’re shaking. And he’s trying to stop it.

He leans his forehead against mine, his head shaking slightly. “Open your eyes.” A slight shake in his voice. “Just look at me.”

I slowly open my eyes, a tear escaping as I look up at him. He must see something in them, the corners of his mouthing curling upwards ever so slightly. A slight spark of hope visible in his amber eyes.

“You can. I can see it. Your eyes are already saying yes.” His thumbs caressing my cheeks. “Now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”

I open my mouth to object, to tell him no. But my words get lost as he brings his lips to mine. At first the kiss is slow, cautious, as if testing out who I’ll react. If I’ll push him away. Or if I’ll pull him in. I feel his body relax, as if sighing with relief when my lips move against his, my hands grabbing onto him. My brain screams at me to stop, but I was gone the second his lips touched mine. The kiss quickly becomes heated, his hands sliding from my face as he starts pulling at my flight leathers, loosening them with ease. I quickly become putty in his hands as his lips leave mine, kissing down my neck so delicately it has me shivering with each kiss.

I go to start removing his clothes, but Brennan’s strong hands grasp mine tightly, halting my movements as he looks down at me, shaking his head slightly. “Not tonight love, this is all about you ok?” All I can manage is a nod, my words lost. “Now take off your clothes.”

Despite halting my attempts to remove his clothes, he removes a few layers before walking backwards, laying down in my bed as his amber eyes wander over me. I do as he says, shrugging out of the leathers he had started to undo, before kicking off my boots to remove my pants, leaving me in just my underwear. I go to remove it, but he shakes his head, motioning with a hand to walk over to the bed.

I walk over to the bed, stopping at the edge as I wait for Brennan to tell me what he wants. He reaches out and takes my hand in his as he pulls me onto the bed, his other hand guiding my leg so I straddle him over his chest. I look down at him confused, unsure why he’s positioned me so high up. My confusion doesn’t last long, Brennan shuffling down on the bed so he rests right between my legs. I go to protest, but my words die on my tongue as he rips my underwear, tossing them aside before he dives between my legs.

”Oh fuck.” I exclaim loudly, a hand fisting in Brennan’s curls as his tongue delves between my folds.

He lets out a deep groan as my fingers tighten in his hair, the vibrations sending shivers through my body, amplifying the feeling of his tongue between my legs. His hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me further onto this mouth, giving him better access.

It’s not long before I succumb to the pleasure, my hips grinding down on his face earning another deep groan from Brennan as his fingers dig more into the flesh of my hips as he feasts on me like a starved man. His tongue swirling and flicking over my sensitive spots in the best way, obscene sounds filling the room.

”You taste so good my love.” He mumbles against me as he pulls back slightly, placing a kiss to my inner thigh.

I feel him chuckle as my hips seek out his mouth again, wanting to feel him between my legs again. This time his mouth seeks out my clit, his tongue flicking across the sensitive nub causing a shiver which nearly as me clamping my thighs around his head.

”Oh gods, yes!” I cry out as his fingers join the mix, pumping in and out of me.

I feel the it building inside of me, the coil building up tightly, ready to uncoil at any moment. My walls clamping down around his fingers as he curls them in just the right way to have me gasping and moaning. I whimper as Brennan removes his fingers from inside me, slowly circling around my entrance as he teases me, denying me of the climax I now desperately want as I try to sink back down on his fingers.

”P-please Bren.” I plead as he moves his fingers away again as I try seek them out.

”Only if you forgive me.” He teases, turning his head to nip softly at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

I nod feverishly down at him, desperate to finish. Desperate to feel his fingers inside me. “Yes. I forgive you.”

”That's my girl.”

I gasp loudly as his fingers push back inside me, pumping in and out faster than before, his lips latching around my clit as his tongue resumes the familiar rhythm I’ve grown to love. My body is quick to respond, the coil tightening in me again, my hips grinding back and forth to chase more. And as he curls his fingers inside me, the coil unravels. Clamping down around his fingers as my orgasm rips through me. His name falling from lips as I fall apart above him. His tongue and fingers not letting up as they milk my orgasm from me. Slowly my orgasm subsides, Brennan sliding back up the bed as he pulls me against him, cradling me against his chest as his hands rub up and down my back.

”Told you I’d get your mouth to forgive me.”

@strangeeaglepost @puttyly @kyl13sm1l3y @wildflowermooon @oliviajm21 @honethatty12 @lesehexe @violent-little-thing @softodettes @marrianena @idkimjusthere100

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jestersasphodel

3 years ago

these tags are so funnyyyy

The Cute One

Smosh : Fic

Damien x Reader

Word Count: 2496

Warnings: Lots of giggles… a try not to laugh challenge… and a possibly questionable white van joke?

A/N: Guest staring on Smosh Pit was every bit as fun as you hoped, maybe even a little romantic as a certain Damien Haas flirted during the entire game

“Guys, welcome back to the Try Not to Laugh Challenge,” Keith addressed the camera as the rest of the cast cheered. “You guys wanted it, so we’re doing it again.”

Shayne clapped his hands together, “We’re doing it again, it’s going to be crazier. You know why it’s gonna be crazier?”

“Why?” Olivia perked up.

“Cause we’ve got a guest this time.”

Everyone gave their own round of applause as they amped up the soon to be revealed contestant.

“And we’re not just talking about Damien because he ends up being here way too often.” Damien waved at the camera and avoided a well aimed smack from Courtney.

Shayne continued, “Introducing (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!”

Keep reading

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jestersasphodel

2 months ago

(siren/mermaid reader x simon “ghost” riley written on a whim and a rush)

There’s a silence that only the sea understands; a quiet lull between the crash of waves and the breath of something other watching from below.

You rise just before the tide turns.

Water beads like silver across your shoulders, trailing rivulets down the curves of your scaled skin. The moonlight paints you in cold beauty- sharp and soft, haunting. Your hair drips with salt and secrets. Your tail, dark as the ocean trench and rimmed with glints of blue, curls beneath the surface like a big, lazy question mark.

The boat creaks as you settle on the edge of it, arms resting on the slick wood, claws tapping like soft bells.

And there he is; the one man you cannot drown. Ghost, you’d heard the other fishermen call him. Simon, the seas whispered to you.

You’ve tried. Not out of malice, not really. You’ve never spared the ones who drift too close- those ruddy-faced tourists with their cheap beer and loud mouths, hearts too full of their own importance to sense the predator beneath the waves even when the locals who’ve seen you sinking down whole ships are the ones to warn them. Their skulls now rest in coral nests far below. A song, a smile, a brush of your fingers on their dreams- that’s all it ever took.

But him?

The first time you sang to Simon, he didn’t blink. He didn’t bleed from the ears or follow you into the rocks like a lamb, did not give into the sweet song of death. He just looked at you- as if he knew your song already.

You wish it had ended there, but no. No. He did much worse, he had even freed you-

You can still remember the trap. Rusted iron strung between two forgotten pylons, slick with barnacles and hunger. It had snapped tight around your waist as you’d swum through a kelp forest, cutting into your flesh with a mechanical groan that still makes your bones ache. You’d thrashed, thrashed until your voice broke against the water, until your blood painted the reeds crimson. And then- he had been there. Still, unafraid, with dark eyes peering at you.

He didn’t speak. Just waded into the cold, metal snips in hand, and cut you loose. You had stared at him, weak and trembling, the tide lapping red around you.

That was years ago. And ever since, you come to him. Not always. Never with warning.

Only when the moon calls.

Tonight, it hangs low and red like an omen. The kind that makes fish leap onto shore and birds fly inland, and a different type of hunger coil like eels in youe stomach. Blood moon, the fishermen call it. She will be hunting, they had said. And most know to stay far away when it rises. When you rise.

But not Simon. Never him.

Simon stands on his boat, the Wretch’s Mercy, steady as stone. He doesn’t flinch when you breach the surface, eyes gleaming like polished bullets. Doesn’t reach for the knife on his hip, even if you think he should. He is too defenseless; it takes the taste out of food.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show.” He says. His voice is low and dry as cracked rope, wrapped in northern smoke and salt.

He’s wearing the same black mask, the white skull painted across it like a silent threat. But his eyes- those ever-watchful eyes- glint amber in the dark. Not human. Not quite. How have you never noticed it before?

“I don’t perform on demand,” you purr, tail flicking. “There are no fools in the water tonight.”

“No,” he agrees. “Only monsters.”

You bare your teeth in something like amusement, too sharp to be called a smile. “… You’ve never feared me, sailor. Why?”

Simon shrugs, tugging gently at a net as it coils along the deck. “Yer not the scariest thing I’ve come across, love. Not by a long shot.”

You lean forward, hair dripping over your chest, your irises dark as shipwrecks. You swear your teeth ache with the need to bite into him. “Do they know what you are?”

Simon finally looks at you- really looks.

There’s no shock in his face. No hesitation.

“Who, the locals?” he says, low. “They think I’m just a fisherman that won’t bloody die.”

You study him, the way his broad shoulders roll with the boat, how his body moves with the tide instead of against it. Like you.

“You smell like the deep,” you whisper at last. “Like volcanic vents and whale bone. You’re not surface-made.”

Silence stretches between you. It’s the same quiet the ocean gives before it devours something.

He steps forward, towards you. “You’re not wrong.”

You blink. Your claws curl slightly into the wood. “Then why pretend?”

“Because monsters scare off the catch.”

You laugh- low, velvety, the sound of waves lapping at a sailor’s final breath. But your voice softens then. “You could have let me die.”

He’s close now. Close enough to touch. The net dangles loose in his hands. “Didn’t want to,” he says simply. “Didn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re mine.”

That words stir, primal in your chest. Something that snarls and sings and sinks ships into the bottomless ocean.

“You think you can keep me?”

His hand reaches up- not fast, not rough- just firm. His fingers trail along your damp jaw, calloused thumb stroking the corner of your lip. You don’t pull away, and you don’t bite, even though you should.

But your heart stutters like a dying gull anyways.

“I don’t think,” he murmurs, voice deeper now, trenches miles below. “I know.”

You stare at him, senses drinking him in- his scent, his heat, the thrum of something old and hungry beneath his skin. You lean in, then, lips nearly brushing his, your breath a chill against his mask.

“When the time comes,” you whisper, voice of broken shells and broken vows. “You’ll have to catch me.”

Simon’s smile beneath the mask is something no man should wear. It is something no man would wear- but another deep water monster would.

“Oh, I will. When you follow me down, you won’t want to come back up.”

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jestersasphodel

1 year ago

Just thinking of an angst fic with the bridgerton boys and some duke (interpreted by Henry Cavill)

Fair warning, this is just me rambling, adding some dialogue. Not a fic... Just whatever happens in my weird little mind.

So bc I like angst and I like Henry Cavill, what if you had been friends with the Bridgertons since you were young and you and Anthony had _something_, everyone thought you'd end up together- Ben and Colin had crushes on you, and they had fantasized about the day you'd become a Bridgerton for real and ask their big brother to share his pretty wife. You are practically a Bridgerton, having tea with them everyday, staying for dinner and a lot of times even to sleep in their house.

But Anthony discovered the crush Ben had on you near your first season- Ben had drawn you over and over, written poetry about you and his crush looked more like love than Anthony had ever thought of so, despite his plans of asking you to court as soon as you were presented (he didn't thought he loved you, he just thought it was obvious and convenient), he decided he'd let Benedict court you and let you two have a love match. So your first season, he meets Sienna and he starts his relationship with her. You're named diamond of the season but you don't marry.

Next is Daphne's season and you spend it helping her and defending her tooth and nail, being her confidant and the only one who knows about the farce with Hastings and ultimately, her maid of honor. Violet gets antsy when your third season starts and Anthony claims he wants a viscountess, making his list of prospects but not including you

After his first afternoon of interviews, you come to bridgerton house for tea and ask him how he's faring (you're still under the impression that maybe he's doing this to make a show, to somehow make a grand romantic gesture, to basically tell the world that you're the best for him and he _knows_ bc he has interviewed all other debutantes) but he takes it as just friendly curiosity and he's honest about how he's not very hopeful and tells you all about his list (a list that is basically describing you) but before you can smile and tease him about how he seems to be describing you, he tells you he has his sights set on the new diamond, Edwina Sharma and he will visit her the next day. You tense and everyone in the drawing room seems to stop breathing, and calmly, you ask him if that's his only prospect and he says yes of course, none other could be worthy of the most eligible bachelor other than the diamond of the season. You excuse yourself shortly after, feeling betrayed and foolish, for you had wasted _your_ season waiting for him, and the following waiting for him and defending his family, only to be tossed aside like an used toy?

You don't attend the next ball and you miss the courting of miss Sharma and the viscount, instead, you are called by the queen, who is wholly disappointed in your failure on getting married. She asks you to be her honored guest in her next ball and there, you meet the Duke of Cornwall (Henry Cavill)- he had been to the war against Napoleon, but now he's back to London, looking for a wife. Unfortunately, despite his title not many women desire him bc not many is known about his wealth and he doesn't have the regular build of the gentleman, seeming more like a giant. He also doesn't dress exactly as the fashion of London dictates, so he's not well accepted by the ton. But you see potential (and you swoon to think of what's under that big coat and my, not many men can make you feel small and dainty but him? He does), so you talk to him and see friendly. You don't have much hope of him wanting to marry you (if Anthony, who knew you your whole life, didn't want you, why would a beautiful stranger want to?), but you think that you still have some sway on the ton, still being favored by the queen and keeping the title of diamond- so a couple of weeks of meeting him and his mother for tea, some suggestions on his wardrobe and he is officially the most handsome man and the most desirable gentleman of the ton.

He obviously falls head over heels for you. You're so kind and patient, explaining what was fashionable and what would suit him best, always complimenting him and his bravery, talking about all or nothing. He's not surprised you were named a diamond your first season, but he is surprised to know you're not married- the why is not something you talk about and he doesn't pressure you.

Imagine that you give him a suit tailored for him and his build- he insists on paying you back and you say no, bc if anything you're glad to have another friend and you'll love to parade around with him, at least the first dance of the next ball (you're assuming he will mingle among the debutantes to search for his future wife) and he's just... Moved to have someone being proud of showing him off- he would be your trophy husband any day of the year.

Anyways, he insists on having a dress commissioned for you in the same color as his suit (so you look married) and in the next ball, he escorts you in. You push him to mingle around, which he does (he thinks you want your husband to know more of the ton and he can do that), then he asks you for the vals and you accept, taking the time to ask him about his success. He tells you the men seem to dislike him even more now and you can't help but laugh.

"You're not searching to marry one of the men of the ton, your highness"

"True, but you asked about my success. I'm just regretfully informing you it wasn't so"

"I disagree. I didn't intend the men to like you, you can take care of that at the gentlemen's club in your own time. No no, balls are to be liked by the most important people of the ton: the women"

"Ah. Very well then... I guess they seemed more eager to dance with me. Miss Cowper even insinuated she could erase a gentleman from her card if I desired to take his place"

"Ugh, no, anyone but Cressida. Take your pick among some of her friends, I can excuse some of them but not her"

"That's good to know, but I didn't dance with her. I just conversed with her shortly"

"Well I'm not surprised. Your suit is expensive, I'm sure she is just chasing the money. She's not a good measurement for success. What about Penelope Featherington?"

"Miss Featherington was nice to me on my first event, that hasn't changed"

"Yes yes, I know she was polite. What I want to know is if she blushed when you talked to her"

"Pardon?"

"Blush, your highness. The redness in a woman's cheeks? Did she have that this time around?"

"I know what a blush is, little mouse" he had taken to call you mouse ever since he had seen you eat crackers with cheese instead of the god awful cucumber sandwiches people of the ton liked. "I would like to see one on your cheeks one day, but yes, you're right, she did blush"

"Aha! So we did have succes! Even someone not attracted to men could see your appeal. You can now have anyone you want from the ton... Well mostly, Eloise and Penelope, despite being on the market, are not really searching for anything."

"Interesting, how you know these things"

"I just do. Now, what are your options?"

"My options?"

"Yes. Does any lady tickle your fancy? Anyone beautiful and graceful enough to become the next royal duchess?"

"I think you know the answer to that. I have already chosen my wife"

"Ooh, do tell... Except if it's Cressida. If you choose her, I'm never speaking to you again"

"I wouldn't want to do anything to risk never listening your lovely voice again"

"Well then tell me, who is it? I must know her, I know everyone in the ton"

"Well, she's exceptionally kind and pretty. She has an impeccable fashion sense and is the prettiest jewel in this ball"

"... I don't think I know anyone like that... You did listen when I said Penelope is not available, right?"

"It's not Penelope"

"Okay then... I'm blank. Who is it?"

"You, obviously"

"...what"

"Why do you look so baffled?"

"I thought you were serious!"

"I am! Is this your rejection? If so, I don't accept it. I'm willing to have a very long courting if that what it takes, but I'm not giving up"

"Oh, come off it, you could do better. At this point you could ask miss Edwina Sharma to marry you and she'd say yes"

"The diamond of this season? She's already being courted by viscount Bridgerton, is she not?"

"Yeah well, she'd leave the viscount for a royal duke... I think. I don't know her all that well. Most women would anyways"

"I'm not interested in most women, I'm interest in you."

The seemingly unending waltz ends and you are about to genuflect and walk back to the edges of the ballroom but the duke does not let you go. He holds onto you for the next piece.

"Your highness," you call between gritted teeth. "Pray tell, what are you doing"

"Making my intentions clear to the ton. I shall call on you tomorrow. Hydrangeas are your favorite, are they not?"

"...they are."

"Very well. I'll be sure to purchase enough and bring some tools for your gardeners to plant them, wouldn't want your house to... What did you say? Reek of death in the next couple of days?"

"I was joking" you say, looking away with a blush. You weren't joking when you said that for all you loved to admire flowers, you hated when they dried and had the stink of death and decay-despite your servants diligence, your first season you had received three florist's worth of flowers for weeks and it was near impossible to hide the smell of them (the good and the bad).

"You weren't, but I appreciate your honesty just as much as your kindness. I shall endeavor to think of your comfort as I conquer your heart with grand gestures, worthy of the most precious diamond"

"You keep this up and I might start believing you"

"Good, that's all I want"

He dances with you four more times, knowing full well that more than three dances means courting (you told him that repeatedly and after your third dance you repeated and he just smirked while you glared).

Of course, the next day Lady Whistledown is already speculating on the date of your wedding and, to make matters worse, your house receives six carriages of hydrangeas- you're quite sure the whole of England is now in a shortage of the flower. There are so many that your servants have to put some out the windows, trying to seem as intentional decor instead of the last resort on where to put them.

When the responsible party comes to call on you, however, you're unable to keep your glaring at him (something your servants and father do for you). He's charming as always and even invites you to promenade and you can't quite refuse his boyish smile and his deep blue eyes. Not even a month ago, you didn't think there were other men aside from the Bridgertons, your heart only fluttering for the chocolate eyes of the eldest and summersaulting for the green and blue of the next in line.

He is perfect, his eyes never straying from you, making light conversation and genuinely complimenting you-you feel like Icarus, soaring rapidly to the sun and rapidly falling into the abyss that is love. But it feels as if this time, someone is ready to catch you. Not even ten minutes into your walk and you're already convinced you're a fool in love, even more convinced you must look the part, smiling stupidly broad, blushing and giggling. Not even in your first season did you feel so seen as in this very moment.

You pass the Bridgerton tent without even noticing, your eyes wholly focused on the man by your side. It's not until your mother calls for you that you turn, walking back with the duke in tow to greet your old time friends, greeting Lady Violet with affection (but much more formal than any other time before- before you were sure one day youd be her daughter, and now you know you won't), then turning to Eloise, hugging her and sheepishly taking her frown and thinly veiled interrogation as she inquires where you've been the last month.

"We were so worried. You just... Stopped coming by! A simple note the first day of your absence and then nothing! And in the balls, you never search for us and-"

"Ah, I believe I'm at fault for all of that" ~your~ the duke intervenes with a smile. "You see, miss Y/N was very kind to visit me and my mother this last month to teach me and guide me into the world of the ton- as part of the military, I've hardly had time to learn all that there is to know to be in polite society, despite my title. She was a godsent and I've been, quite unashamedly, hogging her time" he is humourous with his answer but his eyes are a bit hard, a bit serious- he's letting Eloise know he's taking the blame but by no means will he accept any disrespect to you- her tone had been whiny and almost accusatory, but it was all in good fun, after all you were practically siblings.

You smile apologetically, and take the duke's hand in yours, letting him know you're alright and have this situation in control.

"I'll be sure to visit you this week, Eloise, to make up for lost time" you say pleasantly

Eloise doesn't back down completely. She stares at the duke, wholly unimpressed before raising an eyebrow at you, almost as if asking "Really? Him?" And you just sigh, nodding. She shrugs, but still does t stop glaring at the duke as she tells you she will eagerly await for you at her house the next day.

When her gaze returns to her book, you think the war is over- but apparently, youve only won a battle.

Anthony is missing from Violet's entourage but Colin and Benedict are very much present and their glares at the duke and your hands intertwined are so intense, you're surprised they haven't intervened in some way.

Stay tuned for part 2 with how will Ben and Colin bring Anthony to his senses! And some Bridgerton shenanigans

641 notes View Post

jestersasphodel

4 months ago

𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞

word count: 6.5k

summary: On September 1st, 1971 you were sorted into Slytherin, putting you on the map as the first Potter to do so, and the first time James Potter turned his back on someone he claimed he loved dearly. You’re slowly drifting away, turning the Potter twins into a sad tale, but after one deadly incident close to Christmas break, James decides to put an end to the distance he unknowingly created.

How can you say that you love someone you can’t tell is dying?

cw: suicidal ideation, but hinted. scars and blood mention, nosebleed. angst, very heavy on the angst. potter!reader, fem!reader. platonic marauders and rosier twins. background jily.

a/n: sorry if this too much… just had this idea for a while and i needed an outlet. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. enjoy! xx

···

You sighed, the bandage around your shoulder suffocating you to the point of tears. As much as you tried, you wanted to keep your compartment warm and toasty with the blanket over your seat and legs, but your efforts were in vain at the mere lack of human heat. The fogged window seemed an acceptable distraction as you dragged your finger around, drawing meaningless doodles as the train passed by beautiful landscapes you barely registered.

Something shifted on your other side, and you turned to find people walking past your compartment, pointing and whispering about you and your sad state. None of them dared to open the door, making the lump in your throat grow with each breath you took. You looked down at the cassette player in your lap, hands too shaky to change the cassette into something more cheerful.

In time, you looked up to find a pair of brown eyes staring at you with both curiosity and pity, you frowned, desperately wishing your brother’s friends would stop pestering you. Their mere presence was a bitter reminder of your brother's abandonment, the pain you suffered seeing them fill your place, share laughter together like you both did many years ago. You looked away, luckily for you, Remus got the signal and made to move past the compartment; but to Remus’ ill luck, James followed his gaze and opened the door.

“Mum said Dad won’t be able to come, but will be waiting for us at the Manor.” He murmured, his eyes pointedly trying to not stare too hard at the bandages peeking through your jumper. You nodded. “She will meet us at the station.”

“Okay,” You said, not moving to take your headphones off, nor to look at him to meet his gaze. You feared you would cry if you looked at him, a reminder of the despair in his eyes when they brought you into the infirmary. “I knew that, you know we still write to each other, right?”

James nodded quickly, swallowing hard at your voice devoid of emotion. “Yeah, just… Just wanted to make sure,” He paused, quickly stepping in to fully enter and close the door behind him. You finally turned your head to him with surprise. “You alright?”

You scoffed, finally taking your headphones off your ears, “What do you think, James?” This time, he has no qualms about studying you completely, eyes skimming over your poor posture as a result of the accident. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes, your blood boiled as you spat. “Yes, I’m fine. Will that be all, or…?”

James closed his mouth and schooled his face, something desperately needing to be said. You bit your lip, your insides filling with regret but having no intention of backing away from the incoming disagreement. Something in you stirred with hope, hope that he would finally give you your place and sit with you. However, the bespectacled boy simply nodded and left the compartment.

You let out a breath, disbelief and disappointment in your heart as you placed the headphones back in your head. A tear slowly rolled down your cheek and you quickly cleaned it, your shaky hand almost poking your eye as you desperately tried to swallow the possible panic attack you felt looming over you. The countless letters addressed to you from your mother heavy on your satchel, most of them asking you to fix your relationship with James, the other begging you to take care of yourself, you weren’t sure which ones hurt the most.

The moment the word Sectumsempra left Snape’s mouth, a curse filled with magic so dark not even the boy could understand it, you almost felt bad for the relief you felt in your chest at the pain that took over your body. That morning still felt like a far away memory, a dream that shook you up so much you still recalled after you woke up; McGonagall’s surprised gasp and the students that were unfortunate enough to witness the moment your fellow housemate almost made you cut into pieces. You were brought up in a rush to the infirmary where your brother and his friends recovered from a rather violent full moon, James had almost passed out at the pure rage he felt when he was informed of the situation. You weren’t proud to admit that your brother being angry on your behalf was a nice memory to die with, a redemption that came almost too late.

You weren’t even prouder to admit to the sinking feeling in your chest when you woke up to find nothing had changed, the only remains that someone still cared about you in the form of Madam Pomfrey’s gentle touches. James hadn’t stayed back to check on you, and you couldn’t blame him. To that day, you couldn’t fully stare at your reflection in the mirror without your eyes filling with tears, had it not been for Pandora, promoted to friend as of lately, you wouldn’t have been able to even put the healing potions in your scars.

Just in time, three knocks came at the door, you turned, ready to yell at your brother or his friends to fuck off, but Pandora’s gentle smile made you pause. She pointed at the seat across from you, cold and empty, and you nodded dumbly. She stepped in, arms filled with sweets from the trolley and smiled at you as she made herself comfortable in the seat.

“Hi, how are you feeling?”

Why is everyone asking me that?, you thought bitterly. Immediately feeling regretful when Pandora presented you with a Chocolate Frog.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, shyly taking the sweet from her hand. She had a different color in each of her nails, you noted. “Thank you.”

Her platinum white locks fell to her shoulder as she sat back, her own Chocolate Frog in her hand. She smiled at you and picked her book, and you wanted to cry tears of happiness. Comfortable silences were Pandora’s main form of love language, you quickly learned, and you were eternally grateful for the company. You weren’t sure if you had it in you to put up with your self hatred for another moment, let alone the rest of the train ride.

You looked up from your cassette case, eyes lingering a beat too long on the compartment door.

“He’s two compartments over,” She said breezily, noticing the hesitance in your movements. “I passed them on my way here, he seems gutted.”

“Oh, please,” You made a scoffing sound, your shaky hand struggling to take a new cassette off its box. “He just feels bad for me, but he’s going to do absolutely nothing about it.” You poked your cheek with your tongue, satisfied when you finally got the cassette out.

“Have you thought that maybe,” Pandora started to say, fully closing her book now that she had your undivided attention, “maybe… he thinks it’s too late? You have been a bit too cold to him…”

“It’s the least he deserves,” You spat, then cleared your throat. If Pandora felt offended at your anger, she didn’t show, she never did. You looked back to the window, feeling the train had noticeably slowed down. “I just… I’m so tired of waiting for him, I don’t… I don’t know how to feel, I so badly wanted him to get close but now that he’s trying I don’t…” To your utter horror, you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “I’m so confused.”

Pandora’s lips curled in an empathetic smile, she reached and held your shaky hand, gently sweeping her thumb across your knuckles, you took a deep breath, trying to collect yourself as students began to empty the train.

“I’m sorry,” You dared to meet her heterochromic eyes.

She shook her head, chuckling quietly. “No need to be sorry, keeping those feelings bottled up must be so tiring, I’m sure.” You laughed weakly, and used your free hand to discretely clean your cheeks. “You might’ve accepted your loneliness a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean it has to be permanent, sweet girl. Evan would agree, though he’s more shy to actually say it. You got more people in your corner than you realize, only if you let them…” She turned to the door, and you followed her gaze where you found James and Sirius walking past with a troubling look in their eyes. Pandora stood up, “You need help with your trunk?”

You opened your mouth, but were interrupted by the door opening. “Ready to go?” Sirius asked, and you frowned.

“I can carry it, thank you.” You smiled at Pandora, pointedly ignoring his question. She nodded, and reached to give you a quick hug, gentle and careful to not hurt you. “I’ll see you next term.”

“Write me?” She smiled, passing you a small box and you nodded, eyes in a daze as you tried to read the note. She walked to the door, and smiled at both boys. “Happy christmas.”

You watched her go, shaky hand still holding the box. James frowned, and studied you for a few more seconds before Sirius, who wanted to leave the station immediately before his parents would show up to drag him and Regulus away, cleared his throat rather loudly.

“Are you ready to go?” He repeated, making a move to take your trunk but you swiftly picked it up. Your features a mix of anger and, if he had more time to look at you, he would also find pain. “Don’t be stubborn, I can take that.”

“I can take my own trunk, Sirius. But thank you.” You spat, then turned away from both boys. “I’ll meet you in the platform in a moment, let me just put everything away.” You pointed to your little cocoon, the blanket and cassette player tossed aside in your previously vacated seat. “Just remember to—”

“To not tell Mum anything,” Finished James for you, an edge to his voice. “We know.”

You nodded, fear settling in your chest at the prospect of your brother picking up the argument you had nights before. Him begging you to tell your parents about what happened with Snape, to prepare them for your almost deadly state, but you met him head on, not willing to back down until he dropped the matter. He had walked away mid argument, his friends staring at you both with something akin to sadness, watching the distance grow impossibly longer despite James’ recent efforts to fix it. You had cried that night in Pandora’s arms as she and her brother watched you with both sadness and regret, you, for your part, seemed blind to the fact that they had been the reason James had breached that subject with you.

The bespectacled boy nodded, and stepped out of the compartment with Sirius close behind. You took the cassette player and put the headphones back on, Billy Joel’s Piano Man a fitting soundtrack to the way you felt. You took your satchel and hurriedly put the messily folded blanket inside, made an assesment of the compartment to not leave anything behind and silently walked out of the compartment towards the platform.

You watched with a sinking feeling as your mother enthusiastically greeted James, grabbing him by his cheeks and showering him with kisses, Sirius and the rest of his friends in line to receive the same treatment. He says, Bill, I believe this is killing me, Billy Joel sang in your ears and you readily agreed, walking towards the bunch with a tiny smile and your insides filled with dread.

Euphemia Potter’s bright smile dimmed when she met your eyes, and noted the sadness that, evident to everyone but you, radiated off your body as you placed your headphones around your neck. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, your brother and his friends watching the exchange nervously, as she practically balanced herself over you in a tight hug.

“My lovely girl,” You were horrified to almost hear her voice breaking, the least you wanted was your mother to worry for you. “How I missed you, oh, look at you.”

“Hi, mum…” You muttered, bitting your lip as she accidentally squeezed precisely around your middle, where your most painful scar was located. “Missed you too, Dad too, of course.” You patted her back awkwardly and she pulled back.

“You’re so small, oh, my girl, please be honest with me,” She grabbed your cheeks the same way she did to James, and you successfully swallowed the lump in your throat. “Have you been eating properly? I knew that veganism nonsense simply wouldn’t do.”

Her eyes studied you much like James did earlier, and you bit your lip nervously. You knew what was coming, and you wanted to take off and disappear from her searching eyes.

“I’m actually quite hungry…” You said quietly, hoping it would be enough to distract her.

Your mother, however, couldn’t be deterred. “What happened here?”

Unconsciously, you met James’ eyes. “Quiddtich accident.” You replied quickly, the lie easily slipping past your lips. “Fell off my broom, doesn’t hurt, though. I’m okay.”

“Quidditch!” She exclaimed, chuckling as she turned to James who smiled in return to avoid giving you away. “Honestly, what is it with my children and Quidditch? Can’t wait to see your dad’s face— Speaking of! He must be driving himself mad waiting for us! Come, come! Dear, you need help with your trunk?”

“I’m okay—” You replied and she quickly turned to shepherd everyone out of the plaform.

“Here,” Remus walked to you, taking the handle from your shaky hand, hard to notice to the blind eye, but he knew better, he was familiar. You frowned, and he made his voice extra quiet as he spoke, “I know you can manage but you’re going to make them worse, and by the time we get to the manor everyone will notice. It’s no problem, really.”

You stared at him, then at James who pretended to listen as Sirius and your mother fussed over Regulus, who would join you for the first time for the holidays. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and you forced yourself to look back at Remus, he smiled kindly as you nodded mutely and trailed behind the group. A comfortable silence falling between you both.

—

Potter manor seemed to stay stuck in time, with its beautiful pillars and big stained glass windows letting in colorful rays of sunshine when the english countryside allowed it. You looked through the window at your mother’s lovely garden she devoted herself to during springtime, surely to kill time when your dad was busy at work and her children away at school, her caring nature evident in the way all the flowers grew beautifully, despite the current cold weather. You sighed, and walked away ready to face your hideous fate, your secret stash of healing potions and your scars ready to be tended to.

You stopped short in front of your bed, Pandora’s present small in contrast to your belongings sprawled all over your bedding. It had her touch all over the decoration, even if the card claimed it was from both Rosier twins, the silver bow and colorful wrapping paper showing her peculiar taste. Your shaky hand hovered over the ribbon and gently tugged it to open the box, where you found a pretty aquamarine necklace along with a soft pair of green knitted mittens sitting neatly enveloped by tissue paper. You smiled and wasted no time to try and put the necklace around your neck, ignoring the fact that your shaky hands would make the task nearly impossible.

You were about to throw the necklace across the room in desperation when you heard a light knock on the door.

“Yes?” You managed to speak out, a sob begging to leave your lips. There was silence on the other side and you briefly wondered if you imagined the whole thing. “What?”

“Can I come in?” Sirius said quietly, and you frowned, but replied a quiet yes before turning your back to the door. “Hi,” He said as he stepped in, careful in his movements.

“Hi,” You echoed quietly, looking around the room to avoid meeting his eyes.

Sirius stared at the necklace in your hand and the discarded box in the other, “Need help with that?”

“I’m okay,” You followed his gaze and shook your head, knowing well it was a losing battle with the piece of jewelry. “I was just untangling it,” You said, barely believing it, and by his face, Sirius didn’t seem to believe you, either.

He stepped closer to you, his movements more confident. “Let me help you,” You opened your mouth to protest, but ended up handing him the necklace, knowing it was a losing battle arguing with him, too. “Stubborn thing you are, trying to put on this tiny necklace when your hands are shaking like a leaf.” He pointed as he stood behind you.

A silence followed, and you stared down at your hands, suddenly insecure in the way they trembled, another souvenir from your fellow housemate’s attack.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“They’re not very noticeable,” He allowed, gently tugging your shoulders to make you face him. “But sadly, love, I am very familiar with these kinds of things.” His grey eyes pointedly looked at the blood dots peeking through your bandages from your jumper. “I would change those before supper if I were you.”

You swallowed and nodded, “Thank you. Is this why you came here? Is the food ready?”

He opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it, and nodded his head. “Yes, um… Mum told me she made you some of your vegan requests.”

“Oh,” You frowned, and he chuckled quietly at the surprise in your face. “I’ll be down in a moment… I have to…”

“I know,” He nodded, then made to walk out the door but paused on the threshold, turning to face you once again. “You know… James, he’s really trying, it’s just… He doesn’t know how to reach out.”

A beat.

“Was it hard for you? To reach out to Regulus? After everything?”

He seemed to be taken aback with your question, frowning and very clearly about to tell you to mind your sodding business, but then his eyes got a very sad look that you despised. You both dreaded and hoped for his answer.

“It was difficult, yes, but because of the way we were raised, not because there wasn’t love, it was just very tangled with other things, confusion, anger and resentment… But the love persevered. I think… I think that’s what made it bearable, that at the end of the day we loved each other despite everything.”

You nodded, visibly not satisfied with his answer. “I get that, but… you said it yourself, it was hard because of the way you were raised so… what is stopping James?”

Sirius seemed pretty close to tears himself, feeling for you and frustrated at the way James acted. Honestly not even himself could explain the way James handled everything since you both were sorted, admittedly he hadn’t known him long enough back then to be confused by the evident indifference towards you, but as he grew to know you both, that confusion grew in significance. It couldn’t have been the same James that offered him his home without thinking twice when he learned the hell that was Grimmauld Place, it was hard for Sirius to think that James held some resentment towards his sister for being sorted into Slytherin when he himself despised Sirius’ parents for disowning him for being a Gryffindor. You didn’t seem to be particularly fond of the pureblood supremacy ideologies your house held, either; keeping to yourself and to your friends, the Rosier twins and occasionally Regulus as of lately, and the gentle way you carried yourself through the hallways. He often wondered if the Sorting Hat had made a mistake.

“I… I don’t know, sweetheart,” He sighed. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, I don’t think this is a conversation for me to participate in.”

“It’s alright,” You nodded, once again swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’ll be down in a minute.” You said before marching towards your bathroom, closing the door behind you.

Sirius sighed, feeling very angry at himself for the way he managed to mess it all up in a matter of seconds. A hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned his face to meet both Remus and his brother’s sad eyes, he shrugged sadly and closed the door to your room quietly. A few seconds later, Lily walked out of her own room, immediately taking notice of the three boys sadly staring at your door and ushered them all to the dinning room, a sad look in her own eyes as she tried to ignore the knot in her stomach.

—

You stared blankly at a spot next to your father‘s face as you pretended to listen to his very heated debate with James about where should the next Quidditch Cup be. The food long gone and conversations passed in a daze as you ate supper and managed to participate here and there and answer the questions directed to you. You unconsciously thumbed the precious gemstone resting in your chest, the repetitive action helped you make the shakiness in your hands less evident.

You sat in a wingback chair, making a cocoon of yourself as you watched your brother and his friends happily chatting away to different topics, you watched as he occasionally grabbed Lily’s hand and kissed it, or the way he reached over his girlfriend to shove Sirius’ shoulder, mischief glistening behind his glasses. You knew you were being a killjoy, your pain almost an imposition in their delightful conversation had they noticed, if they ever did, or let them notice, you bitterly thought.

“Oh, darling,” Suddenly you had a handkerchief shoved to your nose. You frowned, but let your mother’s hand cradle your face back. “You almost stained your jumper,” Horrified, you noticed that your nose was bleeding, a common occurrence since the incident.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, trying to look away from her eyes, slowly filling with worry. “Don’t know what happened there, strange.”

“Good thing your mum has good reflexes,” your dad pointed, chuckling and blissfully unaware of the sudden tension in the room. “Growing up with you lot gave her reflexes of steel, she would’ve been a killer Seeker.”

“Let that go, honey,” Your mum added distractly, looking into your eyes, searching for… what? You were not sure, but her scrutiny made you nervous. “Are you okay?”

You inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling very warm. “Yes, I can take it, mum–” You made to raise your hand to take the handkerchief from her, her eyes falling on your hands.

“Are you cold?”

“What? No. I’m fine.”

“But you’re shaking.” She argued, and you found yourself slowly losing your patience at her questioning. “Are you sure you’re—”

“Can everyone stop asking me that? I said I’m fine.” You spat, shocking everyone into silence, even yourself. “Sorry, I… I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, I…Yes, I’m alright.”

Somewhere from the floor came a scoff and you felt dread recoiling around your ribcage. You lowered the handkerchief from your face to see James dryly chuckling at you, his hazel eyes holding a fire that was only reserved for… Horrified, you realized he was about to tell your parents everything.

“James,” You whispered, pleading with your eyes to force him to take a step back. But your brother seemed done covering for you. “Please don’t.”

“James?” Your mother turned to him, who in return stood up from his spot on the floor, Lily reached out to pull him down again. “Is anyone going to fill me in as to what’s gotten into you both?”

He stared hard at you, then, “She was attacked.”

And just as the words slipped past his lips, chaos ensued with your parents, neither of them expecting those words to leave James’ lips. The air was sucked out of your lungs, and you reached to press the heel of your hand to your sternum, as if that would help your lungs accept the air you desperately seeked. You were not sure where you got the strength, but you marched towards him, betrayal in your eyes.

“You have no right,” You sneered, meeting his stormy gaze, he looked down at you, both your bodies pulsating with unresolved anger. “You promised!”

“I did not promise a damn thing to you. You’re my sister, and I cannot simply sit back and watch you fade away from us, can I?”

You scoffed. “It didn’t stop you before, hasn’t it?” He stepped back, as if your words alone had slapped him across his face. Your parents watched the scene with horror. “You’re my sister, you’re a liar. You made it very clear I am very much not your sister, James. In fact, I think you made it very clear to everyone that anyone can be accepted into your fucking marauders club except me.”

“Wait, so this is why you’re so miffed with me? Because I didn’t let you in the Marauders?” James had the nerve to laugh, and you stared at him in shock. “You have officially lost the plot, grow up, I beg you.”

“James!”

“No, James,” You met him head on, storm in your eyes as you tried to find your words. “Contrary to what your ego-driven mind might think, not everyone wants to be part of your glorified freak show.” You said, not at all regretting the venom in your voice. “You left me. You… you don’t even try, you think that just because you fought for me, breaking Snape’s nose, everything would be forgiven?”

“Look at what he did to you!” He pointed, squirming a finger inside the neckline of your jumper, pulling down to show everyone the bandage in your shoulder. You slapped his hand away with anger, but he grabbed your hand and raised it for everyone to see. “You can barely function with these shakes, look, you can barely put on a necklace!”

“James, stop,” Came Remus’ stern voice from somewhere in the room.

At this, your glossy eyes turned to Sirius, who, until that moment, had managed to sit back calmly and not let the whole ordeal get to him. He looked away as your betrayal was evident in your eyes.

“That wasn’t for you to tell, Sirius.” You said to him quietly, anger barely contained.

“Well, I, for one, am glad he told me. You could’ve gone the entire break hiding it from us had it not been for Sirius.”

“Like hiding it is such a hard task.” You snapped. “You barely notice my presence let alone a silly shake in my hands. I could’ve died that day and you wouldn’t have noticed at all, James.”

“You damn right could’ve bloody died! Go on, show them,” He stepped closer, and you barely registered his intention until it was too late.

With the help of his reflexes, you were a beat too late to stop him from lifting the hem of your jumper, exposing some of the fully healed scars in your stomach, the biggest one cutting through your navel in a nasty gash. Your mother gasped and her eyes filled with tears immediately, your father stared in shock, despair evident in his eyes. You pushed James away with all the strength you could muster, accidentally pushing your mother in the process, and pulled your jumper back down.

“You’re a complete, utter, dickhead, James.” You stared at him in shock, so did everyone in the room. “Fuck you, seriously, fuck you.”

“Darling,” Your mother stepped to you, but you were too mortified to even accept her hug. “How long… How did this…” She seemed desperate to find the right words to say, but a sob left her lips instead. You finally allowed the tears in your eyes to trail down your cheeks. “Why didn’t you say?”

“What would I even say?” You said desperately in between shallow breaths, your usually calm demeanor breaking. “That I was so depressed I riled him up so he could hurt me? That I didn’t even fight back? How was I supposed to explain that, mum? Tell me,” Before you could even process it, the feelings you had bottled up for months seemed to be done being held back in your chest. You chuckled humorlessly, “How would that conversation even go? That I’m so miserable, though I have no reason to be, that I walked towards the one person who would surely hurt me and enjoy it? This, exactly, is why I didn’t say. But here comes bloody James Potter who has to be everyone’s fucking hero! Are you happy now, James? Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to thank you in front of everyone that you saved my honor by hurting Snape? Well, there you go. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

Had you been less blinded by your anger, you probably would’ve waited for anyone to speak, or at last apologize for the amount of curse words you managed to say in a span of 20 seconds, but you simply exhaled deeply and stormed off towards your room, where you surely would spend the rest of your days crying away in embarrassment at the situation. Your tears fell hot and fast as you slammed the door behind you and sat on your bed, ignoring the stinging sensation in your shoulder by your harsh movements. Your hands shook impossibly harder to the point of actual pain in your joints, and pressed your face to your hands as you cried hard. Your sobs loud enough to drown the chaos from downstairs, your own doing, you thought angrily.

The door to your room opened, your brain too shaken up and confused, you opened your mouth to speak but a pained sob left your lips instead. Remus’ brows pinched with sadness as he walked to you, your disheveled hair, tear streaken cheeks and the dried trail of blood down your nose an exact mirror of your inner turmoil. He stepped closer and stretched his arms out, an open invitation in case you didn’t want to be touched, but you desperately needed something or someone to ground you before you could definitely reach a full blown breakdown. A breakdown days in the making.

“You’re okay,” He said as you stepped into his arms. He carefully caged you in, keeping you secure as you felt your chest shreding to pieces as you let out sob after sob. “No one is mad at you, we’re not, I promise you, not your mum, not your dad, no one. You’re okay.” He whispered, close to tears himself.

Soon, you felt a hand rubbing your back carefully, then, Lily’s gentle voice spoke, “Take deep breaths, honey,”

“I… I can’t,” You scraped out, voice raspy and worn out. “I…”

“Do it with me,” She instructed, and you pulled away from your hideaway to meet her gaze. Lily smiled sadly as she gently grabbed your hand and raised it to her own chest, where you felt her own heart beating, “Follow me, okay? You can.”

You inhaled and exhaled deeply, and she did it with you. As she busied you with breathing exercises, Remus walked to your bathroom to grab a cloth and damp it with warm water, when he walked back to your room, you seemed visibly calmer. He silently passed the cloth to Lily and sat beside you on the bed, she looked into your eyes and gently pressed it to your lips and under your nose, no-doubtedly cleaning the blood and snot off your face. None of you dared to speak, the only sound in the room the occasional hiccup leaving your lips, the fight leaving you tired and numb.

“I don’t know what crossed his mind to do that,” Began Lily, pointedly keeping her voice monotone to not spark another collapse from you. “That was very…”

“Barbaric?” Remus supplied, him not trying to keep his anger away from his tone. Lily frowned at him.

“Unlike him.” She said, then turned to you. “What he said, what he did… That was very cruel.”

“Yeah, well… I seem to always bring out the cruelest parts of him.” You finally spoke, and she hushed you to not strain your voice more.

“I think he’s very angry at himself, and he stupidly managed to show it in the worst way possible.” Remus pointed, the fight leaving his body as he gingerly placed a loose hair behind your ear. “It was very obvious to everyone that you were struggling but it passed right above him…”

“He didn’t need to make such a spectacle of himself though, and me. We could’ve talked it, if he had asked.”

Both Remus and Lily gave you a deadpan look.

“Okay, maybe not at first but why is it always me the one that has to reach out? I’m tired of embarrassing myself seeking for his attention.”

“You’re right,” The three of you looked up to find James standing at the threshold of your bedroom, a mix of feelings displayed in his face, regret being the most evident. “And I’m sorry.”

Lily looked at you, and you met her green eyes. She frowned, are you sure? Her eyes asked, and you nodded, grabbing the cloth from her hand. Both stood up and walked to leave, Lily ignoring the pleading look from her boyfriend as she closed the door behind her. The room fell eerily quiet as you stared at each other, assessing your stances.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said,” You mumbled, looking down at the cloth in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” He repeated, as he walked closer, you tensed immediately and something inside his chest cracked. “I shouldn’t have… I… It wasn’t my place.”

You closed your eyes, succumbing to the tears forming in your eyes and brought the cloth to clean your cheeks.

“I told you to not say anything, James. Why didn’t you listen? I… I don’t want mum or dad to get in between our mess.”

“Our mess,” He echoed, sitting next to you on the bed when you showed no signs of backing away again. “I did make a mess of everything, didn’t I?”

“It has always been, I was just the only one willing to see it as that.”

James frowned. “That’s not true.” He exhaled deeply, searching for your eyes. “I… I know I haven’t been the best brother to you but, but I wouldn’t say it reached a point where you feel like you can’t tell me anything.”

“James,” You chuckled dryly, not even trying to argue again but to get him to see where you were coming from. “You don’t even acknowledge me back at school, you practically pretend I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.”

“See, you keep saying that, but I don’t hear reasons why I should forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t forgive me, angel. In fact, what happened downstairs is the least punishment imaginable you could throw at me.” His chest filled with hope when you chuckled wetly. “I just… When I saw you in that cot, bleeding out and barely conscious, I felt like a part of me was being torn away… I had never felt so helpless in my life, knowing you would be taken away from me that easily and that I never tried to reach out? It’s been eating me alive, especially when you have been so calm about it, now I know why,”

You looked away, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to say that, I don’t know why I said it.”

“See, I think you did mean it. And it’s okay,” James scooted closer, his hand reached to yours in question, you placed it over his. He squeezed it four times, and you smiled despite the sadness in your heart. The mighty Potter duo, your own way of consoling each other when you were children. “Just, let me try again? Be a brother?”

“You never stopped being my brother, James, not to me.”

“To me neither, I’m still your brother, even if I haven’t shown it how you deserve it. But,” He paused, searching for your eyes, “Promise me that you’ll stop drifting away, that you’ll be in a distance where I can reach you.”

You swallowed, but nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to have it get this bad, I just, I just wanted you to notice me.” Something inside you broke, and so did your voice. Thankfully, you were close enough for James to reach over and hug you gently. “I didn’t realize you wanted to talk to me, or… or get closer. I’m sorry, I’ll stay close. I promise.” You whispered, and reached out to squeeze his hand, four times.

“I hope you can forgive me for what happened downstairs, too… I don’t… I just got so angry at myself, and… and you, but I shouldn’t have aired your pain like that.” He spoke after a long silence, voice barely contained as he fought back his own sob, not because he didn’t want to cry, but to get his feelings known. “It’s okay if it takes a while, too, I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and I regret it… I do.” I regret everything I did, it’s the bit he didn’t say, but you heard it clear in the pain in his voice.

You nodded, feeling satisfied with the heart to heart, “It might take a while, but thank you.” You dropped your head on his shoulder, and closed your eyes, finally letting your body relax against your brother.

Your brother, who was there, willingly, hugging you. It was a nice feeling to fall asleep to, you thought as you drifted off. James looked down as your head got heavier, and noticed in your parted lips that you had fallen asleep at some point of your shared silence. He smiled, and helped you get fully into the bed, carefully placing your belongings away.

He made to leave, but you pulled him back, your voice heavy with sleep, “Stay?”

And James, even in his drowsy state, couldn’t fight back the happiness he felt in his heart. He nodded, though you couldn’t see him, and laid next to you, your hands clasped together as you both drifted away holding onto each other, very much like you did once upon a time when you were little.

In your desk, messily thrown along with your things by James, was Pandora’s gift, and a note in neat handwriting that said:

Happy christmas sweet girl. Aquamarine, your birthstone, is said to possess healing properties known to cure even the most devastating of heartbreaks and tame the most powerful oceans into tranquility and peace. It also gives the bearer hope and clarity. Love, Evan and Pandora Rosier.

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jestersasphodel

1 year ago

masterlist

charles leclerc

social media

domestic bliss — snippets of charles and y/n's relationship

carlos sainz jr.

social media

keeping up with the sainz — snaps of their vacation and a potential addition to the sainz family

keeping up with the sainz ii

F1 VARIOUS

scandalous — people always think the grass is greener on the other side; unfortunately, max is gonna find out that it could not be further from the truth... and certain pilots are more than happy to take care of you and your daughter.

one, two, three, four, five, six

snippets: one, two, three, four, five

sweet like cinnamon — charles had done his best to keep you away from f1 and everything that had to do with motorsport. It's time you break his golden rule and give him something to really stress about.

one, two, three, four, five, six

snippets: one, two, three, four, five

DRABBLES

domestic leclercs

cold season ♡ sister biased // little leclerc with the gfs // may the best brother and their gfs win // holidaying without the leclerc sibs //adopting ollie

obsessed with her cheeks // what's the tea? with the leclerc sibs! // little leclerc getting married? // lorenzo being a comfort person // forever our baby (+1) // fia's sincere letter // charles being a walking safe space // fangirling with sebastian vettel // little leclerc being jealous // impromptu visists with the clingy bros + surprise boyfriends!! // cancelling a sibling night // sad and depressed bros

leclerc brothers and their reactions to their baby's first relationship

forgetting a sibling night • charles • arthur

paddock groupies.

♡ top dogs in the paddock // mr. redacted // brother in law(s) tolerance scale // least hated brother in law // inlaws fighting // from disliked to extremely // paddock competitions //

one where toto and christian agree

carlos sainz : carlos and little leclerc // family functions // polaroids and cut outs // sweet talking yn leclerc, fake it til you make it kinda! // reyes/charles/carlos drama // golf dates with carlos and lando

pierre gasly : pierre, the wild card // pierre and his perks // they're just friends ? [♡] pierre and little leclerc

max verstappen : max and little leclerc // choker? ♡ choker! // max in the dms [♡] max and little leclerc ♡ max's brownie points

mick schumacher : it's going to be okay // micky. how. //

lance stroll : the strolls

sebastian vettel : meltdowns and lipgloss with sebastian vettel

daniel ricciardo : dates with dani

AUS ♡ SLC WORLD

sweet dream was over ♡ MICK SCHUMACHER

FIRST LOVES AND HEARTBREAKS ♡ FT. DILF(s)

which dilf is it?!

little leclerc's charm + possibly an ex?

enchanted with jenson